Just to See You Smile (24 page)

He hustled down the bleachers, rattling them and bumping people. “Excuse me. Excuse me.”
My wife has lost her mind.
Why, oh why, had Drew's game been an afternoon one rather than evening, allowing Alec to return in time to Valley Oaks to witness this?

He found her in the nearly deserted commons, just outside one set of gym doors…laughing. “Anne!”

“Quick, Alec! Hide me. If that ref sees me, he might make me leave the building!”

“Anne! What are you doing?”

She giggled. “Trying to see the game. Scoot over. Woo!” she shouted and raised a fist. “Yesss! Cassie scored! Turn around, Alec. You missed it.”

“What's going on?”

“The game!”

“Why did you do that?”

“Oh, Alec.” She glanced at him, but quickly diverted her gaze above his shoulder toward the gym. “Britte needed a little kick in the pants. She's been wallowing in fear long enough. I figured if I made her mad, she'd snap out of it. Go, Liz! Oops, I better not yell and draw attention to myself, huh?”

“You did that on purpose? You got kicked out on
purpose?
”

“Of course. And it feels pretty good!” She met his eyes now. “Did I embarrass you?”

In high school he had been the jock, the one with the popular friends. She had been the artist, the one with the friends who wore strange clothing and didn't join in normal activities. She quietly ran cross-country, but didn't play basketball
until after he had graduated. At first he had been embarrassed to admit he was attracted to her. After finding the nerve to ask her out, he was embarrassed to be seen with her. Eventually he figured out that the reason he was nuts about her was because she was who she was. He'd only been 18. He had an excuse.

Now he was 39, and he had begun to lose track of who she was. He had no excuse.

Alec smiled and made a show of brushing her shoulders. “No. I'm just having a hard time getting used to those wings.”

Joel poured coffee beans into the proper slot, set the timer for 5 A.M., and wondered what Britte would think of the General and his most prized possession, a coffeemaker that not only ground the beans but brewed them when he dictated?

Then he wondered why he wondered about Britte. He shoved aside that dead-end thought for the umpteenth time and flipped off the kitchen light. His mind went to the night's game, definitely more solid ground than that other line of thinking. Although it was now after midnight, he still chuckled over the spectacle in the gym. Anne Sutton had been thrown out of the game, and Britte had come alive and actively coached the girls to a solid win. It gave the team a good shot at tying for second place in the conference. Not bad for a rather inconsistent season.

The phone rang. His heart kicked in as if a starting pistol had fired.
Nicky? Dear Lord.

He ran back into the kitchen and grabbed the cordless from its cradle. “Hello.”

“Joel, it's Cal. Do you know where Britte is?”

“No. What's wrong?”

“I'm in the ER at the Rockville Hospital. Gordon Hughes beat up his wife.”

Joel sank onto a chair. “How bad is she?”

“I hope bad enough to file charges. She was barely conscious when Jordan called 911, but she'll be okay.”

The incident probably wasn't the first for the family. What was it he had said about Hughes? That he was a typical parent? So much for his ability to read character. “Cal, how'd we miss this?”

“It's the norm. Families cover it up. She's probably gone to different doctors, different urgent care facilities. Listen, Joel, Britte's not answering her phone, and Hughes hasn't been found yet.”

The implications hit him like a blow to the stomach, and he couldn't breathe.

“Jordan said he was drunk. An aunt just picked her up here. Trevor wasn't home when it happened. He's at a friend's. I called that family, so he's accounted for. Point is, I'm 20 minutes away, and Hughes threatened to finish what his son started.”

“I'm out the door.”

Like an Indy 500 race car driver, Joel tore across the sleeping town. Ignoring stop signs, he flung bursts of prayer toward an overcast sky and felt that they bounced right back at him. He started making deals with God, not caring that he sounded like a confused child.

“Father! Keep her safe! Oh, God, give me another chance. Keep her safe, and I'll stop running away. I promise!”

Britte's house came into view. The lights shone through the front windows. She was home!

No, not necessarily. The outside lights were on, too. She had developed the habit of leaving all the lights on when she wasn't home. He knew that from those times he had walked her inside.

He screeched to a halt, parked on the street, and jumped out. The snow had been scooped from the sidewalk leading to her front door. Did she shovel her own snow? Shouldn't someone help her do that?

