Touchdown (4 page)

“He was there,” Goldie stuttered as tears streamed down her face. “I'm not seeing things.”

Mindy sighed and brought Goldie to their living room couch, where she had Goldie lie down as she got her a cup of water and some Tylenol. “You're shaking,” Mindy murmured. “What happened?”

Goldie shook her head. “Nothing. Just some jerk—”

Mindy sighed. “You're delusional. I think your nerves are getting to you.”

Trembling, Goldie took her medicine and wiped away her tears. Mindy brought her a pink angora throw and covered her. “Get some rest; we have to leave for the hall soon.”

“He knew Mommy,” Goldie whimpered as the strain of her tears pushed her into a deep slumber.

Goldie woke up to find herself on her living room couch. She shook her head, trying to rouse herself from that dream about him—the stranger in the white suit. It felt so real as they danced together, and it felt so right. Yet she was puzzled about why the dream always ended with him flying away . . .

From the gentle orange-tinged haze of light spilling through the window, Goldie guessed it was late. “Daddy?” she called out. Her wedding would begin soon and she needed to get to the hall.

She heard Mindy's voice before she saw her. “You feeling any better?” Mindy asked.

Goldie sat up and stared at her little sister. She was dressed for the wedding in the gown Goldie had designed herself—and she looked gorgeous. Goldie gasped.

“What is it?” Mindy rushed to her sister's side. “Do you still feel sick? Should I get a doctor?”

Goldie shook her head. “I'm fine. It's just that—”

Mindy squeezed Goldie's hand. “You're nervous about getting married?”

Goldie laughed. “No. I don't get nervous, silly. You know that.”

Mindy shook her head. “I was so scared when you were, like, incoherent outside in the rain . . . ”

Goldie waved her hand away. “Don't worry about me. I'm okay, I'm always okay.”

“So why are you staring at me like that?”

Goldie appraised her little sister, from the top of her up-do down to her pink leather ballet slippers that Goldie had special-ordered from Italy. Her light pink organza bridesmaid gown cascaded down her body, subtly showcasing Mindy's curves which she usually kept hidden underneath shapeless sweats. “You're so beautiful,” Goldie whispered.

“What?” Mindy's eyes welled up with tears. “Why are you saying that?”

Goldie shook her head. “Because you are. I always knew you had a gorgeous soul, but the way you look tonight . . . Mindy, you're so pretty.”

Mindy swallowed and hugged her sister. “Thank you for saying that, Goldie. Can't say I feel that way, but . . . you're just the best sister . . . ” Tears fell down Mindy's cheeks. “I'm going to miss you so much . . . ”

“Shh.” Goldie hugged her baby sister tight, and smoothed the tendrils on the back of her neck. “Just because I'm getting married tonight doesn't change anything about us, Mindy. I will always be here for you, you got that?”

Mindy's cries morphed into sobs. “No, you won't. You'll be busy with Avner, and your new house, and merging Daddy's business with Avner's, and then I know you . . . You'll start a whole new fashion line, and you'll have babies and throw parties—”

“And you think I'll forget all about my little sister?” Goldie shook her head in an emphatic no. “Everything I do is for you, Mindy. Everything. Since Mama left us, didn't I always look out for you?”

Mindy nodded and her sobbing subsided.

“Nothing is going to change that.”

Mindy stepped back from her sister. “Promise?”

Goldie smiled. “I swear. Not heaven or earth can keep me from watching out for you.”

Mindy slowly exhaled. “I'm just so scared of being alone.”

Goldie gently stroked her sister's cheek and wiped away her lingering tears. “Mindy Fischer, you will never be alone as long as I'm around.” Goldie started to laugh. “Nix that; even if I wasn't around—I promise you, I'd do whatever it took to make sure that you're okay.”

Mindy smiled and turned her head as their father knocked on the door and called out. “Girls? Are you ready to go to the wedding hall?”

“You betcha!” Goldie said and ran to the door, ready to meet her destiny.

“What were you thinking, Clay? Are you possessed?”

Clayton Harper smiled at Leigh Truitt as she stuck her head out from under the hood of the battered '32 Ford Coupe. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail wound in tight curls from the humid Atlanta summer and grease marks from the car stained her otherwise luminescent complexion.

