Just to See You Smile (22 page)

Britte and Anne hurried across the cold, vacant parking lot Saturday night.

Apparently vacant,
Britte mentally corrected the perception. Even with the restored spotlight brightening the far corners, it might not be totally vacant.

“Britte, you're coaching like the guys.” Anne's voice was low.

“Thanks! I take that as a compliment.”

Anne stopped and eyed her over the hood of the Jeep. “It wasn't meant to be one.”

Opening the car door, she motioned for her friend to climb inside, too. Britte started the engine. “Why not? The male coaches get kudos for playing to win. We're going to supersectionals this year. This is how we do it. We don't play Jordan and Haley and Tasha. Michaela, Janine, and Katie help
part-time
.”

“Britte!” Anne exploded. “That is not your style! You're alienating all of them!”

“Who? The parents? I know that, but they're not the team. The girls want to win. They're scrimmaging harder than ever because they're seeing the results of teamwork.” Which Anne didn't know about because of her work schedule, but Britte didn't say so. “We just won our third game this week. Who's complaining? Besides Gordon and Trevor Hughes?”

Her friend was silent for a moment, her expression lost in the shadows. “I'm complaining.”

“Annie,” she implored.

“Listen, Britte. The guys pretend they're professional ball players. Drew plays because he's talented, but a lot of those not playing, especially the seniors, are having their self-confidence undercut. Meanwhile, the hotshots—and Drew's included—think they're headed for the Bulls. The U of I at the least. It's ridiculous.”

“Of course it's ridiculous. It's the guys.”

Anne didn't laugh at their inside joke. “The girls don't care about playing professional ball or Big Ten. What happened to your threefold philosophy?”

“It hasn't changed. They're learning about basketball, teamwork, and inner strength.”

“More inner strength than you can imagine sitting on that bench. You never sat on the bench in high school or college.”

Britte ignored the charge and flipped the heater fan to high. “What should I do with this gift of a team I've been handed? Just let it slide into oblivion?”

“You're a good coach because you care about the girls as individuals.” Her tone softened. “I'm just asking you not to lose sight of that. All right?”

The conversation didn't resemble any they'd ever had through the years. Not that they'd ever had a season like this one. “All right.”

Anne reached over and touched her arm. “Nothing personal. You know I love you like a little sister. What's up with Joel?”

Miffed at Anne's accusation, it took her a moment to jump subjects. “Joel? Oh, adrenaline and Christmas magic. And they're both past tense.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “We have separate lives. Valley Oaks is between them. Who knows? Cupid's on vacation.”

“Oh, Britte. I'm sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It just didn't…pan out.”

“But you still care about him.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you still wear that necklace. Because Christmas didn't just happen out of the blue. Emotions led up to it. Situations led up to it. All that doesn't go away at the drop of a hat. You're not running away, are you?”

Britte fingered the chain at her throat. “There's nothing to run from.”

Alec sat on the bed folding laundry, matching socks, waiting for Anne to come home after the Saturday night girls game. The boys had played out of town that afternoon. He and Anne had driven separately to watch Drew play, giving Anne plenty of time to return to Valley Oaks to coach her own team. Complex, but routine for the Suttons.

It was now after 10:00. Drew had permission to stay out until 11:00. Mandy was giggling in her room with Chloe, who was spending the night. Amy was at a slumber party.

Yesterday morning the pastor had resumed the men's Friday morning Bible study. Alec had caught Peter for a few moments afterward and given him a nutshell version of the New Year's Eve conversation with Anne and his take on it.

“Alec,” Peter had said, “you're really not saying that socks are all that important.” “

Okay. What is it I'm saying?”

“I mean, that would be pretty superficial. The point is, you miss the essence of you and your wife. You're losing track of each other. This didn't just happen since she started working. Changes come, buddy, and you need to know what's going on in Anne's heart. Where have you been?”
Peter wasn't much older than Alec, but he carried an air of authority underscored by his deep voice and wild red hair. “You've been concerned with Alec Sutton getting and then not getting a promotion. You've been concerned with kids, racquetball, committees, and the school board.”

“Just give it to me straight, big guy.”

Peter laughed and lightly slapped his shoulder. “Date night. Get one on the calendar.”

The new routine of life with Anne working had begun this week, and it had produced more stress than anticipated. Tuesday, a neighbor's phone call to Alec at the office alerted him to the fact that the dogs hadn't been tied up. It took an hour to resolve that issue. Wednesday, he and Drew picked up the car he purchased from a coworker; Drew had promptly put it in the ditch on his first foray into the countryside. No harm done, if he didn't count time, energy, and panic. And those were just the tip of the iceberg.

Now he could hear Anne down the hall, talking to the girls. He put away his socks.

“Alec! You folded the clothes.” She closed the door behind her.

“Least I could do. You washed them.”

