Chapter 6

Ella reread the syllabus she’d put together for her new Spanish course. Satisfied with the final version, she saved the document and hit Print so she could take it to the department office and make copies for her students. Most professors asked the department secretary to do those things, but she preferred to handle it herself rather than wait. Besides, she had time to kill before she met with Maryann, the current director at Prism.

Syllabus in hand, she took the final sip of her iced coffee, although now it was more watered-down coffee than iced coffee. She’d picked up the extra-large drink on her way in and it’d taken her this long to finish it.

“I was about to call you,” Abigail said when Ella walked into the Foreign Language department office. “Someone delivered this for you while I was at lunch.”

Around the same age, they’d both started working at the university within a month of each other. Despite their closeness in age, they’d never developed a friendship outside of work. They did at least have a good working relationship, which was more than Ella could say about some of the other professors in the department and Abigail.

“Thanks.” Suspecting she knew who the teddy bear holding the pretty flowers was from, she checked her office mailbox and then popped the syllabus into the copy machine. As the machine spit out copies, she plucked the card off the bear and read it.

Wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. Looking forward to the weekend. Love, Striker.

After leaving the emergency room Sunday night he’d dropped her off, giving her nothing more than a whisper of a kiss and a promise to call the next day. Since then they’d spoken each night, but she hadn’t seen him. During their conversation the previous night, he’d asked her to keep this weekend free because he had something special planned. He’d refused to give up any other details, but if he called tonight she planned on trying to get it out of him again. No matter what the plans, though, she hoped it turned out better than Sunday. Then again, could a date (she didn’t know what else to call it) get much worse?

While it’d started out okay, the night had deteriorated almost right away with Cora and then the fight. For a moment, her stomach got queasy as the memory of the blood on Striker’s arm came forward. God, she hated the sight of blood. Even as a kid, when either she or someone else scraped a knee or elbow it made her sick. Once she’d taken a bad spill off her bike and cut up both her hands and knees. It been such a bad scrape she still had a scar on her right knee. After seeing the blood drip down her legs, she’d thrown up before she even managed to get off the ground.

Sunday, she’d somehow managed to keep her food down while the paramedic treated Striker, but she didn’t know how. When they got to the hospital, she’d sat with him until someone came to stitch him up, and then she’d stepped outside the room. But even being outside, her stomach had rebelled as she kept picturing the scene on the other side of the curtain. She had no idea how people in the medical field, like Striker’s mom, who was a nurse, handled it every day.

“Whoever sent them must care a lot. My husband doesn’t send me flowers anymore. When we met he did, but he stopped after we got married,” Abigail said, frustration punctuating each word.

Ella assumed this was the woman’s way of asking who the present was from. “It’s complicated.”

Abigail laughed sarcastically. “Aren’t relationships always? Sometimes I wonder if they’re worth it. But the flowers are nice and look good in these drab offices. Of course, anything would improve this place.”

Ella remembered Abigail getting married the first summer she’d been there, but as far as she knew the secretary hadn’t invited anyone from work. Since then the woman rarely spoke of her husband, and she didn’t have any pictures of him or anyone else on her desk. The only picture she did have was of a dog and a cat. Ella found it odd, but never asked questions. If Abigail wanted to share details about her family life, she would.

“The offices could use a fresh coat of paint.” Although Ella disagreed with Abigail’s assessment of relationships, she didn’t plan on trying to change her mind. Judging by her tone and comments, a short conversation wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

Collecting her copies, Ella said goodbye and left. After a quick stop in the office she shared with another associate professor, she headed off campus and back toward North Salem.

Located on Fender Drive near Peggy Sue’s Café, Prism Dance Studio remained the only dance studio in town. Before it’d opened sometime in the early ’80s, anyone in town who wanted to dance went into either Salem or Danvers. When Michelle Santos, a woman who’d danced her entire life, moved to town with her new husband, she’d found that unacceptable. Within a year of moving to North Salem, she’d opened Prism. Since then the school had grown, and now had students from not only North Salem but neighboring towns as well. Ella had taken her first ballet class in preschool there and been hooked. Growing up, she’d practically lived at the dance school. The only other activity she’d participated in was soccer, sometimes going straight from soccer practice to dance. After she graduated from college, Michelle asked her to teach at the school. Ella hadn’t hesitated to accept the offer.

