Читать книгу Anything for Her Children - Darlene Gardner, Darlene Gardner - Страница 10

M ONDAY MORNING ARRIVED far too soon for Keri, the same way as always. Bryan, true to form, got ready for school in about fifteen minutes flat.

“I’m leaving, Rose,” she heard him call up the stairs to his younger sister. “Want a ride to school?”

“Can’t you wait?” Rose yelled back. She could be heard dashing about her room.

Bryan stuck his head into the kitchen, where Keri was packing a honey-ham-and-Swiss-cheese sandwich into a brown paper bag. Rose didn’t like the school cafeteria food but was running too late to make her own lunch. Keri didn’t mind doing it for her, and she wanted to be sure Rose wouldn’t skip eating altogether.

“Bye, Keri,” Bryan said.

“Do you have that paper for Coach Quinlan?” She had little doubt the coach would not be forgiving should Bryan forget it.

“In my backpack,” Bryan said, already moving toward the door. A few moments later, she heard the engine of his car start and the slide of tires over pavement as he pulled out of the driveway.

Keri finished packing Rose’s lunch, checked the clock, then yelled, “Rosie, you’ll miss the bus if you don’t hurry.”

“Can you drive me?” Rose called back.

The high school was across town in the opposite direction of the newspaper, which meant Keri would get to work a few minutes past the time she preferred to arrive.

None of her coworkers cared if she came in a few minutes late, but Keri did. To assuage her conscience, she’d either eat a quick lunch at her desk or stay late.

“Okay,” Keri hollered. “But I still want you to speed it up.”

Keri didn’t sit down in front of her computer in the advertising department of the Springhill Gazette until fifteen minutes past the hour, not entirely due to Rose.

A reporter, a security guard and one of the mailroom staff had stopped her on the way to the elevator to complain about Bryan’s suspension.

“New coach don’t have much sense.” Chester, the security guard, was a big burly man who’d played basketball for Springhill fifteen years ago. “Everybody knows Bryan’s cool.”

Everybody except Grady Quinlan.

Keri had swallowed her resentment and formed a diplomatic response. “It was just an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Then Bryan’s playing tomorrow night?” Chester asked.

“Friday night,” she replied.

“Damn fool coach.”

She relegated Chester’s astute comment to the back of her mind and navigated her mouse until her twenty-one-inch flat-screen monitor showed a page from the special advertising section she’d started to lay out last Friday.

The biggest sale of the year, she typed into a text box. Wasn’t that the way of the world, she thought. Everything cost less after the holiday shopping season.

“Morning, Keri.” Jill McMann approached from behind her and set a fragrant cup of cappuccino on the desk next to Keri’s computer. Mocha, her favorite flavor.

Keri breathed in the familiar scent, then smiled at her friend. “You’re too good to me.”

“Then it’s your turn.” Jill swept a hand down the lime-green sweater dress that looked great with her short black hair and pale skin. “Tell me you still can’t see my baby weight.”

“What baby weight?”

“Good answer.” Jill sank into her seat at the computer in the cubicle across from Keri’s.

Because Jill had filled Maddy’s position after Maddy died, Keri hadn’t been prepared to like her. But Jill had slowly won Keri over with her wry wit. It helped that Jill didn’t like sports and never talked basketball, two things Keri got enough of at home.

“I’ll deny this if you repeat it, but I’m glad I don’t have to change any more diapers until tonight. I swear Amy’s going for a world record.” Only a year older than Keri’s twenty-five, Jill had packed a lot of living into the past three years. She’d fallen in love, gotten married and had a baby girl who was now five months old. “So now that you’ve heard what I did this weekend, what did you do?”

“The usual. Laundry. Grocery shopping. Cleaning. Oh, and I helped Rose with a history project. She remembered on Sunday that it was due today.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jill said as she logged on to her computer. “Did you do anything for you? ”

“I saw a movie.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Jill gave Keri her full attention, her amber-colored eyes sparkling. “Which movie?”

“Romancing the Stone.”

