Reye's Gold (35 page)

“One, two, three, Lightning,” the children chanted.

“Don’t forget to take your water bottles and balls
home,” Reye reminded them as she stood watching them
leave. Stephen stood next to her.

“So what time and where is your game tomorrow?” he
asked.

“It’s at 9:00 a.m. over at the Riverside fields, why?”

“I’d like to help.”

She turned and moved to pick up the cones and other soccer-related gear. He dogged her steps, helping her.
“Do you usually eat before you work with your dad?”

“Sometimes, but I hadn’t planned to tonight. I’d
planned on going there after practice.”

“Can I see your house? Susan gave me the address,
but I’m not sure how to get there.”

Reye gave him directions as they walked backed to
their vehicles. “I’ll meet you over there,” she said.
“Okay. See ya later.”

The house was within five minutes of the field. He
pulled up to the two-story home, parking behind a large truck. Probably Reye’s dad, he thought, turning off the
ignition and taking a moment to look around. Pretty
yellow paint on the main parts, trimmed in white, large
porch, with a yard that was neatly trimmed. It would
make a nice home for children. No sign of Reye’s truck,
though. The lights were on in the house, so he got out
and walked to the door, which stood open behind a
screened door.

“Hello,” he called out, ringing the doorbell. He could
hear music softly playing in the house, jazz maybe, some
thing instrumental. He heard someone walking towards
the door. A very tall older African-American man stood
before him. He was tall, taller than Stephen by about
three inches, and built like an oak tree.

“Can I help you?”

“You must be Reye’s dad. Mr. Jackson, right?” No
response. “You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your
daughter’s. My name is Stephen Stuart. I’m in town for the weekend and wanted to see Reye’s new project. I just left her at the soccer fields. She said she was on her way.”

“I know who you are,” said Mr. Jackson, his expres
sion still stern.

That wasn’t the response he was expecting. “May I
come in, sir?”

“Sure.” He backed up to allow Stephen entrance.

He and Mr. Jackson stood in the foyer taking stock of
each other. No time like the present to lay it out on the
line, Stephen thought. “Sir, I met your daughter last year
when I was in my last year of law school. We dated most
of the year, but I didn’t meet many of her friends or
family. I don’t imagine you have a good opinion of me.”

“Should I have a good opinion of you?”

“No, sir, you shouldn’t. I didn’t treat Reye as well as I
should have, which I regret. All I can say in my defense
is that dating Reye was a new experience for me and
affected me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I saw her again
at the awards dinner in Dallas last weekend, but I would
like you to know that even before then, I had made up my mind to try and make amends to her, sir. I didn’t realize until later that I loved her, which I’ve since told
her. I would like to marry her, sir, if she agrees. I’ve not
told her that yet.”

Mr. Jackson looked him over and smiled slightly. “Is
that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you will have your work cut out for you.”

“Don’t I know it, sir,” he said, chuckling.

“
Make sure this is what you want. I won’t have her
hurt again,” Mr. Jackson said, all seriousness, looking more than a little frightening.

“No, sir, I’m serious. It won’t happen again.”

“Well, good, then, you can start winning Reye’s favor
by helping me replace the sheetrock that has a hole in it
in the kitchen.”

“Sure,” Stephen said, following Mr. Jackson. “If you don’t mind me saying so, meeting you was easier than I
thought.”

“Well, I’ve got to tell you that I love my daughter, and
watching her after you left was hard. As a parent it is
always difficult to see your children hurt, especially if it
is your only girl. But your leaving brought good things
for her. Life usually does. If you’d stayed, she might have
put her career and ambitions on hold. Ambitions I’m not sure she knew she held.” He stopped and placed his hand
on a section of sheetrock. “Grab that end of this sheet,”
he told Stephen. They walked it over to an empty spot where a portion of the wall had been. “Can you hold that
in place?”

“Sure,” he said. Reye’s dad continued talking. “Your
leaving forced her to do something with herself, giving her efforts to those children. This house and the non
profit were an indirect result of that hurt, and it could
very well be her life’s work. So, as far as I see it, it’s all
good.” He grabbed his nail gun and nailed the sheet into
place. He stepped back and looked over the wall. “I’ll
need to tape this later. Reye and I have done most of the
work in here. She purchased the property with my help.

N
ow all we have left to do is paint. I hope you don’t mind
getting dirty.”

“No, I don’t mind. I’ll be here on weekends to see her,
so I will be available to help whenever you need me.”

Her dad looked at him, reassessing him. “Serious, are you.” It was more a statement than question. “Where are
you staying?” Mr. Jackson asked.

“At a hotel near downtown.”

“Every weekend?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, we can’t have that. Tell you what, when you are
in town, plan on staying with me and my wife. But we
don’t need to tell Reye that just yet. This way you can get to know her mother and me, and we’ll have a chance to get to know you.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“No, we don’t mind. In fact on Sundays we have a
customary standing breakfast with our children, those
that are in town and can make it. The wife starts cooking
around nine. Why don’t you come over this Sunday
morning? Reye will be there. Here is my card, my home
number and address are there. Call if you get lost.”

“Thank you, sir, I will.”

“We’d better get started painting.”

