Chapter 17

His first Super Bowl.

With lots of nail biting and a couple of Hail Mary passes, the Riders had won their play-off games and had gone to the 2012 Super Bowl. And now, after a long sixty minutes of inspired play, the winning QB and his team stood in the Atlanta stadium watching the Lombardi Trophy being presented to the owners of the Riders. Millions of people had watched them accrue yard after yard, down after down, touchdown after touchdown. Mike could barely believe he was standing there, victory behind him. 

His folks were in the stadium, his brother, too, in the reserved section. He was well represented, but not by Lisa. He tamped down the anger and shrugged. He should be used to her absence by now. He should be used to celebrating without his wife and traveling alone. But it still stung. Snow had been threatening when he’d left Boston a week ago. Winter in New England always threatened snow. There was no way Lisa would leave and have Emily worry about planes and cars and creatures that bumped in the night. 

He heard his name over the sound system. Then a chorus from the stadium. “Brenn-an. Brenn-an,” they chanted. MVP? Was that what they were saying?  

Oh, man. This was a moment he’d never forget. The colorful crowds, the noise, the press box, the coaches and owners and teammates. He walked toward the podium as if in a trance. Took the microphone from the announcer. Found himself thanking everyone. Giving credit for the teamwork perfection of the offense and defense. Everyone was important. As he spoke what could have been trite throwaway lines, he realized he actually believed what he said. 

“A team is only as strong as its weakest link. I’m happy to say that the Riders are connected by a strong chain. Each man depends on the other, and that’s how we do it.”

No big secret there. Theory was great, but truth lay in the execution. Every quarterback in the NFL was probably listening to him now, but he wasn’t worried about leaking secrets. If they had the talent, it would show. If they didn’t, it would show, too. He’d been a starting QB for less than two seasons, but any doubts about himself disappeared. The writers called him a leader who respected his team, able to get the best out of each man because the respect was reciprocated. It was the only way to win. 

If he were truly respected by the Brennan home team, Lisa would have been in the stands today, despite Emily. He understood more than ever that he was merely a backup for her. He was more than a convenience, but not an equal partner. He was sick of it.

He’d just received the highest accolades an NFL quarterback could earn. A Super Bowl! A God-Almighty Super Bowl. And the winning quarterback would party alone that night. 

Or…maybe not.

He waved to all the fans. Someone out there would want to make him feel good later on. He’d turned down dozens of offers in the past. Not worth mentioning. Not worth thinking about. He was thinking now. 

#

Later that night, after the official celebration in the team’s private ballroom, Mike made his way into the hotel lounge. Brightly lit around the carousel bar, darker at the tables, the place hopped. One big party was underway. A few of his teammates sat at a corner table, surrounded by admirers. He made his way over.

“Sit right down, Mr. Quarterback.” A beautiful blonde with a purr like dark honey.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he replied and received her thousand-watt smile. The temperature in the room seemed to rise as high as Sommars’ eyebrows.

Mike held back his threatening scowl. Darrell had no business judging.

As though reading his mind, the wide receiver said, “Hey, man. Didn’t expect to see you. So, what’re you drinking?”

He caught the waitress’s eye. “Sam Adams, Dark. I’m from Boston.” He turned to his newest partner. “What would you like?”

“Do I have to say Southern Comfort because I’m from the south?” Her drawl caressed that dark honey in a Scarlett kind of way, but her sense of humor reduced her to real-people size. 

“I’m Mike Brennan,” he said, extending his hand.

“I know. Cassie O’Hara.”

“O’Hara? You’re kidding. I was just thinking…”

Her eyes lit up. “You northern boys get real snookered by the accent. It’s so cute to see.”

And that was enough for Mike. Ms. O’Hara’s I.Q. had just plummeted, or maybe it was her social skills. There was no denying the light touch as her fingers stroked his bare arm. 

“Hey, Cassie. Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Another blonde, just as pretty. “I want to meet the star of the show.”

“Then that would be me.” Darrell stood up and beamed at the newcomer. 

