Just to See You Smile (30 page)

Joel opened his office door and peered out into the main area. “Lynnie, get Britte down here, please.”

The woman gave him a look.
The dismissal bell just rang and a slew of anxious adolescents have descended in need of who knows what and the phone is ringing and Britte's more than likely as swamped as I am and on her way to the gym.

He gave her a look in return.
I know all that! Just do it.
He ducked back inside his quiet space wishing he had adolescents to deal with rather than Bruce Waverly. “Bruce, would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you.” The man stood facing the window, his hands clasped behind his back. The superintendent of schools was a long time Valley Oaks fixture and the consummate politician. Joel respected the man's ability to smooth ruffled feathers and keep the district sailing along under budget.

“I forgot. You're a tea drinker.”

Bruce turned. He was shorter than Joel and compact. His dark brown wavy hair should have been gray by now. As always, he was dapperly dressed in a dark suit. “Tea would be great.”

“Be right back.”

In the nearby kitchenette, he stuck a mug of water into the microwave. While it heated, he found a small bottle of orange juice in the refrigerator and downed it in three gulps. There was a storm raging in his head. In spite of the ibuprofen he'd been swallowing all afternoon, he knew he
had a fever. Lynnie had come after him with a thermometer, but he insisted it didn't matter. He wasn't going home.

He carried the hot mug into the outer office. Britte approached from the other direction.

In spite of feeling as though he'd been run over by a semi, he smiled and for a split second forgot he wasn't one of the teenagers. The sight of the woman turned his insides to mush. If students weren't milling three feet behind her… Maybe they could have dinner…

She smiled back. “I'm kind of busy.”

He mouthed “Waverly” and put his hand on the door-knob.

“Oh.”

He whispered, “Are you sick?” Her eyes looked as red and glassy as his felt.

She shook her head and sneezed into a tissue.

Joel pushed open his door and followed her inside. “Here you go, Bruce. I brought you a few choices.” He set the mug along with a box of assorted tea bags on his desk and stepped around to his chair. He needed to sit.

“Thanks. Hello, Britte.” He busied himself with his tea.

“Hi, Bruce. How are you?”

“Just fine. I know you're both busy. Please have a seat.” He settled into one of the chairs facing Joel's desk. They followed suit. “I wanted to tell you the latest on that complaint filed by Hughes and Larson. Obviously Hughes is out of the picture. The man has major problems. It turns out that Larson works for an accounting firm whose biggest client is a wholesale company of which Hughes is a partner. Alec Sutton dug up that bit of information yesterday. I imagine there was a little coercion going on from Hughes to Larson. Their allegations won't be taken seriously by any board member. So just keep on coaching to your heart's content and don't worry about that stuff.”

Britte's eyebrows went up. “Whew! I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I wish Jordan and Janine had better role models for fathers, but it's a relief to know I can keep coaching.”

“Yes, you're home free on that matter, so go ahead and laugh. You've put up with a lot of bunk. But speaking of role models…” He sipped his tea.

Joel felt his pulse quicken and kept his eyes on the superintendent. If he glanced at Britte, they would look guilty. Of course…they were guilty…in a sense.

Bruce cleared his throat and set his mug on the desk. “My neighbor walks her dog early in the morning, oftentimes on your street, Britte. She has three elementary age children and has ambitions, I believe, to win a seat on the board and run the district single-handedly. Nice enough woman, but she is a bit of a,” he paused, tapping his fingertips together, “busy-body. Sunday she told me that she saw your car, Joel, parked at Britte's house. By then I had heard about the Gordon Hughes business and told her it was probably related to that. Today she called to report that she had just seen you drop Britte off at her house about 6:30. I told her you were both athletic nuts and had probably already been to the Community Center gym. After I hung up, I remembered dialing what I thought was your number at 6 A.M. A woman answered.”

“At the risk of sounding like a teenager, sir, it's not what it looks like.”