The two of them worked in companionable silence
for the rest of the evening, talking about Stephen’s future
plans and family. Before he knew it, it was ten and they
had worked through all of the bedrooms and the hallway
upstairs. All that remained was the main room downstairs. There was still no sign of Reye. Mr. Jackson had g
athered all of the paint supplies they’d used and was in
the process of cleaning them. “Well, it looks like Reye
must have gotten tied up. This isn’t like her,” Mr. Jackson
said as his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID.
“Here she is. Hey, Reye,” he answered, his face again
showing no expression as he listened. “We were just fin
ishing up and getting ready to leave,” he said. Stephen
left the room, giving him privacy for his conversation with Reye.

He was a little hurt that she skipped tonight. After all,
he’d come to Austin to see her; the least she could do was
cooperate. He laughed at himself, shaking his head, he
was so full of it sometimes. He would be the one who
needed to make the effort for a while. He wanted this,
but he knew it wouldn’t be easy. Even so, he didn’t want
to contemplate her not forgiving him. He would see her
tomorrow at her team’s game, and, with any luck, he
would talk her into having dinner with him. He hadn’t
taken her out much when they’d been together. Mostly
they had spent time at her house, gone to an occasional
movie here or there, and dinner had been mostly pick-up
or delivery. He should have made more of an effort to
treat her as more than a warm body. But man, she wasn’t
just a warm body—although he really loved her body—
she had been more, and he felt remorse that she’d never
known that.

He turned as Mr. Jackson entered the room. “Well,
son, it seems Reye got tied up and wasn’t able to make it over after all. She say’s she’s sorry about that.”

“
No problem. I’d better get going. It has been a
pleasure meeting you, Mr. Jackson,” he said, extending
his hand, which was captured in a firm handshake. “I
look forward to seeing you and your wife on Sunday,” he
said.

“Same here, son.” Mr. Jackson clapped Stephen hard on the back as they walked to the front door. “Chin up,”
he said.

“Yes, sir. Good night, Mr. Jackson.”

He went through the front door, down the sidewalk
to his car, got in, and drove away. He had planned to go
directly to his hotel, but he’d ended up heading back towards the university and towards Reye’s house. He
found it just as he’d remembered. Planted flowers were in the front beds of the house, an explosion of purples, yel
lows, and pinks. She’d always taken care of her home;
he’d at least helped her with that on occasion. Taking a deep breath, he drove away.

Saturday morning came early for Reye. She was tired,
not having slept well the night before, her conscience had
worked her over pretty good for ditching Stephen.
Between those feelings of remorse and remembering the
goods times they’d shared last year, she’d tossed and
turned most of the night away before finally drifting off
to sleep at around two a.m. The alarm had gone off at six,
leaving her feeling more than a little punch drunk and in
need of a strong cup of joe. Her team’s soccer game was
scheduled to start at nine this morning, and she preferred
to get to the fields at least thirty minutes before the kids
arrived. She’d asked the parents to have the kids at the fields at least thirty minutes before each game.

Apparently her conscience wasn’t done with her yet as she fought off another round of guilt at leaving him alone
with her dad. It was inexcusable, except that her anger and hurt would show itself when she least expected it,
like a permanent virus that lived in its host and attacked when the defenses were low. To appease her conscience, she promised herself to apologize the next time she saw
him.

She walked to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, made
in her brand spanking new coffee maker, the crème dé la
crème of coffee makers, complete with timer, courtesy of
her brother Jack and his family. Before this gift, she’d
used a hand-me-down from her mother. She eagerly set
her new machine to brew each morning, waking her up
to the strong, addictive aroma of her favorite coffee
blend. Standing in the kitchen with her cup in her hand, she contemplated Stephen again. It would be so easy to
give in to him now, she wanted to badly since returning
from Dallas, her fingers itching to touch the body that
she’d grown to love. She’d worshiped religiously at that
area of skin, just below his waist and abs, a smooth
stretch of highway leading to one of his best assets, and
her absolute favorite part of him. She loved the spot on
his neck below his right ear, and she missed curling into
his chest after a night spent making love to him.

Those days when she felt low and needed a lift she
would pull from her memory a night spent with him
where he, in his usual way, had taken control of her body
like a man possessed. She totally loved it. He could ask anything of her, and he had, and she did her damndest to
not disappoint. Giving yourself completely to someone,
now that was some scary shit. Not having them feel the same, and learning to live without them, had been on the
edge of terrifying. But she’d lived to tell the tale.

She finished her coffee, placing her cup in the sink.
She’d better get dressed and put her mind on the game.
She’d just stepped out of the shower when she heard her
doorbell. It couldn’t be anyone but Sam. She paid dearly for having him as her assistant coach, stopping by to get
his eat and drink on whenever he wanted to, or to pick up groceries. “No, just a second,” she screamed as she w
ent to put on her robe and walked to the door. She
looked out of the peephole to find Stephen standing
there. She stepped back, surprised. What was he doing
here?
Okay, don’t panic, breathe, girl.
She opened the door
about two inches, peering out at him. He stood on her
porch, looking like a god. He wore black shorts that
stopped just above his knees and a snug-fitting black shirt
that clung tightly to his upper body in a way that was truly criminal. A baseball cap turned backwards, also
black, resided on his head. The most damaging part of his ensemble was that smile, her favorite, the slightly wicked one, the one that had talked her into plenty.