“Possessed? Come on, this is as good as it gets!” Clay said as he checked out the motor with Leigh, and tried not to notice how fresh and pure she smelled as they stood close together. “It's a real Brooksville.”

The car was parked in front of his house—Booth had dropped it off so Leigh could take a look in between the shifts she served at Sizzlin' Joe's restaurant. Her mechanic uncle helped Leigh with her hobby of refurbishing then reselling cars.

Clay preferred she check out the car here instead of her uncle's shop, which was located on an isolated, unpaved road before shallow woods, as if forgotten by time.

“Look,” Leigh said finally as she completed diagnosing the automobile. “It's a classic model B, but the exhaust is finished.”

Clay shook his head. “You have to admit she's a beauty. Don't you think we could make a good twenty grand after refurbishing her? Booth said—”

Leigh laughed and closed the hood. “I can just imagine what Booth said. But I wouldn't buy this car off of him, Clay. Not even for parts. He's not the straightest arrow and this isn't a project for us.”

“But she looks so good!”

“Yes, she's a fine looking car, but not for you. This isn't salvageable.”

Clay leaned back against the car and shook his head. “I'd hoped . . . ”

Leigh wiped her grease-stained hands on her jeans. “I know more than anyone how much you want to make some cash.”

Clay swallowed. “Yeah, well. It would've been fun to drive, too!”

“You're telling me! What I'd give to get out of here . . . ”

“One day.” Clay squeezed Leigh's shoulder. “One day, me and you, we'll go for a ride.”

Leigh shook her head. “I've heard that before, Clayton Harper. Is that before or after we open a restaurant together?”

Clay shrugged. “Before?”

Leigh smiled. “And after you study cooking in France?”

“You bet.” Clay grinned. “A guy can dream, can't he?”

“I don't know. Ask Coach.”

Clay shook his head. “Don't start with that, please. I've got enough on my head with the new season.”

Leigh laughed and nodded toward the ATVs in back of the shop. “All right, star quarterback. I know the real reason you asked me out here. How about we blow off some steam?”

“You bet.” Clay looked up to see Booth pull up in his car with Austin.

“I take it this isn't your deal?” Booth said as they reached Clay and Leigh.

“I got to defer to Leigh on this one, Booth.”

Austin nodded. “Yep. She's the only one with brains around here.”

Leigh winked at Austin. “C'mon Austin, flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Don't I know it!” He laughed.

Clay pointed to the ATVs. “Leigh and I were just about to go driving—want to race?”

Booth and Austin didn't bother to answer, as they jumped into an ATV while Clay and Leigh took the other.

• • •

“All this activity is making me real hungry,” Leigh said after Booth and Austin had left, and she and Clay had tossed the football around for a while.

Clay laughed. “You'd think working around food all day would keep you full.”

Leigh shrugged. “Not that food. I can't stomach it.”

“Guess that means I'm cooking dinner?”

Leigh smiled. “I've been waiting all week.”

Clay led Leigh through the back porch and into his kitchen. “I thought so. You don't eat much unless I cook. Is that right?”

“C'mon, I eat fine,” Leigh retorted, and sidled into a sitting position on his kitchen counter. “You are one class-A chef. What can I say? I've been spoiled.”

Clay washed up and effortlessly picked out his utensils and ingredients. “Spoiled, all right,” he agreed. “What will you ever do without me?”

Leigh exhaled. “I can take care of myself fine, Clayton. You know that. You're just a good cook. But enough about me. You haven't told me yet how it's going at school.”

“All right,” Clay said as he turned on the stove.

“Just all right? You're the star quarterback, dating the coach's daughter, and will most likely go pro . . . and things are just ‘all right'?”

Clay sighed. “Yeah, I guess it's all great.”

“What's up, Clay? Is the pressure getting to you?”

“I can take the heat.” Clay added fresh garlic to the pan, and then inhaled the tangy smell. He felt happy that he could confide in Leigh—she was the only person in the world he could tell what he was really thinking. The only person who didn't judge him if he wasn't in the mood to live up to everybody else's expectations and just be himself. “You know I enjoy football—but I don't love it. I have this whole career ahead of me that maybe I don't really want—although I sure could use the money—and I always have to keep myself pumped up and own it. And Carolyn's okay, but lately she's been talking about wanting to take things to the next level . . . ”

Leigh shrugged. “Can't say I'm a big fan of Ms. Carolyn Dampeer, but to be fair, she seems like a decent person. If you don't want to take your relationship with her more seriously, you'll have to let her know that.”

