Between Sundays

by Karen Kingsbury

  He shook his head, his response tortured. “There’s more now.”

  Derrick clenched his teeth and slammed his hand on the locker again. He did a half turn and then spun around and faced Aaron. “That’s your fault.” The anger inside him surged to the surface. “This team needs you, Hill. Today. This afternoon. I don’t care if you got a mountain of garbage in that cold heart of yours. Just play your game.”

  For a few seconds, Aaron said nothing. Then in a rush he slammed shut his locker and stormed off. Derrick didn’t feel bad. They didn’t have a chance if Aaron didn’t rise to the occasion. If he wasn’t going to talk to God, so be it. Either way, he had a responsibility to the team.

  Coach said basically the same thing before they went out for the second half. And this time, the Aaron Hill who took the field was the fighter, the warrior. He threw a touchdown pass three minutes into the third quarter, and then again in the fourth, as the sky broke open and released a blinding burst of snow onto the field.

  “There it is.” Derrick’s knee throbbed in the freezing cold, but he didn’t care. They could do this, they could win it despite everything. He found Aaron on the sidelines after the score and slapped him hard on his helmet. “Come on, Hill…make it happen.”

  Aaron didn’t say anything, but his expression told the story. Whether it was Derrick’s talk or a switch that flipped inside his brain, Aaron wore his game face now. The snow continued, and with five minutes to play, Chicago kicked a field goal. By then the lines on the field were all but impossible to see, and the officials called a timeout so they could clear the snow off the yard markers. Derrick could hardly watch from his place next to Coach Cameron. Please, God…keep Aaron focused…

  The last few minutes of play were an icy battle. Aaron struggled to move the ball, but a few close first downs and another touchdown pass tied the game. A beautiful kick in the waning seconds, and the 49ers squeaked by with a one-point win.

  The atmosphere in the locker room after the game could hardly be called celebratory. Guys were exhausted, mentally and physically. The idea of taking on the Seahawks next week seemed daunting. But as Coach pointed out, they still had life. And at this point, anyone with life had a chance.

  At O’Hare International Airport, Derrick boarded the private 737 and looked for an empty row near the back. He had business to do, so he didn’t want to talk to anyone. But as he passed Aaron, whose eyes were closed, he stopped. Then he bent close to his teammate. “Hill…”

  Aaron blinked his eyes open, and for a moment they only looked at each other.

  “Talk to God, man. I’m serious.” He straightened again. “No one can do it for you.”

  With that he kept walking. There wasn’t anything else to say, really. In light of all they’d been through to get here, and all that lay ahead, if Aaron didn’t figure out how to break free, they might as well hang up their cleats now. Telling Aaron what to do would never be enough. It hadn’t worked once all season. That was the business he had to do. So, for the next four hours Derrick talked to God almost constantly, begging Him that someway, somehow, Aaron would cry out for help. And in doing so, a miracle would happen.

  The miracle he’d come to San Francisco to see.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Aaron ached all over from the Chicago game. He’d been sacked four times—not once because of his linemen falling down on the job. He alone was the problem. He didn’t need Derrick to tell him. He was so distracted, so burdened by whatever it was, that he could barely focus. Even in the middle of a play.

  He slept in late Tuesday, and when he climbed out of bed, everything hurt. Now he was supposed to get right back into shape and battle it all over again on Saturday. Just five days. He staggered into the kitchen and by the time he’d had breakfast and unpacked his bags, it was two o’clock when he reported to the 49ers training facility.

  The trainers were waiting for him. He alternated between sitting in hot water and ice, and then they worked him through a series of stretches—all designed to keep him loose. His body, anyway. But through every minute of it, he could hear Derrick’s voice in his head. Since Megan backed out of his life three weeks into the season, the garbage inside him had only gotten heavier. Some days he was sure the burden would do more than affect his game. It might strangle the life from him.