Bruce held up a hand. “I don't want details. I don't want excuses.” His voice hardened. “Your private lives are your own. However, I will not tolerate inappropriate
appearances
. If my neighbor gets wind of anything like this happening again—and she will be watching closely, I guarantee—I will not cover for you. We don't need this kind of gossip, especially about you, Joel. It's contract time. Not to mention that
you're both a little controversial as it is. Although, quite frankly, she's not after
your
hide, Britte.”

Joel knew Britte was about to pop and said quickly, “I promise nothing that looks inappropriate will happen again, sir.”

“Glad to hear it. I don't want to lose you, Joel. You're doing a good job here, but we need to keep the constituents happy.” He stood. “Well, I'll let you two get back to work. Thanks for your time.”

Joel shook his hand. “Thank you, Bruce.”

“Britte. Good luck at regionals. By the way, you both look as if you should see a doctor. Goodbye.” He left, leaving the door conspicuously wide open behind him.

Britte's face was crimson now. Joel went for diffusing and said in a low voice, “Guess that means no more overnights.”

She didn't smile. “How could you sit there and not explain?” At least she spoke through clenched teeth. People in the outer office wouldn't overhear their conversation.

“He didn't want explanations.” Joel leaned across his desk. “Britte, he's the ultimate politician. He has to keep the community as happy as possible. If we interfere with that happiness, he can make waves concerning our future. Big waves.”

“It's not fair!”

He couldn't help but smile. She was so idealistic. “That's not the point. We're in the public eye. I have to court you in the public eye, not in each other's houses.”

“Politics shouldn't enter in at all.”

“But everything he said was true. I didn't choose the best course of action. Saturday night I should have had Cal get some off-duty cop to watch your house. I should have let him take me home. Last night I should have tried harder to get you home.” They could have walked it, if he hadn't been
so…so
giddy
. Giddy! Marine Staff Sergeant Joel Kingsley, giddy!

“But nothing happened!”

“It's the appearance, Britte.”

A sudden change came over her face. Her eyes widened as if she were struck by a new thought. Her clenched jaw slackened, but she didn't tell him what was going on inside that mind of hers.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I'm late for practice.” With that and a sneeze, she was out the door.

He sat back in his chair. Well, whatever, she'd get over it. Bruce Waverly's ultimatum changed nothing between them. As Joel had told her, he would just have to do his courting in public. They were both committed to being role models to the students. It would be a challenge to show the kids an appropriate example of courtship and marriage.

Marriage?

That was a brand-new thought, but… Maybe he was ready for brand-new thoughts. He knew for certain that his heart beat differently these days. He also knew that Jesus had given him a brand-new life. Now, for the first time, he
felt
with joyful anticipation what that meant. There was no way he was going back to living in the emotionless void.

Britte rushed through the vacant halls to her classroom, gathered her attaché bag, coat, a box of tissues, and then raced to the gym. Her throat ached and her eyes burned, but what hurt even worse was her heart.

Ten to one Joel Kingsley would be out of here by the end of June.

Why hadn't she caught on sooner? She had been duped by their compatibility, his ability to capture her attention unlike anyone ever had, and, yes, even their shared penchant for being controversial figures. And now she felt her heart cracking, deep fissures splitting it open, ripping the breath from her.

Lord, why did You let this happen?

Britte walked into the gym, surprised to see Anne and Tanner there with the girls who were already doing warm-up drills. She dumped her things on a bleacher as Anne walked over to her.

“Britte.” There was immediate concern in her voice. She touched Britte's forehead. “Go home, girl. You've got a fever.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I got off work early. Tanner and I figured you could use some extra help with only two games left this week and the tournament next week.”

“Who's that up there?” She nodded toward a lone figure sitting high in the bleachers, his face bent over a book.

“He's a cousin of Jordan and Trevor's, a college student. He's taking them back home to their aunt's in Rockville after practice. Their mom is still at the shelter.”

Another wave of anguish flowed through her. “What a horrific situation that is!”

“Hon, we're doing what we can to help. The girls are so protective. And your idea to have Trevor be manager seems to be making all the difference in his attitude. What's wrong with your breathing?”