What a hoot! Mike began to laugh, drank his ale, and forgot about anything but having a good time. In thirty minutes, there were two dozen belles at his table. Sure, the same thing happened up north after a game, but he usually wasn’t around to notice. 

He could have had any of them. Or all of them. One by one, the guys departed with a new friend, but Mike remained. The girls were nice. Certainly attractive. Certainly willing. And he was certainly tempted. Hell, no one deserved to celebrate more than the winning quarterback.

How honorable did he have to be? Even now, he would rather have celebrated his first Super Bowl with Lisa. If life at home didn’t change, however, he didn’t know how he’d feel in the future.  

#

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

The Boston Globe

RIDERS RULE!!

THOUSANDS PACK DOWNTOWN TO CHEER TEAM

A snowstorm of confetti and paper couldn’t hide the grin on Mike Brennan’s face yesterday as he cradled the Super Bowl trophy like a baby. He and the entire Riders team led a parade through Boston with Mayor Dan Taylor, team owner Jack Mowery, and head coach Tom Knight. Each man took a turn hoisting the Lombardi Trophy as they traveled the 1.5 miles to City Hall in duck boats, Boston’s famous amphibious tourist vehicles.

It was only the second Super Bowl victory in the team’s fifteen years as a franchised operation.  Boston police estimated that over a million people came to celebrate from all over the New England states.

“And we’ll be back again next year,” said one exuberant fan. “The Riders are on a roll now, and I’m planning to take another day off from work in ’13.”

#

All would have been well at home if the pictures on the front page hadn’t included Mike with his arms around the twins, one boy on each side of him. Lisa hadn’t known they’d cut school yesterday along with hundreds of other kids. Mike hadn’t known, either. But when the parade had reached City Hall, the boys were in the front of the crowd, jumping up and down to catch his attention.

Caught it they did, and after a quick conversation with his coach, Mike urged them to the float.

“Your sister’s going to kill you,” he’d whispered.

They shrugged. “She worries too much.”

He didn’t comment. Just said, “Wave to the crowd, boys. And behave.”

That night he sat on the family room sofa watching Lisa pace the floor and listening to her mutter about dumb luck. It was blind, dumb luck that had kept her brothers safe in that melee.

“They’re just asserting their independence,” he consoled. “It’s perfectly normal at their age. And besides, they were together.”

“To egg each other on.” She looked at him. “I can’t let it go, or they might do something stupid again.”

If she weren’t so serious, he’d laugh. “It was the Super Bowl victory parade. Of course they wanted to see it. And of course they’re going to do stupid things again. That’s what being an adolescent boy is all about.” He told a few stories about David and himself growing up. “It’s all normal. My folks survived, so you can lighten up.”

Foot in mouth again. 

“Easy for you to say. I’ve never done this before, and I’m feeling my way. And just when I think I’m getting the knack, the kids change again. A new stage to contend with. Regardless…you heard my uncles at Christmas…I’m Grace’s daughter.”

Grace’s daughter. Not his wife. The truth hit him once more like a well-aimed football to the gut. And once more, a knot formed in his stomach as a trap tightened around him. She didn’t want couples counseling, she didn’t want to allow him fifty percent authority and responsibility for the children, so let the pieces fall where they may now. His temper flared.  

“You’re also Michael’s wife. How about me being Lisa’s husband? Just us. Just family. No other labels. Let’s try. It’s spring semester, and I’ve got more time, like last year. I can pick up the slack at home since you’re teaching again. I’m experienced now. You can trust me.”

Her eyes sparkled with hope—a glimpse of the old Lisa, the Lisa he’d fallen in love with. He felt himself grinning like a Cheshire cat right back at her. 

“Really?” she asked. “You’re right about this time of the year.”

“Having the boys with me at the celebration yesterday felt good. I love them, too. You should know I love all four kids.”

She almost hurled herself into his arms, kissing him like they were still in college, kissing him like their good times were just starting.