Clay nodded. “I haven't even spent much time with her and she keeps talking about going steady. It's just every time I try to slow it down with her she doesn't want to hear it.”

Leigh shook her head. “If she wants more from you than you're ready to give, it would be wrong to lead her on.”

“She wouldn't like that. And Coach—”

“Always back to Coach. You can't let him down, can't let your dad down, and now can't let Carolyn down. It seems like by trying to please everybody all the time, maybe you're letting yourself down?”

Clay's little brother Evan shuffled into the kitchen, glued to his Nintendo DS game. “You cooking burgers, Clay?”

“No. It's chicken. And it's healthy,” Clay said, as he chopped up an onion in swift motions.

Leigh fiddled with the radio, finally settling with a mournful country song. “I'm starving. When is this going to be done?”

Clay threw the onions into the wok and smiled with satisfaction as they made a loud sizzle. “Patience, Leigh. Cooking is an art that cannot be interrupted or hurried.” He stirred the mixture. “Evan, hand me the soy sauce?”

Evan obediently paused his DSgame and opened the fridge. “Yes, chef,” he responded.

Clay sliced through thick pieces of chicken breast and drizzled them with honey and soy sauce and tossed them into the wok as well.

Evan crinkled his nose. “That looks really healthy. I liked your chocolate pastry phase way better than this healthy one.”

Leigh laughed. “If you want to grow big and strong and be a star quarterback like your brother, you'll have to eat healthy food. And lots of it!”

The microwave beeped, signaling that Clay's potatoes were ready to be fried in his special garlic sauce. Clay did so and then started spooning the steaming food onto plates for Leigh and Evan. “Leigh, would you mind grabbing us some utensils?”

Leigh hopped down from her perch and opened the pantry. “Sure thing, chef.”

Clay grinned as he brought their plates to the table. “Now . . . ” He paused dramatically. “Enjoy.”

Leigh sat down next to Evan and they enthusiastically dug into their dinner.

Clay watched, amused, as he made a plate for himself, double in size. Coach was serious about packing in that protein. Muscles were no picnic to create.

Leigh's plate looked almost clean by the time Clay sat down at the table.

“Wow, Leigh. You were really hungry,” he said with a teasing smile.

Leigh blushed bright red. “I didn't eat breakfast. This is my first meal today.”

Clay frowned. “Leigh, you can't be on your feet all day with an empty stomach. What happened to that package of sandwiches I made you?”

Leigh rubbed her eyes “Mom ate them. You know how she gets.”

“Yeah,” Evan piped up. Clay gave his little brother a murderous look. Just because Leigh's mom took Leigh's stuff did not mean that Evan could be rude about it.

Leigh pushed around the remaining potatoes on her plate. “Yeah, but it's all right.”

“No, Leigh, it's really not. You have to take better care of yourself.”

Leigh avoided Clay's penetrating gaze. “I don't want to go through what my mom does with all those health problems,” she said quietly.

“You won't. You don't struggle with your mental health like she does, sitting in the house all day reading the same newspaper, and you don't have diabetes or heart trouble. Does your mom run around working two jobs? Leigh, you probably move faster than me.” Clay got up and took out a banana cream pie from the fridge.

Leigh smiled slowly as Clay cut her a slice.

After dessert, Clay watched Leigh as she got in her shiny black car—an old '67 Corvette that she had painstakingly restored herself. He'd thought when they'd rescued it from a heap of metal scraps that it was a waste of time—she'd never be able to fix it, let alone get it to run—but she'd put her foot down and insisted on rescuing it from the junkyard. She'd seen what it could become, and indeed, it was now a beautiful car. Clay chuckled and noted what it was he loved best about his friend: Leigh always saw the true potential in things when nobody else did. He wondered, then, what she saw in him. He was a poser—always pretending to be invincible, yet lived every moment full of fear that someone would see him for who he really was: weak. Scared. Doubtful. Dumb. A failure.