She stared at her friend for a moment, wanting to blame someone. Why not a school board member's wife? “Oh, Anne, can't Alec keep Joel here?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know he won't be rehired. Bruce Waverly just said as much in the office.”

Anne picked up Britte's coat and handed it to her. “Let's go. I'll walk you to the door.”

“I can't leave—”

“Well, you're not staying. You're sick and talking nonsense. The girls don't need your germs, literally and figuratively.”

“It's not nonsense,” she fussed, but she slipped into her coat and followed Anne out of the gym and across the commons. An overwhelming sense struck her: She wanted to cling to her mother. Annie was the next best option.

Anne stopped, her hand on the door leading to the parking lot, and turned. “Britte, tell me what's wrong.”

“Joel's going to leave.” Chilled now, she shivered. “And I can't catch my breath.”

“You're sick and overreacting.”

“He was dishonorably discharged from the Marines! When people hear that—”

“You know people have heard that. What difference does it make? We know what he's made of. He's proven himself here.”

“Annie, we spent last night together, too, not just Saturday night.”

Anne stared at her, slack-jawed.

Britte gave her a quick synopsis of events leading up to the superintendent's ultimatum. “Basically, he threatened him.”

“Oh, Britte!” She burst into laughter and hugged her. “It was just a warning. Don't worry about it. You can both handle a little gossip. And besides, anyone who knows you knows you're a Miss Goody Two-shoes. Now go home and go to bed. Get better. The girls will need you in tip-top shape tomorrow night.”

“Thanks, Mom.” She shivered again and doubted she'd ever truly feel in tip-top shape again.

Early Wednesday morning Britte sat at her desk, staring at nothing in particular. Like airy cobwebs in the corners of her mind, pieces of last night's dream clung.

There had been a field in it. Dried bits of stalk blew about. It must have been after the harvest, late fall. Eric was holding her hand as they ran toward a horizon that never drew near. He squeezed tightly until the engagement ring cut into her flesh. She cried out, but he didn't let go. The pain increased until she could scarcely breathe. And then he was gone, leaving her stumbling forward at breakneck speed.

Then somehow, as only happened in dreams, she was on the roof of the sunroom at the farm house. Brady was on the ground, calling to her. And Joel…there was a glimpse of Joel behind her, begging her not to do it. She went to the edge—

“Britte.”

She jumped, startled out of the reverie.

Joel was standing directly across the desk. “Sorry. I thought you heard me come in.” He smiled. “Where were you?”

If only he wouldn't smile…
“In some crazy dream. It reminded me of the time I followed Brady out to the roof of the sunroom. It's flat, so that was no big deal in itself. But he shimmied down the drain pipe and called me ‘chicken' when I wouldn't do it. So, of course, I did it.” The moment of falling rushed back to her, and she caught her breath.

“You fell.”

She nodded. “Not far. I only broke some ribs instead of every bone. I couldn't breathe for…” That was it. She couldn't breathe without excruciating pain. Like now.

“For weeks, probably. I know how that feels.” He slid into a nearby student desk. “Britte, I've been thinking—”

“I have, too.”

For a long moment they looked at each other. Then he said, “I'd like to take you to dinner tomorrow night.” His tone was cautious. “Locally. Waverly didn't forbid—”

“I think he did. I think he didn't want people talking about us any which way. If we're seen together, it will give credence to whatever gossip that woman spreads. I think we should just cool it.”

The “General's” countenance returned in a flash, making Joel's expression unreadable. “It's not like you to run from a threat.” He spoke softly. “I have a childish desire to call you chicken, Miss O.”

Each breath was sheer torture. “Well, I guess maybe I am chicken when it comes to jeopardizing your job.”

“
My
job. That means it's
my
decision whether or not to jeopardize it.” He shut his eyes briefly. “This isn't the time to talk about us.”

“There isn't anymore to talk about. I've made up my mind.”

