Family Matters (8 page)

“Get it off,” Jennie said, not moving.

She raised a hand to brush it off but Michael stopped her. “No. Don't. It's a
sign.
” He made a pass over her head with his hands. “Stand there and see how long it'll stay.”

“Michael, I don't want to stand here all day with a bubble on my head!”

All three of them just looked at each other. Cody snorted first, and pretty soon they were all laughing so hard their stomachs hurt. Jennie's bubble had long since been exploded into oblivion. And still they laughed.

It had been ages and ages since they'd laughed together like this. And following on the heels of the incredible despair Michael had been feeling only days ago, it felt like a miracle.

He reached across Cody's legs and gripped Jennie's hand. How he hoped that she felt the miracle, too.

“Come on, Cody,” Jennie said. “Let's try sitting up again. Can you support yourself with this arm?”

“Yeah.”

“Watch this.” She showed Michael how to prop Cody's arm against the pillow like a tent pole. “There you go. Let's see how long you can do this. Michael, time him.”

Michael crooked his arm up so he could read the watch on his wrist.

I remember it now, Jennie thought. I remember why I fell in love with him. He cares so much about everything.

And I remember why I fell out of love with him. Because he cared more about everything else than he cared about me.

At that precise moment, Cody started to wobble.

Jennie grabbed an arm to stop him from falling.

Michael grabbed an arm to stop him from falling.

Which meant they all grabbed each other. And then, even though their middles were still aching from the last onslaught, the three of them started laughing all over again.

Mark Kendall stood in the doorway to Andy's apartment, hands in pockets, legs crossed, leaning jauntily against the jamb. He looked like a kid ready to play a practical joke on somebody. But this felt much, much better than a joke.

“Had to stop by,” he told Andy, straight-faced, when she opened the door. “I've got something for you.”

“What is it?”

He pulled the white legal-length envelope from his jacket and handed it to her. Andy ripped it open impatiently, tearing the paper in little accordion-folded chunks. She pulled the two tickets out and stared at them in puzzlement.

Mark didn't say anything. He just stood there, waiting for her to figure it out.

“Burn tickets? For tonight's game?”

“Yeah.” Mark shrugged. “Just thought it was something you might want to be in on.”

Andy hated to dampen Mark's spirits, but she hadn't attended a game since Buddy Draper had retired. She didn't think she wanted to do it now. “What would I want to be in on?”

“You should be thanking me, you know,” he said instead of answering her question. “This game sold out two weeks ago. I had to work miracles to get tickets, especially after the paper came out with Harv Siskell's announcement.”

“What announcement? What did Harv Siskell say?”

“Ah,” Mark said, grinning.

“Well?” She couldn't help it. She almost shouted, he had her so frustrated. “What's going on?”

“Perhaps you should take a look at today's paper. Or maybe you should Google the Burn to see what's going on.”

Andy rushed off to find the paper. Returning with it to the living room, she scattered it in sections across the sofa. “What exactly is it that I'm supposed to read?”

“Try the sports section,” Mark suggested. “Page eight.”

She counted through the section with her thumb then opened the page, shaking it once to dispense with the wrinkles.

“You see it?”

She scanned the page. “Just a minute…let me…”

Then she saw the headline.

Draper rejoins team,
it read.
Former player to coach Burn beside Harv Siskell.

“Buddy's back” the story began. And, really, that was all she needed to know. She stared at the dark newsprint, unable to read because her vision was blurring.

“So,” Andy said, still leaning against the jamb. “Maybe the guy listened to you after all.”

“Buddy had a hard time listening to anybody.”

“You never know—” Mark pointed out “—what an impact you might have made on somebody's life.”

Andy threw the newspaper at her brother, trying to cover the conflicting emotions churning within her.
Especially to me. Especially to a God who wanted to take charge of Buddy's life.

Mark fended off the paper with both hands. The sport section fluttered to the floor. “So what do you say?” he asked.

“I say he'll make a great coach. Coaches are good at bossing people around and not listening to a thing anybody tells them.”

“Hey,” Mark said, grinning. “I take exception to that. I'm a coach, too, remember?”

“Oh. Sorry. Forgot that,” she said, eyes wide, feigning innocence.

“No, you didn't.” As he spoke, he fashioned page eight into a giant airplane and sailed it back at her.

She sobered for a moment, looking down at the airplane by her feet. “I guess I should read the rest of the story.”

“Doesn't matter. I'll tell you on the way to the game. How do you feel about all this, Andy?”