When Michelle and her husband decided they’d had enough of the cold New England winters, she’d turned the studio over to her niece, Maryann, and they’d become snowbirds. Although no longer in charge, Michelle did frequently pop into the studio once the warmer months rolled around and they moved back North. With no classes going on today, Ella doubted Michelle would be around.

The light bounced off the various trophies around the waiting area, and the cubbies intended for students to store their stuff remained empty. In another week, the area would be full of noise. Today, though, only classical dance music reached Ella’s ears.

Like most days, the office door remained open, and Maryann sat behind the desk.

“Hey, Ella. Come on in,” Maryann greeted when she looked up and saw Ella standing in the doorway. “I didn’t hear the door open. The music must be too loud.” Reaching for the remote on the desk, she lowered the volume. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me, too. I missed everyone.”

“Did you bring any pictures with you?” Unlike Ella, Maryann had never traveled outside the United States. In fact, until recently she’d never even left the East Coast.

Ella took the seat opposite Maryann’s desk. “Didn’t think of it. Next time.” Ella looked at the various colored file folders on the desk; each one had a name printed on it. “Are those this year’s class lists?”

Maryann grabbed the zebra-print folder and handed it over. “Yup. Registration closed Monday, and I spent all yesterday and this morning putting the lists together.”

Two weeks earlier, Ella had received an e-mail with a preliminary roster for each of her four classes. She doubted the ones in the folder would be much different. In the past, the lists that had come out earlier in August weren’t much different from the final ones. Perhaps two or three more students, but most people had decided on their children’s activities long before now.

“I think only your Tuesday night level-two hip-hop class gained a few students.”

She shoved the folder under her purse. She’d look it over later and adjust the dance numbers accordingly.

“Everyone else should be here around five. I asked you to come early because I want to talk to you about something.” Maryann stacked up all the file folders and added them to the pile of dance costume catalogs. “But first I’ve got to ask, are you and Striker back together?” Maryann’s smartphone started ringing, but after checking the caller ID she hit Decline. “Sue told me she saw you and Kelsey sitting with him. And Becky overheard you tell Steve you’d drive Striker to the emergency room.”

She’d known people would start speculating after they saw them at the block party. Surprisingly, though, no one had said anything to her before now. “Not exactly.” Ella searched for a good word to describe the situation between them. “We’re spending time together. Seeing what happens. It’s possible next week you’ll see him with someone else.”

Again, an image of him and Cora surged up and an unusual urge to hit someone overcame her. Violence wasn’t her thing. She’d rather ignore someone than get into any type of fight, including a verbal one. Picturing Striker with other women, though, kept bringing out the worst in her.

Maryann didn’t say anything at first. She’d always been one to think before she spoke. “For some reason, I don’t think so.” She shrugged slightly. “The two of you seemed perfect for each other. And all relationships hit tough spots. I think this time it’ll last between you guys.”

Ella hoped her friend was right. The tiny walls she’d built up around her heart in the spring were already falling down. It wouldn’t take much more time around Striker before they no longer existed. “We’ll see. So, what did you want to talk about?”

“In January, Gage and the band are going on their first nationwide tour,” Maryann said, referring to her forever boyfriend, Gage Larson.

“That’s incredible. He’d better get me tickets when he plays around here.”

“Don’t worry. When they play in Boston, I’ll make sure you get some.” There was no mistaking the excitement in Maryann’s voice. And Ella didn’t blame her. It wasn’t every day your boyfriend became a famous musician. “When the band goes on tour, he wants me to come with him. I already told him I would.”

Put in a similar situation, she probably would’ve made the same decision.

“Except for maybe my aunt, no one loves this place as much as you. I was wondering if you’d take over as director in January when I leave. You know everything about the studio, and both my aunt and I trust you.”

She’d never expected this. “Seriously?”

Maryann nodded. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Some months I do nothing more than order toilet paper,” she said with a laugh. “Recital time is wicked crazy, but you know that. And in the summer when you’d put together the new class schedules and deal with registration, you wouldn’t be at the university. So, even though it’s a lot of work, it wouldn’t interfere with your teaching.”

Besides taking care of the dance studio, Maryann also worked as a hair stylist at the Hair Cottage, so what she offered couldn’t be a full-time position. Or at least she used to work there. If Maryann planned on leaving in January, she’d be giving her notice there, too, if she hadn’t already.

“Will you come back after the tour is over?” Before she said yes or no she wanted more information.