“A little quickly, I'd say. Two nights ago you seemed awfully interested in a relationship.”

“That was before your job security came into play. I said my mind is made up!”

“And it's closed to my opinion?”

She clenched her jaw at the glimpse of pain that crossed his face. “It won't change anything.”

He stood abruptly. “I suspect there's something else going on here. I can take a hint.” He turned and walked out.

So, that was that.
Goodbye.
It had been inevitable. Now worked as well as later. Actually it worked better than later. There were less heartstrings tangled up at the moment.

Joel fumed all the way down the hall, across the commons, through the all but vacant main office, and into his room where he slammed the door shut. He tore it back open and barked, “Lynnie, I'm unavailable.” He pushed it closed again. The loud clicking of its latch resounded in his head, silencing the roaring there of indefinable emotions.

That was rude.

He opened the door. “Lynnie.”

She looked up from her computer monitor.

“I'm sorry.”

“No problem, boss.” She picked up a pencil. “Just give me your next of kin's phone number so I don't have to dig it out of the file when you have your stroke.”

He glanced around the room. Two students stood at the counter with another office worker. A teacher stood at the bank of faculty mailboxes. They were all quietly looking at him. “I'm fine.”

“You look like a red balloon stretched to its limit and ready to pop.”

Kind of how he felt. “If I'm not out in ten minutes, call the paramedics.” He went back into his office and shut the door in a civilized manner.

He walked over to the window and stared through it, unseeing.

“Okay, Lord. You've got my attention. What is it you want from me? I'm head over heels for this woman, and she just said the feeling's not mutual. Loud and clear. Cool it.
Not let's take a step back, but just cool it. Zap it. Nip it in the bud. Pulverize it.”

How could she say that? How could she turn off her emotions as if they were controlled by a spigot? She was fooling herself if she thought she felt nothing toward him. The romantic attraction between them was palpable. She wasn't the type to go around kissing someone she cared nothing about. Besides that, they were friends, something he would not have imagined possible with a woman. She cried over him. Good grief, he had cried in front of her! He admired her and respected her opinion and enjoyed just hanging out with her. If she didn't care for him, she wouldn't be concerned about his job. So what if he lost it in the process of courting her? He could easily get a job somewhere else—

Somewhere else.

His shoulders slumped. What had she told him about splitting up with her fiancé? The guy was going to work in his family business somewhere else, not in Valley Oaks. And she was
not
leaving Valley Oaks.

But that was years ago. Surely she wouldn't be opposed to leaving now if it came to that?

Fragments of scenes rushed at him. Britte and her family. Christmas. Brady's wedding. Her going to her parents' house after being attacked. Her living in her great-aunt's house, carrying on a tradition. A former high school player, coaching in the same gym where she grew up. The memories she must have in the building, in the town!

Of course she would be opposed to leaving.

Lord, if it's from You, then what we have between us is stronger than anything else. Everything else like where we live and work is nothing more than street noise and will be taken care of, right? I ask that You will take care of it because, Father…I love her.

Yes, he loved her. He smiled to himself. It felt pretty good to admit that.

You're not getting off that easily, Miss O.

Britte stood in her darkened living room near the warm register. The furnace churned heat waves upward as she stared through the window. She could make out the bare sycamore branches spreading across the star-studded sky.

Jesus, sit with me tonight?

Earlier, before the evening's game, the girls had prayed for her. For
her
. Their custom was to bow heads and one of the girls would say a brief prayer, asking that they'd play their best and be good sports. Tonight three girls prayed. Hands had touched her shoulders as the girls asked for God to grant Coach health and wisdom. They had told God how much they appreciated her.

Unprecedented.

They had played well. She had coached well. They had won. She had discerned a role for Jordan where she could help and do little damage. Trevor had made the first eye contact with her since she had brought him on board. Joel had cheered from across the court, wearing school colors, and kept his distance. After the game, Anne walked with her through the parking lot.

Britte knew she would be all right. Perhaps by tomorrow even the pain would diminish, the pain that stabbed with each breath she took.