“I don't know,” she said honestly, knowing she could never sort out everything inside her heart just now. “I'm glad for him. And sorry it took this long in coming. I feel like he lost so much.”

“I'd say late is better than never. Tonight's his first night back on the field. I knew you'd want to be there.”

“Buddy! Buddy!” the lady shrieked from behind him. “Good to have you back, Buddy!”

He turned and acknowledged her with a nod, then waved at another fan higher in the stands who was holding up a banner that read:
WELCOME BACK
,
BUDDY
.

Harv, standing with arms crossed, leaned sideways and said, “See? I told you, didn't I? They haven't forgotten you. They won't for a long time.”

“Tell me this isn't a marketing ploy by the front office, Siskell,” he growled. He was already perturbed by the carefully orchestrated press releases that hit the stands this morning. “Tell me you really want me standing beside you telling these poor players what to do.”

“Hey,” Harv said. “We brought you back, and the Galaxy brought back Beckham. I'd say front offices all over this league are working at marketing ploys.
But
,” Harv said, grinning, “I really want you standing beside me telling these poor players what to do.”

Buddy stared straight ahead. The Comets' left forward kicked the ball toward the Burn's goal. Miraculously, the keeper blocked and deflected the ball to the right side.

Buddy crossed his arms just like Harv and concentrated on the game. He still had a lot to learn. But though he didn't say anything to Harv, standing on the field with the huge lights above was everything he needed, whether the fans remembered him or not. The tart, earthy scent of the stadium, of fast food, of the players. The sharp surreal sounds of the whistle blowing and the crowd cheering and the glare of the lights. The players grunting with exertion and the smack of leather or leg against the spinning ball.

Thank you so much, Father
, he thought,
for showing me my own pride. Thank you so much for bringing me back here.

Chuck Kirkland, left forward, trapped the ball and crossed it to the left side. Marshall Townsend, striker, passed the ball back to the defender, who passed it to the right forward.

“That's a clear shot,” Harv shouted, jerking his arms to his sides. “Take it, Spooner!
Take it.
”

Spooner trapped the ball and shot it back toward Townsend. Marshall took the shot. The Comets' keeper blocked it with his fist, smacking the ball off to the left side.

Harv pounded his fist against his open palm to accentuate each word. “No. No. No! Spooner, what were you thinking? Townsend couldn't make that shot!”

Buddy commented offhandedly. “If he'd made it, you'd have been slapping him on the back and taking both those guys out for a New York strip dinner.”

Harv growled. “I would have let him have a piece of my mind. For a chance at stardom, he turned down a sure thing. The only player I've ever had who could make those shots was you.”

The halftime discussion was peppered with Harv's colorful phrases and a handful of diagrams on a dry-erase board on the sidelines. Buddy stood rigidly by his boss's side, feeling that he had nothing to contribute. A few minutes into the discussion, he turned his head sideways a bit and, for one moment, he thought he saw a vision. He saw her climbing up the steps in the stands not far from him, wearing a bright red dress, carrying a bag of popcorn. “Andy…” But she wouldn't be here, not after the way he'd treated her, not after everything that had gone between them.

But there had been a time when she believed in me more than I believed in myself. There had been a time when she believed in God more than he did, and maybe that had helped her see things he couldn't.

Buddy straightened his back, shifted his gum to the other side of his mouth, and turned to the players. Harv had already moved down the line after finishing with Townsend. The team was just starting back on to the field. “Hey, man,” Buddy hollered at Townsend, a teammate he'd played beside not so very long ago. “I only have one thing to add to that chewing out you just got from Siskell.”

“Well,” Townsend tensed, he was waiting for Buddy to heap the criticism on, too.

“If you try a shot like that next time—” Buddy shouted, smiling “—just be sure you're going to make it.”

T
he next morning, as Jennie lay in bed halfway between sleep and wakefulness, the telephone rang. “It's me,” Michael said without preamble. “Cody's doctors just called. Can you meet us at the hospital some time today.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What is it? Is he sick again? What's wrong?”

“He's fine, Jen. But his doctors have written an evaluation on him. They're presenting the results and they want us there.”

“What time?”

“They'd like us there about nine-thirty.”

“I'll see you then.” She threw back the covers and started in on another day caring for her son.

When she arrived at the hospital, Michael was waiting for her in the lobby. “Am I late?”

“No,” he said. “Just on time.”

They stood there, looking at one another.