Jill groaned. “That movie’s twenty years old. I thought you went out to the movie theater. Possibly with a man.”

“I don’t have time to date,” Keri said.

“You don’t make time to date.” Jill swiveled in her seat and crossed one long leg over the other. “Why, even Bryan’s dating. Did I tell you I saw him at Mario’s Pizza double-dating with Becky Harding and her boyfriend?”

Keri snapped to attention. “When?”

“Let’s see.” Jill tapped the end of a pen on her desk. “Over Christmas break. The Saturday before last.”

That didn’t make sense. The Snowball Dance had been before the break. If Becky was upset about not going with Bryan, why would she be hanging out with him? “Are you sure?”

“Positive. That Saturday was Kevin’s birthday. He got to choose the restaurant. Last year he picked La Fontaine, that fabulous French place about an hour from here.” Jill carried on, unaware she’d temporarily lost Keri’s attention.

“But this year we had Amy so he settled for Mario’s. Good thing, too, because she started screaming bloody murder when the waiter brought the food. Probably because she doesn’t have teeth yet.”

“Are you positive it was Becky Harding?”

Jill seemed taken aback by the question. “Yeah. I know Becky. The Hardings are neighbors of mine.”

“And Bryan was with her?”

“Not ‘with her’ with her,” Jill said. “Bryan was with some blonde. Becky was with her boyfriend. Jeremiah something or other.”

“Jeremiah Bowden,” Keri supplied. She didn’t know the boy personally but had heard Bryan mention his name several times.

“That’s it. Jeremiah Bowden. I remember Becky’s mom saying he’s on the football team.”

“What’s Becky like?” Keri asked.

“I couldn’t say, really. But I like her mom and her younger sister’s a sweetie. Her sister babysits Amy sometimes.” Jill slanted Keri a probing look. “Why all the questions?”

“No reason.” Keri squirmed in her seat, uncomfortable at the suspicious direction her thoughts had headed. Bryan would have a perfectly logical explanation for hanging out with Becky Harding. “I just like to know who Bryan’s dating.”

“You’re the one who should be dating. Have I told you that you need to get out more?”

“Hmm, maybe once or twice,” Keri joked. “And I do get out. I’m going to Bryan’s basketball game tomorrow night.”

“Like you’ll find an eligible man there,” Jill complained.

Keri pictured Grady Quinlan and wondered if a female had laid claim to him. Disgusted with herself, she shook off her curiosity. So what if the coach was good-looking enough to stop hearts? If Keri were to start dating again, she’d choose a man whose character she could admire.

That wasn’t Grady Quinlan, even if he had extricated her from that awkward situation with Tony.

“I don’t go to Bryan’s games to find men,” Keri said.

“I know. I know. You go to watch Bryan.”

Usually Jill’s comment would have been spot-on, but Bryan wasn’t even playing Tuesday night. Keri would go to the game, though, and not only to support the team.

She intended to get to the bottom of the Becky Harding mystery and to find out exactly why the girl had made so much trouble for Bryan. Even if she had to ask Becky herself.

M ARY L YNN M ARCO EXITED the kitchen of the split-level house she shared with her husband carrying two dessert plates with extralarge pieces of tiramisu.

“Here you go.” The smile she’d worn the entire evening didn’t waver as she put dessert plates decorated with showy flowers in front of Grady and Tony.

“Thanks,” said Tony without much enthusiasm.

“You’re welcome,” Mary Lynn answered in kind.

Grady picked up a fork and tried to look like he wasn’t about to burst from the extra helpings of rigatoni, bread and steamed vegetables she’d kept offering. “Is this the recipe you got from Uncle Vinny?”

Mary Lynn had phoned Grady over the weekend to invite him to dinner, claiming the single day he’d spent with the extended family in Johnstown over the Christmas holidays hadn’t been enough. She told him she’d be using recipes she’d talked Tony’s father into surrendering.

“Yes,” Mary Lynn said. “It’s layers of Italian sponge cake and mascarpone cream, although Tony’s dad’s tiramisu looks a lot better than mine.”

