The Secret Hour (17 page)

 
“Accent on the ‘old,’” John said.

 
“Don’t let me hear you say that,” Sally said, her fingers resting lightly on his arm. “You’re just tired, I’m sure, after all you’ve been through. How are things, by the way?”

 
Her eyes were liquid, melting. John felt her gaze boring into him, and he looked away. His breath picked up—a sort of natural reaction to Sally’s beauty, her sexual intensity…but she’d been Theresa’s best friend, her divorce wasn’t final, Peter Davis was watching them, and he’d never been attracted to her in that way, anyway. John glanced down at her again, wished he could just let his guard down and tell her—really tell her—how things were.

 
“They’re fine,” he said.

 
“Hmmm,” she said. “That why you have dark circles under your eyes? Why Jillie Wilcox told me her mother said the glazier truck was back again this week?”

 
“A brick through the window,” John said. “Occupational hazard.”

 
“Well, the crowd is out for blood,” Sally said. “See the way they’re all watching you?”

 
“As long as they leave my kids alone, I can take it.”

 
“Who takes care of
you
, Johnny?” Sally asked, touching his arm again. “While you’re taking care of two kids, the house, those horrible clients?”

 
John’s jaw tightened. When she put it like that, reduced everything to a few words, his life really did sound grim. He shivered in the penetrating sea wind, focused on watching his son play soccer. Teddy played defense as well as offense, and he stayed on his man, darting in, trying to steal the ball away.

 
“Who’s the mystery woman?” came Sally’s voice, breaking into John’s concentration.

 
“What are you talking about, Sally?”

 
“Plain Jane over there—cheering for your son as if she was his mother. Your dog seems to know her quite well.”

 
John followed the direction of her finger as she pointed, and gazed straight at Kate Harris. She was staring, bright-eyed, at the field, hands clasped as if in prayer, but probably to keep them warm, appearing rapt and enthralled by the game. She wore the green jacket she’d worn on their walk the other night, and as Brainer romped with Bonnie, she crouched down to kiss his nose.

 
John smiled in spite of himself—first reaction to seeing her. But his second reaction came fast and hard, a train slamming through a tunnel. What was Kate Harris doing at Teddy’s game?

 
“Excuse me, will you, Sally?”

 
“Of course,” he heard Sally’s voice over his shoulder as he strode down the sideline. Brainer tussled with Bonnie, and both dogs broke free to circle him as he approached Kate. The sky was steel gray, the trees were covered with bright yellow and orange leaves, and her eyes, as she turned to watch him, were filled with warmth and hope.

 
“Brainer remembers me,” she said.

 
“Seems to,” John replied, his jaw unbelievably tense and hurting.

 
“Or maybe it’s Bonnie,” she said. “I think they’re true friends. Actually, I think they’re mad about each other. Have you noticed how—”

 
“What are you doing here?”

 
“Hmm,” she said, lowering her eyes.

 
The freight train tore through his chest. It crashed along his veins, through his blood vessels. It hurt like hell, smashing tissue and bone. This woman, this small, pretty, open—and she wasn’t a “plain Jane” at all; it was just that women like Sally, like Theresa, would never get her quiet beauty—this woman was here at Teddy’s game, and she didn’t belong.

 
“That’s not an answer,” he snapped. “Tell me what the hell you’re doing here.”

 
“Watching Teddy play,” she said.

 
“How the—Don’t lie to me, okay? You knew I’d come, and you want something from me. You think I forgot our last meeting?”

 
“I didn’t know you’d come,” she said softly.

 
“Come on! What other reason—”

 
“I don’t think even Teddy knew you’d come,” she said. Now, raising her eyes and smiling out at the field, connecting with Teddy’s gaze—as John looked over, he saw his son, beaming from ear to ear, his cheeks bright red, so intent on catching John’s attention that he missed a pass.

 
“Get it back, Teddy,” John shouted as the Riverdale left wing intercepted the ball and wheeled around toward the goal.

 
“Go, Teddy!” Kate called, waving her fist.

 
“He lost it,” John said, as the wing passed the ball to Riverdale’s center. The shot was set up, and the big kid scored for Riverdale and the opposing side went crazy.

 
“They’re still up three-two,” Kate said helpfully.

 
“You’re implying that goal was my fault? That Teddy was so distracted by seeing me here? Is that what you’re saying?”

 
“Actually,” Kate said, her voice cool but her eyes still warm, “that’s what
you’re
saying. I’m sure you know your son better than I do.”

 
“So,” John said, his blood on fire, a harbor covered with burning oil, flames licking all the bulkheads, docks, piers…all the tissue in his body boiling over with fury and frustration, “Teddy screwed up because I came? Is that what you mean?”

 
“First of all, he didn’t screw up,” Kate said. “That Riverdale guy stole the ball from him—it was a blatant case of
offsides
, or whatever it’s called…”

 
“He wasn’t offsides,” John said. “The Riverdale guy just happened to be standing there when Teddy let the ball go through his legs. You don’t know anything about soccer.”

 
“That’s true,” Kate said. “But never say I’m not willing to learn something new. I’m loving this game.” She jumped up and down again, eyes on the field, pointing as Teddy received the pass, took the ball masterfully down the field ahead of his team, and got into place for a goal.

 
“Go, Teddy! Kick it in! Take the shot!” John heard himself saying. He wasn’t a parent who shouted out instructions, but he was with Teddy all the way.