  He told himself he could handle it, he could work through it. If Megan didn’t want anything to do with him, fine. He could get along without her, same way he’d done before he met her. He had offers, and if he wanted to, he could have a warm body in bed next to him tonight.

  Only he didn’t want to. Not with Megan’s eyes and heart still consuming him.

  Now as he finished up at the training facility, he had the strongest desire to run, to get into his truck, pick a direction, and drive until sunup. Even then he couldn’t outrun himself. He started to head home, but he drove past his exit and didn’t pull off until he reached Pier 39 and a parking place at the back of the lot. He rolled down his window and stared at the carrousel in the distance.

  How had things gotten so bad? Aaron couldn’t find an answer, and when he set back out on the road he thought about going to Derrick’s house. But he knew what Derrick would say. So instead, he drove back home and wandered around his house. Therapy had taken the edge off the aches, and good thing. Aaron wouldn’t take pain meds. He’d seen too many players get addicted, popping pills between downs. His second year with the 49ers a player he’d hung out with at the Pro Bowl died in his sleep after a three-year battle with pain pills. The guy was thirty-one years old. No, when the pain got that bad, Aaron wouldn’t look for a prescription. He’d simply call it a day.

  But his trainers couldn’t do anything to touch the pain inside him. So maybe the end of his career was coming, after all. If he couldn’t get his head in the game, he had no right being on the field, no matter what Bill Bond said.

  Aaron walked into his backyard and sat in the chair overlooking the pool. His agent still called every few days.

  “I pulled the article, so come on, man. What’s wrong? Talk to me, friend…we need a dinner out, a chance to relax.”

  Aaron always cut him off before he could get going. “I’ll figure it out.” That was his answer to everyone. Everyone but Derrick. Aaron stared at the gray sky and tried to feel something. But his mind, his soul, all of him felt stone cold, and finally—around eight o’clock when darkness lay thick over his home and his heart, he climbed into his truck and headed for Baker’s Beach, the same place he’d gone before, back when it first occurred to him that Derrick might be in his life for a reason.

  He parked and climbed out. The air was damp and cold, which wouldn’t be good for his aching shoulder. He grabbed his leather jacket from the driver’s seat, slipped it on, and zipped it up to his chin. Then he buried his hands in his pockets and started walking. This time the beach was completely empty, which suited him. He turned left, like before, and walked to the big rock.

  Somehow he had a sense that here, in the cold black of night, it might finally happen, he might finally find the courage to talk to God. He walked hard and fast, breathing deep, stirring something new and uncertain in his blood. When he reached the rock, he climbed up and found the flat section at the top. Then he drew up his knees and stared out at the shiny black water. No moon pierced the sky tonight, no sign of stars. In the far distance, the soft hum of traffic on the bridge mixed with the hushed sounds of a nearly still surf. Here, there was no last-minute wildcard win, no playoff game five days out. No world watching and waiting for him to fail. He was alone.

  Just him and God.

  Because after all his running and trying to figure his pain out on his own, it had come to this. Him and God. He stared into the emptiness and thought about the Creator, the all-knowing Savior, the One he’d been running from. His parents never talked about faith or belief. Small wonder. They lived for their jobs, creating a void in Aaron when it came to relationships of any kind—God included. But his high school coach
had been a Christian. It wasn’t something the man talked about much, but after hours, when Coach gave him a ride home, he would drop him off and say, “Keep your eyes on Jesus, Hill.”

  As long as he played for Coach, Aaron never really knew what that meant. But his junior year he went with a group of teammates to a church summer camp. The things he heard from the speaker that week floored him. Jesus was alive? His Spirit was moving among them? He had died on the cross for their sins, for Aaron Hill’s sins? Night after night that camp week, kids came forward after the speaker finished—some of them weeping. And the counselors talked about how many students were giving their lives to Christ.

