Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel (15 page)

“I asked her to marry me. She said no. I’m off the hook with my mom,” he whispered back. She rolled her eyes, but she slipped her hand through his elbow.

His heart skipped a beat. He glanced over at her. He saw her lips curve into a smile. He laid his hand over hers.

The judge asked all the usual questions, and then said, “It is an honor to officiate at this wedding. Some of our guests may not know Bill and Katarina’s love story. They met at a USO dance on a military base in Germany. Bill was a young soldier, fresh from World War II. Katarina was a girl from a prominent German family. Her parents didn’t want her to marry an American. His parents didn’t want him to stay in Germany. They parted, each married others, but they couldn’t forget the love they’d found.”

“After many years Bill’s wife died, and he wondered what happened to the vivacious, beautiful girl he’d met in Germany. He looked her up. Her spouse was gone, too, and she wondered what happened to the dashing soldier she met so long ago.”

“Katarina moved to America. They got engaged. This just goes to show that love is only for the young, the middle-aged, and the old.”

All too soon, the ceremony was over. The pianist played something that sounded like a recessional. The guests watched the newlyweds make their way back down the aisle and followed them out of the chapel. Amy was still sniffling a little. He reached out for her hand.

“Now you’re going to tell me we should stay for the reception, aren’t you?” Matt said.

“Listen, father of the bride: Don’t you have to offer the toast?”

M
ATT TOOK ONE
look at the pitiful display of three bottles of cheap champagne on the table in the facility’s cafeteria and pulled the smart phone out of his pocket.

“Amy. Don’t let them cut the cake till I get back.”

“Huh? Where are you going?”

“Grocery store. I’m not letting them drink that sh— Oh, just make them wait.”

“Matt, don’t get a case,” Amy warned. “They’re old. They’re not getting drunk.”

He sprinted out the front doors of the facility, jumped in the driver’s seat of his Mercedes, and popped the hands-free earphone in. He arrived at a local upscale grocery store less than ten minutes later, purchased a five-hundred-dollar American Express gift card, half a rack of fairly good champagne, and a “congratulations on your wedding” greeting card, which he signed his and Amy’s names to. Samantha would call it “power shopping.” He called it convenience.

He arrived back at the assisted living facility to find Amy helping with the dinner service. He invaded the kitchen, found himself a bus tub, and started dumping ice into it.

“What are you doing, goofball?” Amy whizzed by him with another cart full of covered plates. “No, wait. I saw that box of champagne. Veuve Cliquot? Nice.”

“It’s not getting opened till it’s chilled.”

He hauled the bus tub back into the dining room, made sure the table would support the weight, and started burying bottles in the ice. The greeting card and the gift card were in his back pocket. If he could manage to pull Fifi away from her dinner duties, they could make a presentation.

He still hated weddings, but he’d decided he liked this one.

Katarina’s bouquet sat on the table next to the uncut cake. The only other evidence a wedding had just taken place were the lit candles on the tables. Songs from the forties played over the sound system. The bride and groom were seated at a table with what appeared to be a few family members. His former teachers appeared to be spread out amongst the other residents. The retired priest still wore his collar. Amy was setting a dinner plate down in front of him as Matt watched.

Fifi was working her ass off, and he needed to help. If it meant coming within a three-foot radius of more quizzing about his last confession, so be it.

“Hey. What would you like me to help with?”

Amy glanced up from putting another plate down in front of a woman who patted her hand and said, “Thank you, dearie.”

“We’re almost done. Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.”

“Great. Steak or chicken? The chef made a couple of extra meals for us. I already gave the director some cash for our dinner.” Amy moved the salt and pepper shakers closer to an older guy, who winked at her. She seemed to know what these people needed before they did.

“I can pick up the tab for dinner—”

“You were getting champagne when all this happened. Again: Steak or chicken?”

“Steak. Let’s nab that half-empty table in the corner, too.”

M
ATT AND
A
MY
managed to get a table to themselves. He was pleasantly surprised at how good the food was. Even better, he had a chance to grill the cornered Fifi for a few minutes.