He rang the doorbell and pounded on the storm door. He tried to open it, but it was locked. He pounded again and jammed his thumb into the doorbell.

She wasn't home. The lights wouldn't be on.

Unless Hughes got her when she pulled into the garage.

Joel ran to the attached garage. There was a small window, covered like front windows with opaque curtains. He couldn't see inside.

He plunged into the snow, going from window to window, hammering his fist against each one, working his way around the house. No neighbors turned on a light or came outside. No one heard him. No one would have heard her either. He had to get inside. She had to be home. Why wouldn't she be home by now? Could she sleep with all the lights on, through all his pounding? He'd get the tire iron out of the car, break a bedroom window and climb in, and— Find her?

Back on the driveway, his heart thumping erratically in his ears, his breath frosting the air, he cried out, “Oh, God! Please, don't let anything happen to her!”

Britte tooted the horn as she drove from Anne's house.

“Oops,” she spoke aloud to herself, “guess I shouldn't honk in the middle of the night on Acorn Park Lane!” She laughed. It felt so good that she laughed again, heartily.

After the game she and Anne decided they needed some serious coaches' bonding time away from everyone they
knew. Before the gym had emptied, they were in the Jeep, on the road to Rockville.

Britte smiled, imagining what she and Anne looked like at the 24-hour restaurant, sprawled for hours in a booth, eating copious amounts of food, laughing and crying. They had apologized for losing sight of their teamwork as coleaders in the basketball program. Annie confessed to losing sight of that very same thing at home with Alec and the kids. Britte confessed that she had lost it in regard to the girls.

They concluded that they'd lost their way and didn't have routes plotted for the way back…that they'd been lousy ambassadors for Christ lately, not displaying much love and compassion…that it was past time they started praying for each other along those lines.

Now, as Britte drove through the midnight town, she began to pray. “Jesus, I've taken my eyes off of You. I'm sorry. I wanted to win so badly! The whole kit and caboodle. State champs. Well, at the least, be a Sweet Sixteen contender for the championship. You gave me this passion, right? This team? Oh, Lord, I get it. It was a test. What can Britte do with extravagant gifts? How about make such a mess of them I've got parents filing complaints? And while we're on the subject of complaints, what was that business with Joel all about? You get my attention with this guy and then—”

The words caught in her throat as the Jeep's headlights fell on a car in front of her house. Someone was bending over its opened trunk. She slowed and the man stood, turning toward her. When the lights picked out his familiar black jacket, relief flooded through her. Dread quickly followed on its heels. It was 12:30…the middle of the night.

At the driveway she braked and put down the window. “Joel! What are you doing here?”

His face was in shadows, but she saw that he shook his head and pointed toward the garage. “Go on inside.”

She tapped the garage door opener, pulled the car inside, and quickly hopped out. He was still in the street, leaning back against his closed trunk. She hurried to him. “Joel?”

His face was down, propped against a hand. Slowly he lowered his arm and held it out toward her. “Britte,” he whispered, “come here. Please.”

“What's wrong?”

“I thought you were dead.”

She stepped to him. “Joel!”

He drew her near, his arms encircling her. His cheek against hers was damp and cold.

“You're freezing.” What was wrong with him?

“Yeah, well, I'm melting on the inside.” His voice was hoarse, his mouth against her ear. “And that, Princess, is a miracle.”

Even through their heavy coats, she thought she could feel the hardness of his muscles as he tightened his hold around her. Something was terribly wrong, but she leaned against him, hoping to give him time to collect himself. A shudder tore through him. “Joel! Let's go in the house!”

He nodded.

They walked in through the garage, his arm heavy around her shoulders. She pushed the button to close the big door and unlocked the kitchen door.

“I'll go in first,” he said.

“There's no need to…” Her voice trailed off at the look on his face, at his narrowed eyes and sternly set jaw. What had he said? That he thought she was dead? “Tell me what's going on!”

He brushed past her. “Gordon Hughes beat up his wife. She's in the hospital. He said he would finish what his son started.”

Britte followed slowly and made her way to a chair at the table. Oh, why hadn't she said something? Couldn't this have
been prevented? It was exactly what she suspected, what she feared.
God, I'm sorry. I've let You down again. I knew—
“How is she? What about Jordan? And Trevor?”

“They're all okay.”