  Aaron came close. The last night when the speaker was talking about the emptiness inside, and how every one of them had a hole in their hearts that only Jesus could fill, when he told them Jesus was calling them, and that only someone very foolish would fight the pull of Jesus Christ, Aaron felt himself start to get up. Then he looked a few feet over and spotted some of his teammates. Weakness wasn’t tolerated among the guys, not for a minute. Whether the teammates had come forward for Jesus at some point, Aaron didn’t know. But in that moment he couldn’t admit his emptiness and he couldn’t admit the hole in his heart.

  He didn’t come home from camp a Christian, but he came home a believer. Jesus was Mighty God, Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace. He had no doubts. But every day since then he came to believe something else. That the holy God of the universe couldn’t possibly want anything to do with Aaron Hill. After all, he’d had a chance to make a commitment to Jesus before, and he’d failed. What would God want with him after that?

  The wind off the water was cold, and Aaron slid one leg down along the craggy, cool rock. His thoughts about God only grew worse as time went on, as he walked away from Amy and began believing he was something special, someone famous. For years it wasn’t so much that he felt ashamed before God. He simply didn’t think about Him because there was no need. Between him and Bill, life was going along just fine without God.

  All that changed with Megan Gunn.

  The junk in his heart, the emptiness, the guilt and regret—all of it had been there before that fateful day at the youth center. He thought about her, about the way she’d caught his attention and taken his breath from the beginning. It wasn’t just her beauty that shone a spotlight on the ugliness inside him. Rather, it was something in her eyes, an innocence and kindness that stood brightly in contrast. That’s when the trouble started. After getting to know Megan, he saw himself differently, felt differently. As if every awful, mindless, self-centered thing he’d ever done was suddenly and painfully clear.

  He hung his head and tried to find a warm bit of air for his lungs. When he looked up, he stared past the Golden Gate Bridge to the waters beyond, to Alcatraz Island.

  He’d always been struck by the ghost of the prison, the way the captives must’ve felt knowing there was no way out. He wondered about the futility of being a prisoner in a place like Alcatraz. But here, tonight, he didn’t have to wonder because he knew. He was just like them. Trapped in a prison of his own guilt and humanity with no way out.

  Derrick’s words filtered through his heart, his soul. Maybe this is the year…talk to God, man…He’s the only one who can take out the garbage. He stared down at the rock beneath him, and like a volcano building steam, every wrong thing he’d ever done, every empty hour came to mind, filling him, torturing him, until finally…finally he slid off the rock and fell to his knees.

  “God! I can’t bear it!” He shouted the words and the darkness around him swallowed them without an echo. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t hold his body up under the weight of his own guilt. “I’ve done it all wrong, God. All of it.” And then, his sides heaving, he silently recounted everything he could remember. Every time he’d ever used a woman, and every promise he’d casually broken. Every selfish decision and careless attitude toward people less fortunate than him. The cockiness and arrogance, his judgmental spirit. Even the way he’d pushed the blonde woman aside in the parking lot that night earlier in the season. Callous and careless, as if only he mattered. One by one by one, he laid the burdens of his heart flat before God until the array of trash stretched out before him was staggering, overwhelming.

  Dampness from the sand soaked through his jeans, but he didn’t care. He bent over his thighs, his head hung low. “Take it, God…take it from me. I can’t live another hour with the guilt. It’s strangling me.”

  And then he remembered things spoken by the speaker, the one from the final day at church camp his junior year of high school. Things he’d blocked out until here, now.

  Jesus died for your sins…He was God in the flesh…He could’ve commanded a hundred thousand angels and His rescue would’ve been certain…He went to the cross for you, and you alone. The speaker’s voice had filled the lodge, and now the memory was alive again. If you were the only person in all the world, He would’ve gone to the cross anyway. Your sin sent Him there…yours, and yours alone. He loved you that much.

  Aaron felt the full extent of his choices, his years of selfish living. And finally, gratefully, tears erupted from the smoldering mountain of his sin. His tears became deep sobs, deep and tortuous and silent until he understood clearly what he needed to do. He straightened, standing on his knees, and raised his hands to the starless sky. “I’m sorry, God. I’m sorry!” His sobs rang out in the winter air. He could do this, he could talk to the Creator of the Universe. “Forgive me. Take my life and set me free!”