“So, when were you going to tell me that you managed to find most of my teachers in one place?”

“Imagine my surprise to learn that you were sending flowers and suggestive messages to a bunch of nuns.” She dug into her mashed potatoes. “Isn’t there some kind of law against that?”

“Revenge will be painful, Fifi. I will repay.” He narrowed his eyes, flared his nostrils, and all but pawed the floor with his hoof. She just laughed.

“Now you’re sounding like a bad action-adventure movie. I hate to tell you this, but the Sounders game is probably almost over.” She stabbed at the “vegetable medley” on her plate. “Wait till your buddies find out you spent Saturday night at a retirement community. Maybe they’ll think you’re making plans.”

“That’s a long way off. Hey, I got the happy couple a gift. From us.”

“You already bought champagne.”

“Yeah. I’d better check on that. In the meantime, they can stay a night or two at a hotel, or use it for something they’d like. Here.” He pulled the card out of his back pocket and pushed it across the table. “I’m going to go find out if the champagne is cold. I’ll be back.”

A
MY PULLED THE
card out of the envelope, opened it, and read,
Please use the enclosed for an overnight stay at a hotel, or whatever else you might want. Our best wishes for a long and happy marriage. Your friends, Amy Hamilton and Matt Stephens.

She flipped the gift card packaging over, and stared at the gift card amount. He’d lost his mind. He was going to argue with her for paying the retirement home for their dinners, but he’d spent, by conservative estimate, almost a thousand bucks today? Plus, she really needed to repay him for her half of the gift card. It wasn’t right. She thought she’d inflict all his old teachers on him, they would drop the flowers off, stay for the little wedding, and leave.

Maybe the joke was on her.

She slid the card and enclosure back into the envelope, and sealed it.

Matt made sure the champagne was cold, and now he was chatting with the few family members at Bill and Katarina’s table. The staff was doing the after-dinner cleanup. They’d evidently deputized someone to cut the cake and pass it out, so they probably didn’t need her help.

Matt loped back to their table, dropped into the chair, and grinned at her. “Katarina’s daughter is giving a toast. I believe we can escape.”

“Don’t you want to have some champagne?”

“I can get more. I have the technology.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Speaking of technology, I now owe you two hundred and fifty dollars. Will you take payments?”

He leaned over the table, and took her hand. His voice was low. He spoke rapidly. “No. I made that decision on my own, and I can afford it. Do not even think about paying me back. This is a gift.”

“It’s a lot of money! I—”

Amy’s protests were cut off by someone rapping silverware against a wine glass. The facility’s director, a roundish woman, had possession of a cordless microphone. “It’s time for our newlyweds to cut the cake. Come on up here, Bill and Katarina. By the way, the cake was donated by Katarina’s daughter, Heidi, and the champagne was donated by Amy’s friend, Matt. Let’s give them a hand.”

Matt shook his head and made the “waving off” sign with one hand, but Amy saw him smile. Despite his protests, he managed to choke down a piece of cake and half a glass of champagne. A few minutes later, he took Amy’s elbow and helped her out of her chair.

“Come on, Fifi. It’s time for the guests to leave so the newlyweds can enjoy their privacy.” He hauled her across the dining room, stopped in front of Bill, and held out the card. “This is for you and your new wife.”

“You didn’t have to bring a gift.” There were a few other cards on the cake table. The seniors were milling around and chatting with each other. It was the most low-key wedding Amy had ever attended. It was also the most heartfelt.

“We wanted to,” Matt told him. “We hope you’ll enjoy it. Nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand, and Bill shook it.

Matt grabbed Amy’s hand, two plastic cups, and one of the unopened bottles of champagne and walked her to his car.

Chapter Twelve

M
ATT’S ORIGINAL PLAN
for the evening was not going to work out, so he pulled up in front of the Admiral Way lookout in West Seattle a few minutes later. The half-a-block long strip of land offered a perfect, unobstructed view of Seattle’s skyline, and there was a convenient park bench to sit and take it all in. The lookout was busy day and night with tourists taking pictures. Even lifelong residents of Seattle never got tired of the view.

