She didn’t think the other women would snub him, but she couldn’t be sure. In the end, she let him handle meeting other parents—or not—as he chose. She not only wasn’t his pen pal, she wasn’t the team social director.
After drills, Brett suited up to play goalie. He flubbed a couple of attempts to stop balls and looked dark as a thundercloud. Robin saw him steal a glance at his father on the sideline. Craig gave him a thumbs-up.
Jaw setting, Brett turned his attention back to the action heading his way. Josh passed to Malcolm, who thundered a kick at goal. Brett threw himself horizontally through the air and came down clutching the ball.
Applause erupted from parents on the sideline and his teammates. Robin heard a quiet, “Yes!” from the boy’s father.
When the practice ended, Brett and Malcolm, dirty, sweating, dark hair plastered to their heads, walked together toward their parents as if their friendship had never been interrupted.
Robin said, “Craig, you probably don’t remember Malcolm.”
Craig held out his hand. “Well, you’ve changed.”
Mal shook the hand of Brett’s father with no more self-consciousness than he would have shown with any adult.
“Great save!” one of the other mothers said as she passed.
“Thanks.” Brett blushed as several others echoed her.
The two boys headed for the cars, leaving Craig, Robin and Abby, who parted from her new friends and ran to her father, to follow.
“Good practice,” Robin said, to fill the silence.
“Yeah.” Gazing at his son, Craig said in a low voice, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this. Didn’t see how much he missed it.”
“It hasn’t been that long…”
“A year and a half? That’s forever to a kid this age.” He made a sound in the back of his throat. “I’ve been trying to protect them. Believe it or not.”
“I believe you.” But when he turned his head, she evaded his gaze, because she wasn’t sure exactly how far he had gone to “protect” his kids and she didn’t want him to see that doubt in her eyes.
“Thank you for that.” He waited until she did look at him. “And for everything else.”
“I said no more…”
He grinned. “Tough. Right, Punkin?” He swung his daughter in an arc above the ground.
She giggled in delight.
Robin laughed, said, “See you tomorrow,” and dug in her purse for her car keys.
“Mom?” Malcolm stopped with his door open, looking over the roof of the car at her. “Can Brett come home with us tomorrow? Spend the night?”
She didn’t hesitate. She’d hoped—hadn’t she?—that Malcolm and Brett would become friends again.
“Sure, I don’t have any problem with it.”
“Hey, Brett!” Mal hollered. “You want to come home with me after the game tomorrow? Mom says you can spend the night.”
The stunned expression on Brett’s face quashed Robin’s doubts. He turned to his father, who nodded. Brett sounded hoarse when he said, “Yeah. Sure. Uh…see you.” He hopped quickly into the van.
Robin didn’t let herself look at Craig. Brett was the one who mattered. She could not let herself feel even sympathy for the boy’s father. The police must have good reason for believing he was responsible for his wife’s disappearance. Mustn’t they?
She backed out, raising the usual cloud of dust, and drove away without a glance in the rearview mirror.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE FIRST HALF of Saturday’s game, Brett got in for maybe five minutes. Craig hoped Brett meant it when he said he was cool with not playing much.
“I mean, I missed a season.” He’d shrugged.
Julie had disappeared in April. The kids had needed to go to school. But sports hadn’t seemed important. And, with every damn thing he did, Craig’d had to consider how it would look. Would an innocent man hurry to put his kids back in regular activities? Supposing he’d killed Julie, what choices would he make? Craig had to try to make the opposite ones. He’d second-guessed himself so often, he’d been like a dog chasing its tail. What was right for his kids or himself got lost in worries about what everyone else would think.
From the sidelines, Brett called a few words of encouragement, groaning when the other team scored and did a high five with another benchwarmer when Robin’s son kicked a bullet into the goal. When the coach did send him in, Brett played defense just long enough to give the starter a rest. He did fine, but didn’t have a chance to shine. When he was tagged to come out, he trotted back to the sideline without apparent disappointment.
At halftime Brett drank from his water bottle and sucked on orange halves like the other boys, part of the crowd. Craig, standing apart from the clot of parents, felt an uncomfortable squeezing in his chest. Brett had lost so much.
Robin McKinnon had been the one handing out oranges. Craig had done his damndest not to look toward her after the friendly nod they’d exchanged earlier. He couldn’t help himself now. She had her head cocked as she listened to another mother talk, but as if she felt his gaze, her eyes met his in a silent moment of communication. She was reading his mind again. Pain gripped his chest tighter.
He couldn’t afford to become aware of her as a woman. God help him, he was a murder suspect.
He was also married.
Craig suspected he and Julie would have been divorced by now if she hadn’t disappeared. But she had. As Brett had said, what if she’d been abducted and held for a year and a half? What if she escaped to find he’d divorced her? What if her body was found, and he’d divorced his murdered wife for desertion?
He couldn’t go on with his life in any meaningful way until the mystery of Julie’s disappearance was solved.
Swallowing, Craig looked again at his son. What he would and could do was be sure his kids moved on.
It was time.
Brett was to start seeing a counselor Tuesday evening. That should have happened a year ago. The school psychologist’s evaluation hadn’t been as dire as Craig had feared, but Brett obviously needed help working through his anger.
Water bottles set aside, the team huddled with the coach, separating after a cheer. With mixed feelings, Craig saw Brett putting on goalie equipment. Was he ready when he’d only started practice this week?
But Brett was grinning and joking with teammates as he ran onto the field, enveloped in an oversize neon green shirt, his hands in gloves.
“He’ll do fine.”
Craig started.