“Looks pretty good to me,” Grady said.

Mary Lynn adopted an even bigger smile, then sat down at the end of the table across from Tony and next to Grady. “I’m so happy you came tonight, Grady. Any cousin of Tony’s is always welcome here.”

Tony caught Grady’s eyes and raised his eyebrows. “You already told him that, Mary Lynn. Three times.”

Mary Lynn’s smile wavered, but only slightly. She was such a champion smiler she would have done well on the beauty pageant circuit. With her long curly blond hair, blue eyes and delicate features, she was certainly pretty enough. She was twenty-four, but seemed younger, partly because she was about five foot two.

She made an odd couple with the much more serious Tony, but Grady didn’t know how they’d hooked up. He and Tony had grown up on opposite ends of Pennsylvania, seeing each other at the occasional family get-togethers as children and even less frequently as adults.

“I’ll never get tired of you saying I’m welcome here,” Grady told Mary Lynn. “I like hearing how much you two enjoy my company.”

“Mary Lynn’s speaking for herself,” Tony said, his fork full of tiramisu suspended halfway to his mouth. “You made my life a living hell this past week by suspending Bryan Charleton.”

“You’re not going to start talking about that basketball player again, are you?” Mary Lynn even smiled when she was complaining. “Isn’t it enough that he’s back on the team?”

“Not when R.G. won’t let him play Tuesday,” Tony said.

“If Grady won’t let him play, he probably wants to make real sure the boy learns his lesson,” Mary Lynn said.

Grady slanted Mary Lynn a grateful look. “Exactly right.”

Tony’s dark eyebrows arched as he addressed Grady. “The way you learned a lesson from what happened at Carolina State?”

Grady felt as though Tony had cut into his flesh, then taken the shaker from the table and liberally sprinkled salt into his wound. “The two have nothing to do with each other.”

“Sure they do,” Tony said. “Right about now Bryan thinks life isn’t fair. Isn’t that how you felt when you couldn’t get another job coaching basketball?”

Did Tony honestly think Grady had tried to get another coaching job? Grady assumed Tony knew he’d been driving a truck by choice. Well, maybe choice was the wrong word. It certainly hadn’t taken much convincing for Tony to talk him into applying for the teaching position at Springhill.

“I didn’t look for another coaching job,” Grady said.

“You came to me when Fuzz had the heart attack, remember?”

Mary Lynn laid a hand on Grady’s forearm. “And he’s told me a dozen times how lucky Springhill is to have you. Isn’t that right, Tony?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “But I still wish he hadn’t suspended Bryan.”

Tony brought the tiramisu the rest of the way to his mouth. Grady dug in, too. The bitter, grainy taste of strong coffee hit him at the same time Tony reached for a half-empty glass of water beside his plate and drained it.

“What’s the matter?” Mary Lynn asked. “Did I mess up the recipe?”

“It’s fine,” Tony said, although it obviously wasn’t.

“I think you used coffee grounds instead of brewed coffee,” Grady told her.

“I’m so sorry.” She stood up and gathered up their plates with the barely eaten tiramisu. She blinked a few times, Grady thought to keep from crying. “I’ll clean up.”

When Mary Lynn was gone, Grady asked Tony in a quiet voice, “Don’t you want to make sure she’s all right?”

“She’ll be fine,” Tony said.

Grady wasn’t so sure, an observation that was proved true when he carried some dirty dishes into the kitchen and found Mary Lynn wiping tears from under her eyes.

He patted her awkwardly on the back. “Don’t cry, Mary Lynn. It’s only dessert.”

“That’s not why I’m crying.” She blinked a few times.

“Did you hear how polite Tony is around me? He couldn’t even tell me the tiramisu was awful.” Mary Lynn took a tissue out of the box and dabbed at her eyes. “Listen to me. Blabbing to you about my troubles. And you being Tony’s cousin.”