They never made it to the bedroom. Instead, they made love on the floor under the watchful eye of Rob and Grace, who smiled from the center of the quilt now hanging on the wall.

Michael’s wife and Lisa’s husband. Team Brennan. He wished their ideas meshed more often. About the kids. About the game. About their lifestyle. How could she question his love for the kids? He was getting tired of having to pick his battles.

“Hmm…Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you like to work with the decorators? I’m very willing to share that job!”  

#

Her husband had a passion for football. Jen’s was for financial management. Then there was Emily and her violin. More than a passion, perhaps, her survival tool. 

Lisa had been rehired at her prior school as a long-term sub. As she made her way through the corridors to teach her second-period American history class, she allowed herself one sigh of regret over her aborted education. One day…one day…she’d follow her own passion, but that day hadn’t arrived yet.

She entered her classroom with an unusual enthusiasm and energy. It was time to think like a professional educator, or at least give it a good try. The spring term had just started. Maybe she could up the game and keep these teenagers interested.

“You can put your books away,” she started, “because today I have a story.”

Instantly, the students settled in and waited. And that’s when Lisa made her first discovery. Story was a magic word.

“About ten years ago, the principal of a high school refused to permit the students in a journalism class to publish two articles in the student newspaper. The articles dealt with divorce and teenage pregnancy.” She filled in a few more details. 

“So, I’m asking you a question today: Should students writing for a school newspaper be subject to censorship by school officials? Or should they be protected by First Amendment rights?”

With her students in hot debate, the forty-five class minutes seemed to take only five. They’d brought up library book censorship issues, as well, and when the bell rang to change classes, they ignored it. She finally had to hustle them out the door. 

“We’ll pick up tomorrow,” she promised. Now, she had to figure out how to combine the regular curriculum with constitutional debate to ensure she’d cover all the required material by the end of the term. A happy challenge. She wanted to do this.

In the teacher’s lunchroom later on, she learned that word travels fast in a school building. 

“My math students were buzzing about you today, Lisa.”

Lisa turned toward Katie Roberts, an enthusiastic teacher only a few years older than she. “I hope in a good way.”

“I’d definitely say so. I think you hit on something with them. So, whatever it is, keep doing it.” 

Lisa felt the heat rising to her face. She definitely wasn’t used to compliments at work. “I love to debate legal issues, so I thought I’d give it a try with the class.”

Katie’s eyes shone. “Isn’t it exciting when you find something that works well? When the kids really respond? That’s the high point of teaching.”

Well, Katie Cohen was born to teach. Lisa hadn’t gotten excited about it before today. “I guess it can be pretty wonderful,” she replied. 

“I know you’re just starting out, but you might want to consider getting your master’s degree. Most classes are in the evening or on Saturday, and your salary will go up afterwards.”

Katie had no idea what Lisa’s true goals were because Lisa hadn’t shared them with anyone. Her dreams were her own business. Now, she was tempted. 

They sat together with some others, chatting, eating, reading the newspaper. From the corner of her eye, Lisa spotted the picture of Mike and the twins on the front page of yesterday’s paper and groaned. She hadn’t shared her personal information here, either, but somehow, she suspected that, little by little, the teachers had found out about her relationship to Mike. Her checks were mailed to the house under Delaney-Brennan. Most Bostonians knew their quarterback lived in Beacon Hill. From school secretaries to teachers was not a huge leap.  

She focused on her sandwich.

“The staff buzzes, too,” said Katie softly, pressing Lisa’s hand and darting a glance at the newspaper. “And a lunchroom is a place where gossip collects.”

Lisa nodded. She could either hide or face it head on. But if she outed herself, there would be no going back. She’d be a semi-celebrity from this day forward, something she’d tried to avoid. Glancing around the room, she identified a number of co-workers who’d become friendly to her during her tenure there, offering assistance, answering questions about procedures or students. She was comfortable with them…and by God, she could use some friends in Boston. 

She sat back in her seat and said, “So, how cute are my brothers on that front page?”