The phone rang at Joel's elbow on the kitchen counter. He answered it. “Hello…Yes, it's me, Anne…She's fine…I'm staying with her. Don't worry…All right. Thanks. Bye.”

“Anne?”

“Yes. Cal called Alec right after he talked with me. She was checking to make sure I was with you.”

She nodded. “You said Jordan and Trevor are all right?”

“They're with friends and relatives. There's nothing to be done.”

“But there
was
something to be done! I knew he did this. I knew it! If I'd told Cal—”

“You had proof?”

“No, but—”

“Then you couldn't have helped. Cal couldn't have done a thing. It happened in private.” They stared at each other. “Cal called from Rockville. He couldn't reach you. Gordon Hughes is on the loose. I came over. I thought you were…” His voice faded. “In here. Hurt. Or worse. When you pulled up, I was getting the tire iron to break a window…”

The enormity of the situation suddenly struck her, and she burst into tears. Poor Jordan had lived with the horror, probably for
years,
and Britte had had the audacity to let the girl get on her nerves?

Joel slid the other chair next to hers and sat on it. He wrapped her in his arms and soothing words began to flow from him. “Britte, it's over. Shh. It's all over. Holy Father, thank You for keeping Britte safe. Have mercy on the Hughes family. We pray for Your healing touch on the broken bodies, the broken spirits…”

As they sat in her kitchen and Joel prayed, Britte felt a quiet settle about her like the hush of a gentle snowfall. She rested in it as easily as she rested in his strong arms. The world was a place of fear and ugliness. Much as she wanted to deny it, the sheer physical presence of Joel offered a respite. His faith, a shelter of immense proportions.

He whispered an “amen,” but he didn't release her. The front of his down jacket became damp with her tears. He smoothed back her hair, still murmuring words of comfort.

At last her tears slowed, and she straightened just enough to look up at him. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?” He gently brushed his thumb across her cheeks.

“Crying all the time. I haven't really cried for years.” She sniffed. “You hang around and I'm blubbering twice in one month. I am not a weepy female.”

“Maybe you should cry more often.” He smiled at her crookedly. “Those are the times I seem to wind up holding you. Would you like some coffee?”

“Don't change subjects. Why is it
that's
when you wind up holding me? When I'm at my most vulnerable?”

“Are you kidding? You don't even let your girls get close to your normally all-sufficient self.”

That stung. She pushed herself out of his arms. “I'm fine now. Why don't you go home?”

“Because I haven't answered your question yet. But I need some coffee first. Have you got any?” He stood, shrugged off his jacket, stepped over to a cupboard, and opened it.

Of all the nerve! Walking out of the kitchen, she offered in a caustic tone, “Make yourself at home, Mr. Kingsley.”

“I love it when you call me that!” he called after her. “Hey, don't you have any whole coffee beans? This stuff is already ground.”

She ignored him and walked through the house into her bedroom, pausing only long enough at the thermostat to turn up the heat. It was as freezing inside as it was out.

Especially so since he'd stopped holding her.

Changing into fluffy, powder blue sweats, she felt a fresh aching wave of pain for the Hughes family. What could she do to help? Find a role for Jordan on the court? Make sure basketball was a positive experience during the upcoming tournament time? Appoint Trevor to help the girls keep stats? Keep him close, forget what he had done to her?

In the living room, only soft light from one lamp shone. She pulled the afghan from the back of the armchair and wrapped herself in it, settling cross-legged onto the seat and undoing her braid. Sleep was out of the question at this point between Gordon Hughes on the loose and Joel Kingsley in her kitchen. And what a cutting thing for him to say! She was close to her girls.

He entered the room now, carrying two steaming mugs. He looked different in worn blue jeans, a navy blue sweat-shirt, and stocking feet. “Black, right?”

“Right.” When had he noticed that? “Thanks.”

He handed a mug to her and settled into the recliner directly across from her chair. “Britte, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but that's the way I see things.”

“Mmm, this coffee is good. Really good.”

“Thanks.” He smiled. “Now who's changing subjects?”

“You can go home. I'm safe and sound.”

“I'm not going anywhere until that guy's locked up.”

“I am close to my girls.”

He eyed her over his mug and took a sip. “I think you're holding back. I've been watching your game tapes from previous seasons.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Just trying to pinpoint the missing ingredient. But that's another matter. I want to answer your question.”