She brushed a kiss on his cheek as she passed on her way to their bathroom. “Ah, one of the perks of the career woman.”

He considered offering to fold clothes even if she didn't work. Make that didn't work outside the home. Tucking other laundry into drawers, he called out, “How was your game?”

“We won, 54 to 48! I really like this sophomore group. Have I said that before?” She laughed. “Varsity won, too.”

He puffed pillows, climbed into bed, and leaned back against them. “How's Britte doing?”

“Don't get me started. She's coaching like Vic and the others.”

His brother Vic coached the freshmen boys. “What's wrong with that?”

She peered through the open doorway, a toothbrush in her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief.

He grinned. “Just kidding.”

She turned away.

He knew her opinion, that the men were too serious about high school athletics. That she and Britte balanced things more appropriately and had more fun in the process. He tended to agree with her, although he was tremendously enjoying Drew's experience.

A few moments later Anne climbed into bed beside him and snuggled under his arm. “I am so tired. Alec. The calendar is in bed with us.”

“I know. I brought it from the kitchen. I was thinking we ought to schedule a weekly date night.”

“Oh? What brought this on?”

“I miss us.”

She went still beside him. “Since when?”

“Since…our new schedule.”

“You mean since you went back to work and I'm not here to take care of your socks.”

“Annie, it started before that, and I'm just now recognizing the fact.”

She remained quiet for a long moment. “I've been missing us for some time.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I think I've been trying. Remember Thanksgiving weekend?” Her voice was a monotone. “I wanted us to go to the Pizza Parlor, but you didn't want to. You didn't want to go out New Year's Eve. Those weren't the only times. I've suggested
Chicago without the church council; I've suggested other outings for the two of us.”

“I'm sorry. Men are slower at catching on to this sort of thing.”

“Men tend to be more controlling. This requires spontaneity, Alec. I mean, look at that calendar. Six out of seven nights we have something going.”

“There's that seventh night.” The school board had made it a policy that no school extracurricular activities should take place on Thursday nights.

“If it's not my monthly book club that night, we catch up on whatever. We'll especially be doing that now. And look at next Thursday.” She pointed at the calendar. “It's your office Christmas party. The one without spouses.”

“I have to go, otherwise I don't look like a team player. Annie, we can fit us in
somewhere
.”

“You schedule it. Let me know where and when. I'll try to be there. Goodnight.” She slid down under the covers and turned her back to him.

“You haven't worn your red silk nightie for a while.”

She rolled over and looked up at him. “I didn't think you'd noticed.”

Truthfully? He hadn't, not until tonight.

She saw it on his face. “You hadn't. I did wear it that night I got my hair cut. But you had dinner with Val and didn't stop in to see me at the shop.”

And then he played Ping-Pong with the kids, and the next morning she hadn't worn her diamond earrings.

“That's when I realized I was missing us.” She yawned and rolled back over. “I love you, Alec, but I am not Super-woman. 'Night.”

He stared at her back, bombarded with emotions, no coherent words coming to mind.

What had he done? How could he have missed the signals? Annie was his best friend. Their marriage was a joint venture. They were each other's backup, each other's sounding board, each other's right hand. He had never belittled her staying home. They had both agreed on that and what it would mean to their lifestyle. He lost sight of God's provision, angry at not being promoted. She was right. He had pushed her. His anxiety had pushed her. She applied for a job to please him, to help him out.

And it had backfired in his face.

Already now her breathing was in sleep mode. Shouldn't she be angry at him? Shouldn't she be upset? Shouldn't the gray be blotted from her eyes? Shouldn't she be fussing at him?

Well,
he
was angry. Angry that she had stuck with a course of action that pulled her away from him and the children.

No, not angry. Scared was the word.

Anne awoke with a start. The red dial on the clock said 1:20.

What was it?

The conversation with Britte. The conversation with Alec.

Have a conversation with Me.

It was more a mental nudge than a thought.

Dream remnants came back then. In it, she had been scurrying around the house, from the basement to the attic, unplugging electrical cords from every single socket.

Talking with Britte earlier tonight, she had sensed her friend was shutting down, pulling away from the girls, from Joel. Anne hadn't been able to put it into words, but now she
realized that Britte wasn't living from that deeper level, from her heart.

And how about Anne, herself? Unplugging. Shutting down. Telling Alec in essence that yes, she missed their oneness, but she had dealt with it and moved on. It was their life at this point in time.

“Oh, Lord, it's how Britte and I cope. If we had to feel the pain, we'd crawl off into a corner and just shrivel up.”

For a time she lay there, dry-eyed, wondering how Val was doing.

“Miss Olafsson, the wheels seem to be falling off.”