  A gust of wind washed over him and he fell silent, awestruck. After a long while, when his tears were dry and his hands were down again at his sides, he realized something. He actually felt different. Something wonderful and alive was happening inside him. The heaviness was gone, and in its place, he felt new and light and whole and healed. The prison bars were broken and he would never, ever be captive again.

  He had God in his heart, and he would hold onto Him forever. He would ask Derrick about going to church because he wanted a place where he could learn and grow and connect with people who had found this hope ages ago. He breathed deep, and joy he’d never known filled his lungs and flowed into his veins. Until this moment, the season had been a drain, a burden. But now, all his days stretched out before him like an amazing adventure, one he would live for God. Whether Megan joined him or whether he never found another woman like her, he would be complete, whole.

  Slowly, carefully, he rose to his feet. His knees were cold and wet and aching, but he barely noticed. For the first time in his life, the holiness of God consumed him, taking his breath, showing him he was nothing next to Jesus Christ. Nothing and everything. Because the place that had only an hour ago been filled with a mountain of trash, was clean and full once again. Full with the power of God now and forevermore. All because of what Jesus had showed him here on a cold stretch of winter beach. Aaron smiled to himself as he turned and headed back for his truck. Only one thing could make this night any better.

  A call to Derrick Anderson.

  The phone rang in Derrick’s house late Monday night, just as he and Denae were getting into bed. Denae gave him a look, and Derrick shrugged. He picked up the receiver and stretched his legs out across the layers of sheets. “Hello?”

  “I did it.” The voice on the other end released a few bursts of happy, carefree laughter. “I did it, man. I really did it.”

  He recognized the voice. “Aaron?”

  “I drove out to the beach and I talked to God. Just like you said.” He laughed again. “I can’t believe it, man. I never felt this good in my whole life.”

  Derrick motioned to his wife and pointed to the phone. “He did it,” he mouthed. He could feel his grin filling his face. “Aaron talked to God!”

  “What? Are you too shocked to speak?” Aaron sounded five years younger. “You shoulda told me to do this months ago.”

  “Now wait a minute…”

  “I’m kidding you, man. I called to than
k you.” The laughter in his voice dropped off and he was silent for several seconds. “You saved my life, Anderson. I couldn’t have waited another day.”

  “You know what I think…” Derrick’s voice choked with emotion. “I think the Seahawks better watch out.”

  As it turned out, Derrick might as well have been a prophet. Led by a changed Aaron Hill, the 49ers swept into Seattle and dominated the Seahawks in the Divisional Playoff game that Saturday. They started strong and never quit, and when they notched a 24–3 victory, Derrick was less surprised than anyone. Because Aaron had been a talented quarterback before. But now he was a talented quarterback operating by the power of God.

  And nothing on heaven or earth could come against that.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  M egans volunteer shift at the youth center Monday night was more wearying than usual. One of the older foster teens, a sixteen-year-old boy, had been picked up for selling drugs. When the details came from the director that afternoon, the story made more sense. The boy had been through three foster homes since school started in September, and nowbecause of bad behaviorhe was facing expulsion from school.

  The story was sad, because the people close to the boy had seen the train barreling toward the cliff. With no stability, no one to believe in him, and no future, the boy had gone the way of the street, found his place among drug dealers always looking for the newer, younger guys to do their dirty work.

  Back at the apartment, she finished washing the frying pan, dried it, and put it away. Oreo walked into the kitchen and rubbed against her ankles. I knowtime for your milk.

  Cory was watching Sports Center, mesmerized by the dramatic retelling of the showing by the 49ers against Seattle. Megan tried not to watch, but when she heard his name, she stopped and leaned her elbows on the counter. If shed had her way, she wouldve stayed away from sports all season. It had been too hard to watch, knowing that Aaron was struggling so badly.