“Probably not. Gage wants to move. In some ways I do too. He’s out looking at places in California and Arizona now. He keeps sending me pictures and updates on his progress. He’s sent so many I don’t know how we’ll ever narrow it down.”

She’d noticed Gage hadn’t been at Jessie and Mack’s wedding with Maryann. She’d hoped there had been a good reason for it. Sounded like there had been.

“Assuming he finds the right place, we’ll move there after the tour. He’s talking about buying something nearby, too, for when we visit.”

Agreeing to something for a year or so was one thing. A commitment like this required more consideration. “Do you need an answer now?”

“Nah, sometime in October would be good, though. That’s when I’m leaving the Hair Cottage and when we’re getting married.”

“He finally asked you to marry him? When? Why didn’t you call and tell me?” Everyone had expected Gage and Maryann to get married years ago. They’d started dating in high school, and even when he graduated and went to college they’d stayed together. After he earned his degree, they’d gotten an apartment together and then later a small house. A lot of Maryann’s friends, Ella included, had started to think Gage never planned on asking her. Of course, none had shared their theory with her.

“Well,” Maryann began, drawing the word out, and Ella noticed for the first time that, while she didn’t have a diamond on, Maryann did have a beautiful emerald ring on her left hand. One she didn’t remember seeing before. “He didn’t exactly ask. A few nights before he left to go house hunting, he said he wanted to get married before the tour. We booked a trip to Antigua in October and made the arrangements. Then the day he left for California he came home with this.” She pointed to the emerald. “Other than family, we’ve only told a handful of people. If we tell too many, everyone in town will know. And then people will make a big deal out of it.”

Ella agreed. Word spread quickly. When Gage and his band got their recording contract, the news had spread like lightning. By the end of the day everyone in North Salem had known.

Out in the waiting area the door opened, and Ella guessed the other dance instructors were arriving for the annual beginning of the year meeting. She got along with all of them, but one she really disliked. She couldn’t explain exactly why, but something about the Irish Step teacher the school hired two seasons ago drove her nuts. Thankfully, they didn’t have much interaction with each other except at meetings like this and then at recital time.

“Promise. I won’t tell anyone. But I want to see the pictures of the wedding when you get back.”

Maryann gathered up her materials. The office was too small for everyone, so any group meetings were always held in the waiting area. “I know. That’s why I told you.”

“And I’ll let you know about the other thing soon.”

***

As the players on the field worked their way through a drill, Striker watched. On the sideline, Tony and Hunter Greerly, the team’s quarterback, discussed plays while Pop worked with the defense. Striker had spent much of his life on a football field. He’d joined his first team in second grade and played until his sophomore year in college. Two years later he’d taken a position as a high school assistant coach. And he loved it. Even in the shitty weather he loved being on the field. This afternoon, though, he wished the season was over. From late July until sometime in November, he spent every weekday evening with the team, as well as some Saturdays, depending on the team’s game schedule. Rarely did the time commitment bother him. Today it did.

Last year after practice he often stopped by Ella’s, except on the nights she taught dance. Some nights he’d stay there until well after ten and often he spent the night. She never complained. A visit like that tonight might not go over well. Considering the fucked-up disaster Sunday turned into, and calling it a disaster was being kind, he’d prefer avoiding another. He’d gone on his first date with Trish Anderson, a girl in his class, in eighth grade. They’d gone to the movies. Pop had driven them. Since then he’d gone out with a lot of women and never had a date imploded the way Sunday’s had.

He’d known he had to talk to Cora when she sat down. Either that or tell her to beat it, and he’d prefer not to be rude. She hadn’t done anything to him. He’d hoped she’d leave before Ella joined him. When that didn’t happen, he’d prayed she wouldn’t say anything that would clue Ella in on their previous activities. Again, he’d struck out in the luck department. Maybe if he’d introduced Ella as his girlfriend, Cora wouldn’t have shared that he knew just how tiny her bedroom was. But he’d held back calling Ella his girlfriend, because technically, Ella wasn’t his girlfriend or his anything else.

The fight between the two teenagers and the trip to the emergency room just topped off the night. When he got between the two young men, he hadn’t expected either to have a weapon. Yeah, kids in town fought sometimes. That happened everywhere. But he couldn’t recall any incidents involving knives or guns. Then again, the kid with the knife wasn’t a North Salem resident but a nineteen-year-old from Boston who had prior gang-related arrests.

