Daniel's Gift (18 page)

"I'm sorry, too. Are you sure I can't talk you into coming in the bedroom with me? Making up is the best part of a fight." Her eyes promised him everything he could possibly want. The only problem was, he didn't want anything from her.

"I have to see Danny again."

"Just as long as it's him, and not
her
, that you want to see."

Luke walked into the kitchen, pretending he hadn't heard her final shot. Because he sure as hell couldn't deny the fact that he wanted to see Jenny again. God help him. God help them all.

* * *

"Hey, Dad, psst."

Luke looked over at the door that opened onto the driveway. It was halfway open, a pair of grimy fingers curled around the side. A tennis shoe stuck out between the door and the wall. Anticipation took Luke to the door. The hand and shoe disappeared.

Luke walked out to the driveway and stopped in amazement. Danny was shooting baskets through a hoop that appeared to be attached over the garage.

"Two points," Danny said as the ball bounced off the backboard and through the hoop. "Your turn, Dad." He tossed Luke the ball.

Luke didn't expect to feel anything, certainly not a full-sized basketball hitting him in the stomach. Danny couldn't be real. The basket couldn't be real, and the ball definitely did not exist. So why did his gut sting? Why did the ball bounce off his foot and into the bushes?

Danny ran over to get it. "Try again, Dad. Let me see your stuff."

"You're not real, Danny."

"I know that. Come on, shoot."

Luke took the basketball from Danny and rolled it between his hands, trying to get the right feel for the ball. "I haven't done this in a long time," he said.

"Give it your best shot."

Luke tossed the ball toward the basket. It fell short. He was almost afraid to look at Danny, to see his failure reflected in his son's eyes. How many times had he looked into his own father's eyes and seen condemnation, disgust? So many times.

"Not bad. You're probably a little rusty, that's all." Danny took the rebound and stuffed it. "Let's play some ball."

There was no disgust in Danny's eyes, just curiosity, openness. At that moment, he looked a lot like Jenny. "I'm not much of an athlete, Danny. I never had a chance to play. My parents ..." Luke shook his head. "They didn't care much for sports. In fact, I always wanted a hoop out here."

Luke walked over to the garage and stood under the net, trying to figure out how it was attached to the wall. There didn't appear to be any screws, no obvious sign of attachment.

"One on one," Danny said. "First to ten wins. I'll go first."

Luke smiled, enjoying the encounter for whatever it was. "How come you get to go first?"

"Because I'm a kid." Danny's mouth curved into a grin.

"I should go first, because I'm the oldest."

"You are old," Danny said thoughtfully.

"Hey, I didn't say old, I said oldest."

Danny dribbled the ball around Luke and took his first shot. A swish. "Yes." He pumped his fist. "One to nothing." He passed the ball to Luke.

Luke sank a shot from the corner, feeling a rush of adrenaline. "One-one."

"Not bad, Dad. But I'm pretty good."

"Cocky, too. You must get that from me."

Danny charged. Luke tried to block. The boy hit another basket. The game began in earnest, two competitors sizing each other up, building respect for each other, understanding, friendship. They did it without words, but they both understood there was more at stake than just a game.

Thirty minutes later, Luke put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. He could feel sweat running down the backs of his legs, underneath his cotton twill slacks.

"I win," Danny said. He put the ball on the ground and sat on it, studying Luke for a long, disturbing moment. "That was cool. I wasn't sure you'd play with me."

"Why not?"

"Mom always said you were a busy man, probably too busy to have a kid."

"I'll always have time for you, Danny. I want to make it up to you, everything we've missed doing together."

"You're all right, Dad."

"So are you. Danny -- "

"Dad -- "

They both spoke at the same time. Luke waved his hand. "You first."

"I'm glad I met you -- no matter what happens."

Luke felt a sudden tingle of fear creep along his spine as Danny's image began to fade. "Don't go."

"Jacob's back," Danny said.

"Who's Jacob?"

"My guardian angel."

Guardian angel? Luke shook his head. He was losing his mind, talking to a kid who didn't exist about angels, who also didn't exist.

"You've got to believe in me, Dad," Danny said, his words mirroring Luke's thoughts. "I think it's important. Really important."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't explain. It's just something you gotta do."

"Don't go. We have so much to talk about."

"Jacob's pulling my ear again. Ow, stop that," Danny growled.

"Come back. Okay, Danny?" Luke pleaded.

"I'll try. Jacob says you need work on your hook shot. Here, keep this." Danny tossed him the ball.

Luke stared at the ball, completely bemused. When he looked up, Danny was gone.

Denise came out of the house and stopped when she saw him. "What are you doing? My God, you're sweating." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "What did you do -- go for a run in your dress shoes?"

"I was playing basketball."

Denise looked at him in amazement. "Basketball? Where?"

"Here." But as Luke looked up, the net over the garage disappeared, and he was left holding the ball, literally. "I'm thinking about putting a hoop over the garage."

"Why?"

"So Danny and I can play when he gets better."

Her lips tightened at the sound of Danny's name. "I don't want a hoop over the garage. It's unsightly. What has gotten into you? You're not the man I married. I don't know who you are. But I'd like to know what you've done with my husband."

Luke smiled and tossed her the ball. "I've sent him out to play. Your shot."

Denise threw the basketball over the fence. "Game's over, Luke. I win."

* * *

Matt rode his bike along the walkway to Jenny's small house and leaned it against the porch railing. He walked up the steps to the front door. Jenny's car was in the driveway, but that didn't mean anything. Her car was broken down more often than it was working.