Grady’s desire to help Mary Lynn overrode his vaguely uncomfortable feeling at hearing her private business. “I’m family. Anything you tell me stays with me.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” she said, blinking up at him through damp eyelashes. “It’s just that I’ve been trying to get pregnant for almost a year, and I can’t get Tony to go to an infertility clinic.” She sniffed. “Sometimes I think it’s because he doesn’t want to have a baby with me.”

Grady would have issued a consoling statement if he hadn’t gotten the distinct impression that Tony had been hitting on Keri Cassidy, not the sign of a happily married man.

“I’m sorry.” Mary Lynn covered her mouth, her hand trembling, her expression miserable. “You’d think that after being married two years, I still wouldn’t be so jealous of her.”

“Of who?” Grady asked.

“Tony’s ex. You know he was engaged before he married me, right?”

Grady nodded, although he’d never met Tony’s fiancé. He’d been too busy trying to build a successful team at Carolina State.

“It’s hard living in the same town as her,” Mary Lynn said on a heavy sigh.

The same town…

“What’s her name?” he asked.

Mary Lynn took a shuddering breath before she replied, but Grady already knew what her answer would be. It was why the name had seemed familiar to him.

“Keri Cassidy,” she said.

K ERI STOOD ABOUT TEN FEET from the baseline Tuesday night, close enough to the Springhill High cheerleading squad that she had to guard against getting whacked in the face by a black-and-gold pom-pom.

At a few minutes past game time, every seat in the gym seemed to be taken. Keri’s only hope was if the group of parents she usually sat with saved her a seat.

“Watch out!” The tiny, dark-haired cheerleader at the end of the line shouted a warning.

Keri turned toward the court to see a player in black-and-gold valiantly trying to save the basketball from going out of bounds. He caught his balance before she could move out of the way, nimbly stepping between Keri and the cheerleader.

That’s when Keri realized who he was: Bryan.

He winked at her before running back on court, leaving her staring openmouthed after him. Against all odds, Coach Quinlan was letting him play.

The cheerleaders continued with their go-fight-win cheer, nearly deafening Keri. She looked toward the bleachers again and spotted an upraised hand waving wildly. It belonged to Lori Patterson, the mother of the senior point guard.

She headed up the aisle that cut through the bleachers, with fans craning their necks to see around her. Lori sat on the end beside the center aisle. She scooted over, creating nearly enough space for one person. Keri sat down, a portion of her right hip hanging over only slightly into the aisle.

“Hey, there.” Lori squeezed Keri’s knee. Short and compact with a fabulous complexion, she was about fifteen years older than Keri. But then, so were all the other parents, a fact that had once made Keri uncomfortable. Now she was used to it. “Where’s Rosie?”

“I couldn’t get her to come,” Keri said.

Lori nodded, her heart-shaped face full of understanding. Lori was divorced so usually came to the games alone, a reason Keri had gravitated toward her. They only socialized at basketball games but had become friends, sharing stories about their problems and triumphs with their children.

“She’s missing a show. Bryan already has six points,” Lori said, her face bright with excitement. Keri did a quick check of the scoreboard, noting that Springhill was up 10-8.

“Great steal, Garrett,” Lori yelled at the top of her lungs, calling out her son’s name. On court the wiry point guard had a two-on-one break, with Bryan running the lane adjacent to him. The defender committed to Garrett, who bounced a pass to Bryan. Bryan caught the ball in stride, took a long step and elevated over the rim. Holding the ball in one large hand, he thrust it through the rim.

The crowd went wild.

From the home team’s bench, Grady Quinlan, in a black dress shirt and gold tie, yelled something at Bryan. By the coach’s expansive gestures, it wasn’t something positive. The guy probably thought dunking was equivalent to showboating.

Unbelievable.

Maybe more mind-boggling was Keri’s expectation that reversing his decision to play Bryan would turn Grady into a kinder and gentler coach.

Yeah, right.

“It’s gonna be a close game,” Lori said breathlessly. “Westlake’s supposed to win their district, too.”

Lori’s comment proved prophetic—Springhill was leading by only two points at the half.

“Good thing for Springhill Bryan’s playing tonight,” Lori said, a huge smile wreathing her face.