Somehow he’d made it through the night without Ella backing out of their agreement. He called her both Monday and Tuesday, and she never mentioned what happened at the block party. The closest she’d come had been to ask about his arm. Even better, she’d agreed to keep herself free this weekend for whatever he had planned for them. And he had something big planned. Something he’d force himself to tolerate because he loved her and only had so much time to prove it to her.

More than an hour later Pop blew his whistle twice, the signal that practice was over and everyone needed his ass on the sideline for a team meeting. Pop ran every practice the same way. He had since he took over as the high school football coach. Since every year North Salem had an awesome team, it worked—so why change it.

Striker stood off to the side with Tony and each player focused on Pop as he discussed the team’s upcoming first game. The first sign something was up came when both Hunter and Dan, two of the hardest-working players on the team, looked past Pop and over at the parking lot instead. Several others quickly did the same thing. Striker glanced toward the parking lot; the object of their fascination, the cause of their distraction, was immediately obvious.

The sweetest dark silver Mercedes convertible with the license plate DBM sat parked next to his pickup truck, and the car’s owner, Drew McKenzie, the town’s homegrown football star, was closing its door. Slightly older than Striker, Drew had played football with Tony and Sean O’Brien. Pop considered the years the three guys played together the best in their town’s football history. Even now he insisted Drew and Sean were the best two football players the high school ever had. Although Drew’s parents still owned a house in town, Drew didn’t visit often. Striker figured it’d been at least two years since he’d seen the guy in North Salem.

“Hey, Coach Striker,” Drew said when he got closer to the group. “Usual end-of- practice team meeting?”

At Drew’s voice, Pop stopped midsentence and looked away from the team, a rare smile breaking out on his face. “You don’t mess with what works.” Pop gave Drew a thump on the back before facing the players again. “Hit the showers. See you all tomorrow.”

Tony, Striker, Drew, and Pop took seats on the benches once they emptied out. First Pop gave Drew a hard time for not stopping by sooner. Satisfied he’d heaped enough guilt for one afternoon, he asked personal questions. Questions only a high school football coach who was loved by his players would dare ask. Pop continued his questioning until his smartphone rang. Striker recognized his mom’s special ringtone. It was an instrumental version of the song his parents had danced to at their wedding.

“That’s Jane,” Pop said. “I told her I’d be home right after practice ended.” Pop checked his watch. “And that was over thirty minutes ago.” Pulling out his phone, Pop answered the call that lasted less than a minute. “Don’t be a stranger, Drew.” Pop came to his feet and looked at him and Tony. “See you two tomorrow.”

“Need to get home, too. Cat’ll be waiting for me. We have plans tonight.” Tony readjusted his baseball cap as he stood up. “Good to see you. Try to make time for us little people more often,” he said, slugging Drew in the arm before walking away.

“Bates has a woman living with him?” Drew asked in disbelief after Tony left.

“Crazier. He’s married.”

“Hell no.”

“It gets worse. He married my sister.”

Striker thought Drew’s eyes might fall out.

“Nice one. Now I know you’re dicking around.”

“Didn’t your mom tell you?” Since Drew’s parents lived in North Salem, they had to know about Tony and Cat.

“You’re serious?” Drew asked, his expression suggesting he still didn’t fully accept Striker’s news.

Striker nodded. “Dead. They got married last December. And last weekend Jessie Quinn married Mack Ellsbury.”

“Knew that. Mack invited me, but we had a preseason game down in Indianapolis. But your sister and Tony? Really?”

“Defies the imagination, I know.” It’d taken him a long time to get used to them being married. “What are you doing here? Haven’t seen you around in years.”

Drew leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “Need to see someone. I knew practice would be going on, so I decided to stop here first.”

Whoever Drew needed to see, he didn’t sound thrilled about it. He considered asking who it was, but didn’t. If Drew hadn’t given a name, he didn’t want to share.

“And I should get over there before it gets too late.” Drew sounded more resigned than anything else when he stood. “See you next week.”

“You’re coming to O’Brien’s wedding?”

“Yeah, we’ve got our home opener that Sunday so I’ll be able to come. I don’t want to miss seeing Sean get married.”

Striker and Drew walked to the parking lot together, apprehension and dread coming off the guy’s body in waves. Again, Striker considered asking who Drew planned on seeing. And again, he kept his trap shut. He hated when people stuck their noses in his business, and he suspected Drew would, too.