“We probably should sit down,” he said, breaking the silence between them. Yesterday, the silence had been comfortable. The laughter had been so spontaneous. Today, it was not.

They sat as though frozen, within hands' reach but not touching, barely breathing.

The seconds ticked by, until Andy entered the room and motioned for them to follow her. As they walked toward the doctors' conference room, Michael didn't take Jennie's hand the way he had yesterday and the day before. The easy rapport between them was gone.

Michael had wondered if Cody would be at the meeting. He was glad now that he would not be. This wasn't the place for a child, certainly not one whose dreams hung in the balance of what the doctors might tell them.

The interns filed in one by one. Jennie glanced at Michael, wondering if he could still see himself in these somber young people who stood waiting to declare a verdict on their child. One of them handed Michael a manila folder that contained the typed report.

“This outlines Cody's progress and will tell you what we expect from him during the next months,” the intern began. “We will go over it with you verbally now. Tonight you can go over it together and contact us if you have questions.”

So cold. So clinical. A little boy's limbs…their little boy's life…

“We can't promise you anything,” the intern continued.

“Well,” Michael said impatiently. “Tell us what you can. Please.”

“We believe Cody's muscle control may come back over time, especially in his arms.”

“And…”

“His legs may be more difficult to bring back.”

“Which means?” Michael took a step toward them, daring them to tell him the worst.

“We believe Cody will
not
be able to walk again.”

“What?”

“We don't believe that your son will be able to walk in the future.”

“No.” It was too much for Jennie. “Don't say that.”

She took one step forward and Michael grabbed her arm. “Nobody knows, Jennie. You mustn't lose heart. They have to give us their opinion, but it might not mean anything. Not really.”

And because it's part of the profession the intern continued. “We recommend surgery on the left leg. The muscle tightness there could pop your son's hip out of joint. We'd recommend severing that muscle before it causes a problem.”

“No,” Jennie whispered. She turned tear-filled eyes toward Michael.

“But you've got to know that while severing the muscle will solve the problem with the bone, the resulting damage to the muscle will leave it permanently weak.”

Michael turned back to the interns, knowing from the sudden slump of Jennie's shoulders that he had to get her out of the room fast. “Thank you.” He tucked the folder under his arm and steered her toward the door. “We'll go over this. Then we'll get back to you.”

He didn't let go of her elbow. They walked out side by side, their heads held high, past the row of interns and doctors who thought they knew Cody's fate.

How could you have ever been so pompous,
Michael thought.
How could I have ever been so sure that I knew someone's fate?

“You want to go in and see Cody?” he asked her.

Jennie shook her head. She couldn't bear that right now. “No. I can't.”

“Come on, Jennie. Let's go for a walk.” He wanted to take her outside into the beaming sunshine and into the fresh air, any place that might bring them peace after the news they'd just received. But he knew they wouldn't find peace anywhere.
Oh Father
, he prayed.
Help us
. As they started toward the stairwell, they passed the small gymnasium where Andy conducted her sessions.

“Simon says,” Andy's voice rang out, “put your finger on your nose.”

Five children, all happy and sitting in line in wheelchairs, touched their noses.

“Good,” she said. “Very good. Now. Simon says wiggle your right hand.”

Five right hands wiggled.

“Now, wiggle your left hand.”

One left hand wiggled.

Jennie halted in the doorway, riveted to the scene. Michael gripped her forearms and hung on to her. He wanted to be her life preserver. “Michael.” She looked up at him like someone drowning. “Please. Take me somewhere. Get me out of here.”

“Come on.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist, propelling her to safety. They raced down the steps and burst through the polished glass doors.

She took her first desperate, labored breaths of fresh air while Michael held her up.

“How can they say that?” she said, her voice raspy with pain. “How can they stand there and say that to our faces and expect us to accept that he won't walk again?”

He gripped her shoulders. “They had to do it, Jennie. They're doctors. They have to assess the situation as they see it.”

“Who gave them the right to pronounce that sort of sentence on his legs? Who gave them the right to tell us what Cody can or can't do?
Who gave them the right?
”

“Jennie.” He held her at arm's length. “Stop and think about it.
We
did. We gave them the right. We wanted to know what they had to say.”

She looked into his eyes, his dear gentle eyes that had calmed her during so many storms, that had been as cold as death once, looking at her from across a courtroom. Today, in the blaring sun, they held every bit as much pain in their sea green depths as they had held then. Pain. And frustration. And anger.

Anger. She stopped short, realizing it for the first time.

“You aren't accepting what they're selling, either.”