“I can't get too close to them. I'm their coach and teacher, not their buddy.”

“Don't you want to hear it?”

Hear his answer to her question about why he hugged her only when she was displaying vulnerability? “No. Not really. It's not necessary.”

Even in the dim light, she could see his eyes boring into hers. “Chicken.”

“I think I'm tired of playing games.”

He set his mug on the end table and pulled up the footrest of the recliner. “I am too, Britte. I promised God tonight I'd stop if He brought you home safely. It was one of those in-the-trench, bullets-flying-overhead prayers, but still…I promised.”

“And why would you pray a prayer like that?”

“Because I thought you were dead, and I finally admitted that if I couldn't see you at school Monday morning, I may as well just lie down in the snow right now and quit breathing.”

She stared at him, speechless.

“When you were crying, I couldn't help but hold you. When you weren't crying, I convinced myself it was for the best if I didn't hug you.”

“Why would that be for the best?” she whispered.

“For my sake.” His voice faded. He pushed against the chair arms until the back reclined. “I'm getting a headache.”

Britte set down her mug and untangled herself from the afghan. “Do you want some ibuprofen?” She went to him and knelt on the carpet.

“That stuff won't touch it. It's…it's a migraine.” He closed his eyes.

“Joel.” She touched his hand. “Do you have something to take for it?”

“Not here. Do you have an ice pack?”

“Does a coach have an ice pack? I'll be right back.”

“Not going anywhere,” he mumbled. “Got to protect you from that idiot.”

Britte rushed about the house, gathering an ice pack and her balm. Back in the living room, she covered Joel with an afghan. She lifted his head and placed the ice pack behind his neck. “Is that good?

“Mmm. Why is it you only take care of me when I'm vulnerable?”

“Why don't you just be quiet? I have this super-duper balm with menthol and camphor.” Standing behind him, she opened the container and scooped balm onto her fingertips. Gently she began to rub it into his temples. Its sharp scent permeated the room, making her own eyes water. “How's that?”

“Great.”

She applied some to his forehead.

That forehead with its furrows already etched in place. She studied his straight, narrow nose. His square jaw, stern in appearance even now, dark with middle-of-the-night stubble.

What had he meant? To lie down in the snow and quit breathing if he couldn't see her? Was it a declaration of love? Followed by a migraine? He got migraines?

Joel Kingsley was still an enigma.

Joel sank into the pain while Britte's fingers softened its sharp edges.

Thank You, God. Thank You, God.

She was safe.

Was that what loving was? Opening the floodgates, loosing pent-up emotions until they roared, imploding in his head? Sam had told him he would know when it was time. Well, it was time. He didn't ever want to let her out of his sight again.

From a distance he heard a knocking. Was he asleep?

“Britte! Don't answer that!”

“Shh.” Her hand pressed his shoulder. “I'll just see who it is.” A moment later, “It's Cal.”

The opening of the door. A blast of cold air. Murmured voices.

“Joel, they've got him.” Her voice was a whisper near him.

Thank You, God. Thank You, God.

“Joel.” It was Cal. “Want me to take you home, bud?”

“No way. The kid's not locked up, is he?” He tried to smile. “There are some pills. In my car.”

“Joel!” Britte scolded softly. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Is the car locked?” Cal asked.

He didn't have the strength to reply. They could figure it out.

“I'll check his coat pockets.”

Good girl.

Was it moments or hours later? Britte touched his hand. He recognized her long fingers, her feminine skin. “Joel, how many?”

“One.”

She touched his lips. “Open.” A capsule slipped inside. “Here's water.” A glass met his mouth.

He swallowed.

“Joel, why didn't you tell me earlier that these were in the car?” She was close, stroking his cheek.

“I didn't want you outside by yourself. And I had to stay awake.” He tried again to smile. “So to speak.”

“Oh, Joel, you silly knight in shining armor.”

“Told you that you might not want to have dinner once you got to know me.”

“Forget dinner. It's almost time for breakfast. Do you want to lie down on the couch?”

“No. This chair is good.”

“Then I'll take the couch.”

He should protest. Tell her to go to bed.

Her hand stopped on his jaw, and he felt her breath on his face. Something softly brushed the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight,” she whispered.

On second thought, he wanted her on the couch, as near as possible.