He rang the doorbell three times. She didn't answer. The house was quiet, absolutely and utterly quiet. Matt sighed and walked to the edge of the porch, looking down the street.

One of Jenny's neighbors was mowing his lawn three doors down. A couple of kids were riding skateboards off the curb, and a dog was barking at something or somebody -- a perfectly normal Sunday afternoon. Matt sat down on the steps and rested his head in his hands.

He felt sober, depressingly sober. Everything was clear, and the clarity was blinding. He was a drunk, a goddamned drunk, who couldn't remember what had happened during twenty-four hours in his life, the same twenty-four hours in which some "drunk" had run over his nephew.

The thought that he could have done such a thing to Danny was destroying him, slowly, tortuously. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Danny's freckled face. Every time he wanted to smile, he remembered Danny's crooked grin, his laugh that was always a little too loud and a little too long. Danny, his adoring nephew, the one who still watched videotapes of Matt playing in the NFL, the one who still thought he was pretty cool.

"I'm sorry, pal," Matt whispered. "I'm sorry you're hurt. God, I'd do anything if I could stop you from being hurt."

But there was nothing he could do. Nothing except find his goddamn car and reassure himself that someone else had hit Danny, not him. That wouldn't change things for Danny, but at least he could go to the hospital with a clear conscience.

His buddy Kenny had been unable to provide any answers, saying he had seen Matt heading for his car, but had gone on home and didn't see him again that night. Kenny suggested he call Brenda. Unfortunately, Brenda wasn't home. Matt had gone by her house, but his car was not parked in front. He had come up empty again.

"Yoo hoo. Yoo hoo." Grace Patterson, the elderly woman from next door, called out to him.

Matt looked up and smiled. Grace had a soft spot in her heart for him. She was one of the few people, besides Danny, who thought he had something to offer the world. Matt got to his feet and walked over to the chain-link fence that separated the two properties.

"Hi, Grace. How are you today?"

"Just terrible, Matthew. I heard about poor Jenny and poor, poor Danny. My heart is breaking."

Matt felt the lump in his throat return. "Yeah. I know." He dug the toe of his tennis shoe into the dirt at his feet.

"I keep seeing Danny in my head. He was just a year old when Jenny moved into that house. I've spent so much time with him, babysitting and all. I feel like he's one of my own. Just the other day he came by to show me one of those cars that races all over the place. He was so happy, so silly, you know, just like a boy should be." Gracie cleared her throat as she tried not to cry and held out a casserole dish in her hands. "Anyway, I made some lasagne for Jenny. She won't be feeling like cooking any time soon."

Matt took the dish out of her hands. "Thanks, I know she'll appreciate this."

"And how are you? You don't look too good," she said with a gentle but sharp voice.

"I'm not doing too good."

"Can I help?"

"Do you know where my car is?"

"Goodness me, no." Grace put a hand to her head as if confused by his question. "Have you lost it?"

"It looks that way. I better go look for it. Thanks for the chow, Grace."

"Tell Jenny and David that I'm thinking about them."

"You mean Danny?"

"Oh, goodness me, yes. Danny, of course. Now, I must go. My sister is coming for dinner, and I have dozens of things to do. She was supposed to come Friday night. In fad, I bought all that food for her, and she didn't come. I just don't understand how people can be so rude -- especially family folk. Now you tell Jenny that I'll come and see her as soon as I can." She waved a thin, dark-veined hand in Matt's direction and bustled back toward the house.

Family folk, Matt thought with irony. He was one hell of a lousy family member. But then, his family hadn't been much of a family since his mom died. Maybe that was his fault.

It was time. Time to go to the hospital. Time to see Jenny. Time to face his fate.

Chapter Thirteen

"I'm beginning to think you look worse than Danny," Alan said as he walked into Intensive Care and took Jenny into his arms. As he held her small frame, Alan felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness toward her. He wanted to wipe away her worries. He wanted to make things right for her. But along with the desire to help came the sense of inevitable futility. There was nothing he could do to get Danny well, and that's all Jenny wanted.

Jenny leaned against him for the briefest of moments, then pulled away. He noticed how stiff her posture was, as if she were afraid to let herself relax for even a second. The teary-eyed woman from the night before had been replaced by a proud warrior, a mother determined to fight for her son.

"Danny moved his foot -- just a teeny bit, when they poked him," Jenny said. "The nurse said it could be just a reflex action. I think it's something more. I think he's waking up."

"I hope so, Jenny." Alan squeezed her shoulder. "How about taking a break? I'll give you a ride home.

You can shower, change your clothes, take a nap, get some food."

She looked up at him in horror. "No, I'm not leaving, not until he wakes up. It might be any minute now."

Alan turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders. "Jenny, I spoke to the nurse. She told me Danny could be like this for -- for a long time, days, maybe a week."

"He moved his foot. Dammit, he moved his foot. Don't you understand?"

"I do understand. It's a good sign. But it may still be a while." His voice softened. "I'm worried about you. When Danny wakes up, he will need you to be strong and healthy. You can't go without sleep and food indefinitely. You've been here for hours."

Jenny suddenly felt too weak to argue. In truth, she was exhausted. Her body was beyond hungry, beyond craving food. It just wanted peace, oblivion. She moved into Alan's arms and rested her head against his chest. "You're right. I need to lie down. I can't go all the way home, though. It's too far. It would take me twenty minutes or more to get back."

"I'll take you to Merrilee's. It's ten minutes away."

"Merrilee? That doesn't sound very restful."

"It's close."

"I guess so." Jenny lifted her head. "Have you spoken to Matt? I really want to talk to him."