For the Children

She wanted to ask why he’d done that. And, of course, couldn’t. Kirk Chandler’s life choices were absolutely none of her business.

“I came to talk to you about the basketball tryouts yesterday.” They’d reached an outside door. Chandler held it open for her.

“Was Blake excited to make the team?”

“Yes.”

“He’s a good little player. And he’ll get better as the year progresses.”

Proud of Blake, pleased that her son was succeeding, Valerie accompanied Kirk Chandler toward the playground several yards away.

Blake’s success was a wonderful balm to her heart.

“He’s going to be a starter,” Chandler was saying, telling her about Blake’s aggressive footwork on the court.

Valerie frowned, confused. The man didn’t seem to realize that they had a problem here. He hadn’t asked about Brian at all, or even expressed any kind of regret for having to leave Blake’s twin off the team.

“I’m curious,” she said slowly, flicking a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Why didn’t Blake’s brother make the team?”

“He can’t keep up.”

“What does that mean?” Detachment, Val. “I shoot ball with my boys, Mr. Chandler,” she said, softening her tone. “Brian’s a much better shot than Blake.”

“Possibly.” Kirk Chandler stopped outside the gate leading to the playground, leaned his forearms on the top bars and looked over, silently assessing her. And then he spoke.

“Basketball takes energy, Ms. Simms. Lots of it. Brian has none.”

She pressed her lips together, as though blending her lipstick, although she’d chewed it off on the way from her car to the cafeteria.

“I can’t put him on the team because I can’t play him in a game.”

“He needs to be on that team, Mr. Chandler,” she said, trying to tone down her emotion. “I’ll make certain that his energy level is up to par.”

Being on the team would take care of that. It would make Brian eat.

Chandler glanced out at the still-empty playground. And shook his head.

“I told Brian he could practice with the team. And as soon as I see his strength and speed improve, I’ll consider letting him on. I still have an open spot.”

With a calm she didn’t feel, Valerie folded her arms across her chest. “I appreciate the offer, but being there with the boys, being constantly reminded that he isn’t good enough, won’t help Brian.”

She shook at the thought. Low self-esteem was at the root of Brian’s problems. There was no way she could expose him to something that would make that worse.

“You’d be surprised,” Chandler said, his conciliatory tone rankling her. “A lot of times it’s something like this that becomes a significant turning point in a boy’s life. If Brian wants to be on the team badly enough, he’ll get himself there.”

“No, he won’t, because I can’t let him do this.” Her words were sharper than she wanted. “Brian’s borderline anorexic, Mr. Chandler. Putting him out there every day, in front of his peers—as someone who can’t make the grade—could kill him.”

“The choice is yours,” he said, his gaze steady as it held hers. “But I think you’d be making a mistake. Brian wants to play basketball. If I thought there was any chance he could keep up, I’d have put him on the team for his heart alone. Instead of ‘killing him,’ as you say, this challenge could very well be what saves him.”

“Do you have children, Mr. Chandler?”

It was something she’d wondered more than once.

“No.” His gaze had returned to the swings and slide and open field ahead of them.

“I didn’t think so.”

“I was a boy once, though.” With the soft words, an odd tone had entered his voice.