Britte tapped a pencil on top of her desk pad and stared at Janine Larson's father. He sat across from her in a student desk pulled over for the occasion. The occasion being a parent-coach conference early Monday morning. “Can you be more specific, Mr. Larson? The way I see it, we won three games last week.”

“You've got a solid bench, but for the majority of the time you only played your starters.” He held up a hand. He was a tall, soft-spoken accountant with thick brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses. “I'm not talking about playing time for Janine.”

“I know you're not.”

“The wheels fell off during the Christmas tournament. They will again if you keep pushing those same five to perform without consistent help from the bench.”

She listened to him talk strategy, things she knew, things she considered, some things she even was doing. His daughter was one of her seniors, a girl who admitted to Britte that she was
not
serious about the game and only played to support her friends.

Britte noticed Mr. Larson was avoiding eye contact. Strange.

“What's your response then, Miss Olafsson?”

“My response?” She thought she'd been responding throughout the dialogue. “I'm doing my best. I'll continue to do my best.”

Thirty minutes after the man left, Joel entered. “Morning, Britte.”

“Good morning, Joel.” She remained seated behind her desk, wishing she could nonchalantly stand and lean against it. Evidently their mutual agreement to disengage—from adrenaline and Christmas magic?—hadn't yet reached her leg muscles. Vocal cords were a bit slow, too, but her heart knew better and would supply the determination to not look back at what might have been.

Joel sat in the student desk Mr. Larson had vacated, but he didn't speak. His shoulders hunched.

She gave him a thumbs-up. “Nice royal blue sweater for tonight's game.”

“Rah rah for the girls.” He smiled, but it was in a distracted way, not reaching his eyes. “I mean ladies.”

“What's up?” The first bell would ring in a few minutes.

“Mr. Larson. He's filing an official complaint against you to the school board.”

She dropped her pencil on the desk, leaned back in the chair, and folded her arms. “It certainly has been quite a season. Did he say why, exactly?”

“Didn't he talk to you?”

“Yes.”

“Supposedly he told you.”

Her face felt flushed. With great effort, she searched her muddled thoughts for the gist of the man's conversation. “Basically, I suppose he said I'm an incompetent coach.” She laughed mirthlessly. “That would be a reason enough to complain. I honestly didn't take him seriously because his examples were weak.”

“I agree.”

“About which? That I'm incompetent or his examples?” “Britte.” His voice soothed. “He doesn't have a leg to stand on.”

“Why now? Why not leave it until it's time to renew my contract?”

“They—”

“
They?
They who?”

“Larson, Hughes, and Fleming. They want your attention. They want you to ask for help coaching at tournament time.”

Britte squeezed her arms more tightly across her midsection, fighting the urge to pick something up from the desk and throw it. “This will disrupt everything. The girls will find out.”

“The whole town will find out. I'm sorry, Britte. I did what I could to stall him, but I think he's going through with it.” The first bell rang and Joel stood. “I'd better go.” He moved toward the door. “We'll talk later.”

“Joel!”

He stopped near the door and looked back.

The sound of lockers banging open and shut resounded from the hallway, but she had to know. “Are you backing me on this?”

It took him only a split second to recross the room. He leaned across her desk, his hands on the blotter. “Listen, I know I backed off. I backed off on…us. That was—”

“Miss O!” a voice shouted from the doorway.

Joel snapped his head around and pointed. “Out! And shut the door, Shawn.” It was his best General's voice. “
No
one is to come in here until I leave.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy did as he was told.

“Britte.” Joel paused, his eyes never straying now from hers, his lips pressed together as if he fought for control. “That…that backing off was personal, born out of a need I cannot begin to explain to you.” His voice had softened, but it was still the determined General's. “This is different. You're
on my team, and I don't hang team members out to dry. I will not let you down. Understood?”

“What am I supposed to do?” Frustration pushed her own voice up an octave. Frustration? Try anger. Try fear.

“Britte.”

No, try jumping out of an airplane without a parachute because that was exactly what this felt like.

“Britte! Look at me.”

Still frozen in position gripping her arms, she blinked. Hadn't she been looking at him?

“You're zoning out on me. Hey, all you have to do is take care of your team. Do what you know how to do. We're rooting for you. All right?”

He was too close. She saw where he had nicked himself shaving this morning. She saw the green flecks in his hazel eyes and smelled the faint scent of his spicy cologne. He was confusing things, but she realized he wasn't leaving until she responded coherently. Reining in her scattered thoughts, she nodded. “All right.”

“Good.” His gaze lingered for a moment on her, and then he was crossing the room. “I'll let the troops in. Call if you need anything.” And he was gone.

She bit her lip and blinked back angry tears. He had said they were rooting for her. Who was rooting for her? Not the team parents. Not Anne. Not Joel, not really. She wanted him to hold her. He hadn't even touched her arm in the way any encouraging friend would.

“Heavenly Father,” she whispered, “what do You want from me?”