A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace by Karen Kingsbury Page A

at her, and she laughed in a way that Abby had long since stopped doing.
    “State title, 1989; quarterfinals, 1990. I’m a big Eagles football fan, Coach. Everyone knows who you are.”
    John pondered her statement now. Maybe that was why he’d felt so attracted to Charlene. She was a football fan, his fan. The way Abby had been before the hillside grew too cold and practices became too routine.
    He remembered how he’d felt lost in her wide-eyed gaze that afternoon. “Well then, it’s a privilege to meet you, Ms. Denton. We can always use an extra fan around Marion High.”
    That should have been the end of it, but Charlene was persistent— and he was weak. Surprisingly so. She stayed by his side, clearly enjoying his company and pumping him for dozens of details about the team and its chances that season.
    “My husband’s a fan, too.” She casually tossed the comment his way, and he remembered feeling himself relax, relieved to discover she was married. There would be no threats for either of them that way.
    Before the training session was over, he had found a way to invite her and her husband over for dinner that weekend. “Just to make you feel welcome,” he’d told her.
    Abby had been puzzled when John brought it up later that evening.
    “We don’t even know them, honey. I mean, it’s the busiest time of the year. I have an article due Monday and school shopping for the kids. I wasn’t exactly planning to entertain this weekend.”
    John had shrugged like it was no big deal. “She’s new on staff, that’s all. Besides, I don’t think she and her husband are Christians. It’d be a good witness.”
    Abby thought about that and smiled that weary smile she’d picked up by then. “Oh, all right. We’ll barbecue. And maybe if you help me with the cleanup . . .”
    The night had been a disaster from the beginning.
    Charlene and Rod arrived, and it was obvious from the way they avoided each other and spoke around each other that they were fighting. Introductions were simple, and though Charlene was polite to Abby, she stayed by John’s side throughout the night, pulling football stories out of him and laughing hysterically at anything he said that was even remotely funny.
    Why didn’t I see it back then? Maybe none of this would have happened . . .
    John’s question wasn’t really directed at anyone, and there was no magical answer in response. He let his thoughts drift back again. The evening had been enjoyable enough for him, but Abby had seemed tense almost from the beginning. When Charlene and her husband left, Abby shook her head and headed for the kitchen. John remembered following her and asking—innocently—whether something was wrong.
    Abby slammed the dishrag on the counter, splattering soapy water across the floor. “Come on, John. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
    John had been baffled. Was she jealous? Just because a beautiful young woman enjoyed his company? “Notice what?”
    Abby huffed. “Charlene.”
    A laugh escaped before John could stop it. “I don’t believe it. You’re jealous of her. Come on, Abby, be realistic.”
    Abby seemed to struggle with whether to scream or break down and cry. Instead she pushed her hands in a controlled manner, palm down, until her arms were straight. Then she cocked her head, a gesture that meant she was forcing herself to be calm. “In case you weren’t watching, the woman got all drippy around you and hung on everything you said.”
    “Come on, honey. She’s married.” John had approached Abby, but she took a step backward.
    “You’re married, too, and that didn’t stop you from playing right into her little plan.”
    At the time, John honestly hadn’t known what Abby meant, and her accusation roused his own anger. “Wait a minute, don’t go blaming me about her actions. I can’t help it if—”
    “If what?” Abby’s voice was louder than before. “If that woman has a crush on you? Well, for the record, John, I