“He should have played Friday night, too.” The speaker was Hubie Brown’s mother, Carolyn, who sat on the other side of Lori. A large woman who always dressed in bright colors, she never kept her opinions to herself. “I bet Coach Quinlan feels stupid for losing that game after what happened in school today.”

Lori’s head bobbed in agreement, as though whatever happened was common knowledge.

“What happened?” Keri asked.

Carolyn smoothed the sleeve of her orange sweater and widened her eyes. “Didn’t Bryan tell you?”

“I haven’t talked to Bryan since this morning,” Keri admitted. Her son left for the gym before she arrived home on game days because he liked to watch the junior varsity, which played before the varsity.

“Wait till you hear this.” Carolyn leaned closer, nearly knocking Lori over. “Becky Harding admitted she lied. Just came straight out and told Quinlan she made it all up.”

That explained Grady Quinlan’s uncharacteristic change of heart. He’d been forced to soften his stance.

“That’s great,” Keri said, but something didn’t add up.

“But why would Becky admit to that?”

“Guess guilt was eating her up,” Carolyn suggested.

“Maybe embarrassment, too. Everybody found out she had a thing for Bryan.”

“That’s something else that doesn’t make sense,” Keri said. “I heard she’s dating one of the football players.”

Carolyn slanted Keri a significant look and patted her on the hand. “You’re so young sometimes, Keri. If you can’t have the one you love, you love the one you’re with.”

Maybe, Keri thought. But if Becky was so resentful of Bryan, why had she been hanging out with him a few days after the Snowball Dance? Keri had asked Bryan that very question last night, and he’d shrugged it off. A chance meeting, he’d called it.

“Oh, look!” Lori pointed to a group of lithe young girls in black unitards who were running lightly onto the court, their toes pointed like ballerinas. “The dance team. I just love watching them.”

Loud music with a rap beat sounded over the public address system. Before Lori could get too entranced with the dancers, Keri leaned over and asked close to her friend’s ear, “Do you know which of the cheerleaders is Becky?”

Her attention focused on the smiling, dancing girls, Lori answered, “Sure do. The shortest one. Long, dark hair. Bangs. Sets up on the end.”

The very cheerleader who’d given Keri a heads-up when Bryan had come flying out of bounds. Keri scanned the gym for black-and-gold uniforms, locating the majority of the cheerleaders near the doors leading to the snack bar.

“Save my seat,” Keri told Lori, then descended the bleachers and walked directly to where Becky chatted with one of her squad members.

“Becky.”

The girl turned around, a puzzled expression on her pretty face as she tilted her chin to gaze up at Keri. Keri was of average height, but Becky wasn’t much more than five feet tall. Keri smelled the peppermint scent of the gum Becky was chewing.

“Yes?” Becky asked expectantly, a half smile on her face.

“I’m Keri Cassidy.” Most people in Springhill knew Keri had adopted Bryan and Rose after Maddy’s fatal accident, but Becky didn’t seem to be one of them. “Bryan Charleton’s mom.”

Becky’s smile vanished, her jaws stopped working on the gum and her posture turned rigid.

“If you’re here to ask me about that nutrition paper, I already took care of it,” she said in clipped tones.

“I heard you told Coach Quinlan you lied about writing it.”

Becky’s wary expression didn’t change but she said nothing.

“Why did you say you wrote the paper in the first place?” Keri persisted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Becky said, chomping down on her gum. “Bryan’s playing tonight. Isn’t that what everybody wanted?”

“Of course it mat—” Keri said, but Becky had already turned away, obviously having said all she was going to say.

Taken aback by the girl’s rudeness, Keri clenched her jaw. She thought about tapping the girl on the shoulder again, but creating a scene wouldn’t get her answers. She started back to her seat, nearly bumping into a woman with long, curly blond hair who was holding a foil-wrapped hot dog and a bottle of water. Mary Lynn Marco, Tony’s wife.

Their eyes met. Before Keri could say hello or even smile, Mary Lynn walked quickly past her, as though being chased by a hellhound. So much for letting the other woman in on the long-overdue fact that Keri wished her only the best of luck with Tony.

The half started almost as soon as Keri reached her bleacher seat, giving her little time to dwell on either Becky’s comments or Mary Lynn’s coolness. The two teams played at a breathtaking pace, exchanging baskets and the lead.

Keri had seen Bryan play basketball many times, but still marveled over how a boy who was so laid-back off the court could be so intense on it.

When Bryan got the ball at the three-point line with thirty seconds left and Springhill trailing by four, Keri knew the shot would be good even before the ball left his fingertips. The three-pointer brought Springhill within one, sending the crowd into hysterics.

“I can hardly stand how exciting this is,” Lori said, literally on the edge of her seat.

Westlake successfully inbounded the ball to its point guard, who dribbled up the court. From two seats away, Carolyn yelled, “Steal the ball.”

When the opposing point guard attempted to get the ball to a teammate, Bryan did exactly that, swooping into a passing lane out of seemingly nowhere to grab the ball out of the air. He raced down court, with two Westlake players hounding his every stride. The crowd roared as the clock ticked down to ten seconds.

Instead of forcing a shot when he was well defended, Bryan alertly passed to a teammate open under the basket. Joey Jividen. One of the younger boys on the varsity, Joey had entered the game when another player fouled out.

With nobody guarding him, Joey had an easy two points. The ball left his hand with plenty of time to spare. It banked off the glass, rattled around the hoop and rimmed out.

One of the opposing players grabbed the rebound but lost his footing and stepped on the end line. The referee blew the whistle, signaling possession would go to Springhill. The clock showed five seconds left to play.

“Time-out,” Grady yelled, forming his hands into a T.

The Springhill side of the crowd was silent, seemingly in shock. “How could you miss that gimme, Jividen?” A guy with a booming voice yelled from somewhere behind Keri.

“I’ll tell you how,” Carolyn Brown muttered. “Joey’s not very good. He shouldn’t even be on the court.”

“I think Joey does fine,” Keri said.

Carolyn harrumphed.

The Springhill players walked back to the huddle, with Joey at the rear, hanging his head.

Keri expected the hard-nosed Grady to go ballistic. He ignored Bryan and the other three players who’d been on the floor, walking past them to meet Joey.

Leaning his head close to the boy, he put his arm around him and said something meant for Joey’s ears alone. Keri got a glimpse of Grady’s face when he let Joey go and saw not anger, but determination.

He directed the five players who’d play the last five seconds to sit down so they could go over the strategy for the last play. Joey Jividen was one of the five.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the man behind her groused loudly, while on the sidelines Grady pointed to his clipboard. Murmurs went up from the rest of the crowd.

“He needs to bench Joey,” Carolyn said. “That boy’s gonna lose us the game.”

That boy, Keri thought, had just gotten a much-needed boost of confidence from his coach.

“I think Coach Quinlan’s doing the right thing,” Keri said.

“Bryan will take the last shot,” Lori predicted. “The best player always does.”

Everybody in the gym, including the opposing team, seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. Two Westlake defenders shadowed Bryan, clearly having been directed not to let him catch the pass.

Joey Jividen was the inbounder. He threw the ball not to Bryan, but to Lori’s son Garrett. Because the defender who should have been assigned to Joey was double-teaming Bryan, Joey had an unimpeded lane to the basket.

Garrett passed Joey the basketball at the same spot where Joey had just missed the shot. Joey caught it, arching the ball toward the basket and victory before time expired.

This time there was no doubt. The ball banked off the backboard and dropped straight through the hoop.

The crowd went wild, the Springhill players mobbing the boy who had gone from goat to hero in a matter of seconds. Keri joined in the cheers. Grady walked onto the court to where his joyous players congregated, but not to partake in the celebration. In an eye blink, he had the Springhill team lined up single file to shake the opponents’ hands.

It was only when the winning Springhill players were leaving the floor that Keri saw Grady pat young Joey Jividen on the back.