“Hey, Fifi. Let’s do something illegal.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Open container law. Champagne. Us. How about it?”

“I’m not really into spending the evening getting bailed out of jail.” He saw her lips twitch into a smile, though. “Let’s go somewhere a little less public, shall we?”

Ten minutes later, Matt stopped in a deserted park at the top of Magnolia, an upscale neighborhood that also overlooked the Space Needle. It seemed so close he wondered if they could reach out and touch it.

“How’s this?”

“Great. It’s gorgeous out here.”

After a quick examination of a somewhat dirty picnic table, they decided to stay in the comfort of his Mercedes. Matt settled back into his seat, turned toward Amy, and said, “So, tell me about yourself.”

“Oh, you’re good,” Amy told him.

“Maybe I should ask you what you plan to be doing in five years instead.”

“If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be, Matt?”

“Let’s start with the easy stuff,” he said. “How about some champagne?”

Just like millions of other adults on a second date anywhere in the world, as Matt and Amy talked and laughed together, the minutes turned into hours. Moonlight dusted the unkempt little park with magic. She realized she was having fun. Even more, she liked him.

They covered a lot of subjects that night: His career. Her career. Their families, friends, and a little about previous relationships. She kept it light. After all, it was their second date, and she’d like to keep her romantic misadventures to herself for the time being. She quizzed him to her heart’s content about playing in the NFL and whether or not his job now made him miss his playing days. Her curiosity got the best of her, though. She wasn’t sure how he would react to the next question, but she had to ask.

“I’m sure Brandon probably told you that I’m a big football fan.”

“He mentioned that. It was kind of a selling point, Fifi,” he said, and she laughed. She’d spent a lot of time laughing tonight. “I didn’t get this kind of in-depth interviewing from reporters during my entire career.”

“What was it like when you retired?”

“Well, it’s a long story.”

His voice was carefree, but for the first time since they met, she noticed he was obviously rattled by her question. He wouldn’t look at her. He shifted repeatedly in his seat, glanced out the car window, and fidgeted. He stared at the plastic cup of champagne in his hand like it held the answers to the universe.

“So. You want to know what it was like when I hung it up.”

“I’ve read before that it’s rough.”

“Has Brandon said anything to you about his retirement?”

“A little. He mostly talks to Emily.”

Matt heaved a sigh. “Every guy’s different, but most don’t know what to do with themselves. It’s all they know. They have to find something else to do with most of their time, and some don’t make good choices.” He regarded the sky. “I was one of them.”

“What happened?”

The only sound for several minutes was their breathing, and the breeze rustling the tree leaves above them. Amy tucked one leg beneath her and turned toward Matt. He closed his eyes.

“I knew it was coming. The team drafted a tight end for me to work with the last two seasons I was with Seattle. I announced my retirement before my last game. I was getting out when I was still fairly healthy. I’d made all the right choices. I thought I knew what I was doing after football, I hadn’t blown every cent I ever made, Laura and Samantha would stick with me. My life was going to be perfect.” He took a long swallow from his cup. “Yay, me.”

Amy was silent, and more than a little shocked. She’d asked him the question. She wasn’t prepared for the answer, it seemed. He poured another slug of champagne into his cup, and put the bottle down on the console between them.

“I couldn’t talk to Laura about it. Every time I tried, it must have scared her. We got married when she was twenty-two. It wasn’t my first trip to the rodeo as far as realizing things don’t always pan out as we want them to in life, but it sure as hell was hers, and I didn’t get that. She was in her mid-twenties; she’d never lived on her own at all before we got married. Now she had to deal with a husband who didn’t know what to do with himself all day.”

Amy bit her lip. She was watching football with her dad in those days, but there was not as much emphasis on life for ex-NFL players at that time.

“What happened to your post-career plans?”

“The field I planned to go into couldn’t have been more wrong for me,” he said. He didn’t elaborate.

“I did the same thing. It took me ten years to realize it,” she blurted out.

Matt nodded. He took a long swallow, finished his glass of champagne, and offered the bottle to Amy. She made the “inch” gesture with her thumb and forefinger.