breakup.” Emma sighed.
“You grew apart? Or was it about something else?”
“He wanted kids.” Emma shrugged. “I didn’t.”
Allie’s forehead creased. “You know? I don’t get it. You’re so good with . . . Caroline.” Her voice faltered.
Emma hemmed, examining her salad plate. “I didn’t feel like I could handle a baby. Caroline was at such a tender age.” She looked up at her sister pointedly. “We were all so worried about her. Dividing my attention wouldn’t have been fair.”
Allie’s face lost color.
“And . . .” Emma said the next words softly and carefully, knowing they’d cut deep and fast. “And you were . . . gone. For so long from Caroline. From all of us.”
Allie inhaled sharply and winced. “I know.” She hesitated. “I’m so grateful she had you. I-I never meant for her to be a burden.”
“Never,” Emma said as something fierce and raw tugged at her heart. “I love her. I always will. She’s blood. There’s nothing that will come between that.”
“Of course,” Allie murmured, her words barely audible.
Emma took a sip of water, gathering her thoughts. Nothing would come between her and Caroline. Ever. But Allie, Allie had let her down. The tie was broken; the blood was tainted.
“Anyway, it just didn’t work out,” Emma added. “I’d rushed into it, thrown myself into the wedding planning. Mom was reviewing catering menus like her life depended on it.” She ran a finger around the rim of the glass. “I think I loved the idea of being married. But then it seemed like we were being Barbie and Ken in one of those pink plastic playhouses.”
The truth was that none of it—and no guy, no matter how perfect and kind—would ever compare to the only man she had ever truly loved.
April 2006
The headline stirred the already-hungry Brunswick fans into a feeding frenzy. