The words were a sucker punch that left her breathless. "How do you know that?"
"Just cause my glasses are thick as Coke bottles doesnt mean I cant still see my little girls heart. I hear the way you talk to Jack . . . and the way you dont talk to him. I know an unhappy marriage when I see one. "
"Come on, Daddy, youve been married two times, and wildly in love with both of your wives. You cant know about . . . " She shrugged, uncertain of how to proceed. "Whatever it is Im going through. "
"You think I never had my heart broken? Think again, missy. Your mama about killed me. "
"Her death broke all our hearts, Daddy. Thats not the same thing. "
He started to say something, then stopped.
She sensed that hed been about to reveal something. "Daddy?"
He smiled, and she knew it had flown past them, whatever opportunity had almost existed. As usual, he wouldnt say anything about Mama. "Show me one of those pretty turns Anita taught you. " He spun her around and gave her a gentle push.
She pirouetted until she was dizzy. Then, breathing hard, she slowed down. In a lazy, swirling arc, she glided across the ice.
Jack came up beside her, half skating, half walking clumsily. His breath shot out in broken, cloudy white gusts. He grabbed her hand, squeezing hard. "Is this archaic southern ritual almost over? Any more quality traditional time and Ill probably fracture my hip. "
Elizabeth couldnt help smiling. There were so few things Jack couldnt do well. Frankly, it was nice to be the accomplished one. "You could stand by the fire. "
He glanced in that direction. Edward and Anita were there, cozying up to one another. "And talk to your father? No thanks. Last night he practically called me an alcoholic--while he was sucking down his fourth bourbon-and-soda. "
"He doesnt understand what you do for a living, thats all. "
"Thats not true. He thinks I do nothing. He thought playing football was useless; talking about football is even worse. "
Jack almost fell; Elizabeth steadied him. "Its what we think that matters. "
"I cant wait for you to see the interview I did. What happened was . . . no, wait. Let me start at the beginning. About a week ago . . . "
Youre missin out on your own life.
She wanted to listen to her husband, but her mind kept drifting back to her fathers words. It was just another of Jacks look-at-me stories, anyway. Shed heard enough of them to last a lifetime.
Life is short, her dad had said.
She knew it was true. Every motherless child knew that.
But just now, with her husbands voice droning on and on, she couldnt quite grasp hold of that.
Because there was something else, equally true. When you were forty-five years old and missing out, it felt as if life were very long indeed.
In an ordinary year, the week after Christmas was quiet, even dull. A time for boxing up ornaments and taking down decorations, for eating leftover turkey sandwiches and watching old movies on television.
Elizabeth hadnt been back in Echo Beach more than twenty-four hours when she realized that this was not going to be an ordinary year. Theyd been in the Nashville airport on December 27 when Jack received the first phone call. She hadnt thought much about it at the time, hadnt understood yet that their life had altered in the past week. While shed been relaxing with her family in Tennessee, things in Oregon had undergone a subtle shift.
Jack was a hero again.
The Drew Grayland story had broken on the day after Christmas. The next day hed been arrested, charged with rape. The story immediately went national. The National Enquirer ran it as a cover piece.
All across the country, people sat in bars, arguing over the case. What was date rape? When does no mean no? Can a woman "ask for it"? Do ordinary rules apply to extraordinary athletes? These questions and others were suddenly on the menus in diners all across America. Radio hosts asked their listeners for opinions; op-ed pieces popped up in newspapers from Portland, Oregon, to Portland, Maine.
From the second Jack and Elizabeth got home, the phone never stopped ringing. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to interview Jack. Hed become a story himself. After all these years in partial obscurity, he was famous again. Not like hed been in the past, certainly, not a household name, but somebody.
It wasnt as if just anybody had broken the Drew Grayland story.
Oh, no. The story had been brought to America by a man whod once been a god, then stumbled and lost his way. His reemergence into the heat of fame was a story all by itself. Aging, overweight, unhappy men from California to New York saw Jackson Shores return and thought: Maybe it could happen to me . . . maybe life could turn around in an instant.