“I'm not accepting it.”

“Why?” And, in the moment she asked it, she saw him flinch. She could answer the question for herself. She could see it in his expression, too. “You've done the same thing to someone.”

He struggled to make her understand. “It's a judgment call. It's one of the most difficult things a doctor has to do.”

For the first time, she saw what he had been up against all along in his work, and their marriage. She hadn't known that he'd had to make these kinds of calls when he'd left her every day. That realization came as another blow.
He failed me in our marriage. But maybe I failed him, too. How much of a buffer could I have been for him then?

He hugged her around the shoulders as she went to him, nestling against him as he held her there. Despite her sorrow or, perhaps, because of it, she clung to him without reservation now, without restraint. And the emotion that soared within her made her feel as if she were balancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice.

Here was the attractive fair-haired boy she'd fallen in love with once.

Here was the grown man she'd grown disillusioned with and disappointed in.

Here was the man she wanted to kiss her more than she'd wanted anything in her life.

He hadn't shaved this morning and the prickles of hair left dark contours around a jaw that had once been less severe, not so firmly set and a mouth much more prone to widen into a smile. His eyes, the true green color of the grass after spring rains, spoke volumes. They told her what she instinctively had already known. He wanted a kiss just as much as she.

He whispered her name. “Jennie.”

When she felt him holding his breath, it was as if time had stopped, as well. Ten years ago…six years ago…four…

He bent toward her. His touch, not as soft as it once had been but grittier now, was more demanding. He purposefully moved toward her mouth, and she turned slightly, knowing how well their lips fit together.

For a moment she was nineteen again and he was twenty-one and it was the first time they'd touched each other. He held her so close she could scarcely breathe.

Neither of them was the same as they'd once been. They were tied together by a painful past, and by their love for the little boy who lay in the bed on a floor above them.

His hands went to her shoulders and he held her slightly away. When he did, she saw the empty indentation on his finger where his wedding ring once had been.

She saw a broken marriage and years of pain.

She saw the nights Michael hadn't come home and the ways she'd accused him of abandoning her.

She saw all the ways they had failed each other.

“Michael?” she asked reluctantly. “What are we going to do about the surgery?”

He broke their gaze for a moment. He stared up at the clouds drifting by above them. “We're going to let them do it.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and looking determined. “We can't.”

“What do you mean ‘no'? You heard what they said. The surgeon recommended it.”

“She
recommended
it. Dr. Phillips didn't say it was something we had to do.”

“Believe me, Jennie. The woman knows what she's talking about.”

“But you said yourself it was a judgment call.”

“An educated judgment call. Jennie, we'll have a meeting with her and discuss it. But I already know what she's going to say. The orthopedic surgeon here has a wonderful reputation. She's trained for years to deal with situations like this one.”

But Jennie wasn't giving up. “I was in Cody's room when the surgeon examined him. She came Tuesday morning at seven-thirty. Andy hadn't even had a chance to come in and work with Cody's legs yet. He was stiffer than I've ever seen him. The doctor didn't see him at his best.”

“Fine, then. We'll get a second opinion. Is that what you're telling me you want?”

“I'm telling you that even if we get a second opinion, I won't be able to agree to let them damage a perfectly healthy muscle.”

“Jennie, the doctors wouldn't suggest it if they didn't think it was the best thing for him.”

“Twenty minutes ago you told me there is always hope. Now you tell me there isn't any.”

For the first time, Michael's impatience was evident in his voice. “That isn't what I'm telling you at all. If Cody's hip comes out of the socket, he could be in pain for the rest of his life.”

“But what if it doesn't happen?” she insisted. “What if we ruined Cody's leg muscle for nothing?” Why, just once, couldn't they agree on something as important as their son?

“You'll have your way no matter what happens. We have joint custody. They won't agree to surgery without both of us consenting.”

“The surgery would make it so much harder for him to keep moving forward. Everything in me says we should avoid surgery at all costs.”

“And everything I know,” Michael told her stiffly, “leads me to believe we should follow a doctor's guidance.”

She stood before him, nose to nose, bristling with defensiveness. “Because you're a doctor, too,” she said.

“Yes.”

“You may be a doctor. But you're also human,” she stated. “Humans make mistakes.”

“Yes. You seem to always need to remind me of that.” He stared at her angrily, his eyebrows in a tightly knit curl, his face as hard as granite. “You aren't going to let me forget that, Jennie, are you?”

“Not—” she said quietly “—as long as my son's future hangs in the balance.”