 
“You can do it,” Kate called. “Go!”

 
“C’mon, O’Rourke,” the voices roared. If John closed his eyes, he might have believed it was him they were cheering for, but he didn’t want to shut his eyes, not even for a second. He stared at his son, hand raised, calling the play, passing the ball—score!

 
The crowd exploded.

 
John leapt into the air. He shouted till his lungs hurt. Kate jumped up and down beside him, dancing in place, and he could feel her heat, her excitement. His arms wanted to grab her, hug her out of joy, out of triumph for Teddy—and out of relief for having been here for a big moment.

 
“You have a great son,” Kate said, breathless.

 
“I know.”

 
“You were here for it, too. That’s great.”

 
“Yeah,” John said, his throat tight as he pictured Teddy’s face five minutes ago—the look of shock and rapture at seeing his dad here, actually at the field, not at the office—for his game.

 
“You have a lot to be proud of.”

 
John knew he did. His heart swelled. He thought, for just a second, of Theresa; he imagined how happy she would be for Teddy, how pumped and proud…that image of his wife sent his joy and all shreds of trust flying, brought him straight back down to earth, and he cleared his throat and stared right into Kate’s smiling eyes.

 
“Enough,” he said, feeling all the old pain and betrayal come flooding back. “I want to know right now: What’s your business here?”

 
“I told you—”

 
“You’re not a soccer fan, you don’t have a kid on either team—so tell me, Kate. What do you want?” Now he watched her reach into her coat pocket. She pulled out a small piece of paper, hesitating as if trying to decide whether now was the time, whether she should show him or not. His blood began to sizzle again: She had to be kidding! “What’s it this time? Another picture of your sister? A different postcard? A note she wrote? Well, give it to the goddamn police, not me. Okay?
I can’t help you!
” In spite of himself, he grabbed the note from her hand.

 
There was Teddy’s own handwriting on a small scrap of paper; reading it, John’s hand began to tremble:

Hi, Kate,

 
I have a soccer game today. If you don’t have anything better to do, maybe you could come. It’s at Shoreline Field, four o’clock. Hope you can make it.

Thaddeus G. O’Rourke (Teddy)

 
“How’d he get this to you?” John asked harshly.

 
“He left it under my windshield wiper,” Kate said.

 
“How did he know where to find you?” He couldn’t help himself; he thought of old scenarios, of notes left by Barkley for Theresa, of hang-ups on the answering machine, of nighttime whisperings, of secrets and surprises.

 
“I’m not sure.”

 
“Did you call him? Have you been in touch with him or Maggie?”

 
“Of course not.”

 
“Then how’d he find you?” John repeated.

 
“I haven’t been able to ask him, because he’s been playing this whole time.”

 
“He’s been in all game?” John asked, glancing up from the note, unable to block the pride gushing through him.

 
Kate nodded.

 
John’s chest hurt. He felt confused, off center. Humanity hadn’t proved itself to be very kind, helpful, or trustworthy in recent years. The temperature was dropping; he watched her pull her coat tighter. A storm was forecast for later that night, high winds and freezing rain driving off the Atlantic.

 
Brainer and Bonnie had taken off on a circuit around the field, and now they came galloping back to John and Kate. Was it John’s imagination, or was every person at the field watching him? He stood taller, made his expression tough. Maggie ran over, drinking a cup of bug juice she’d snagged from the team cooler.

 
“Dad, Teddy’s coach gave me some Gatorade…Teddy passed the winning shot, did you see…and check out Brainer and his cute little buddy—whose dog is it, and what do you think—” Catching sight of Kate, she gasped and rushed forward, stopping just short of giving the woman an embrace. “Hi!” she exclaimed, her voice full of rapture.

 
“Hi, Maggie.”

 
“Is this your dog?”

 
“Yep. Her name’s Bonnie.”

 
“She’s so cute!”

 
“A Scottie,” Kate said.

 
Just then the horn sounded, signifying the game’s end. The teams lined up, shaking hands, saying, “Good game, good game.” John watched Teddy acknowledge his opponents, speak to his coach, then run through the crowd of parents and players.

 
“Did you see me, Dad?”

 
“I did, Teddy—you were great.”

 
“I blew that one shot—”

 
“Yeah, we all do once in a while. The important thing is, you kept your focus, didn’t let it throw you off, and set up Kevin to score the next goal.”

 
“Yeah, we won.”

 
“Congratulations,” John said as Maggie pumped her brother’s hand.

 
“And two of the goals were yours,” Kate said.

 
Teddy glowed, nodding.

 
John’s chest tightened again. He’d missed one of Teddy’s goals? “You scored twice?”

 
Teddy nodded, and Kate said, “He did. He’s the star.”

 
“You are,” Maggie said, staring up at her brother with pure adoration. “Of the whole team.”

 
“Thanks, Mags.”

 
Now John really felt low. He’d been so proud of himself, being here for the great pass, but he’d really blown it by missing a goal. He had to make it up to the kids somehow. He had planned to run into Billy Manning, his old friend and a detective on Connecticut’s Major Crime Squad. Not a formal meeting—Billy hung around the Witch’s Brew on Friday nights, and John had thought he might drop in for a beer, just to ask a few questions about Willa Harris. But Manning would have to wait.

 
“We have to celebrate,” John said. “Shoreline’s victory, Teddy’s goals and assist. Where do you want to have dinner, Ted?”

 
“Vesuvio’s Pizza!” he exclaimed.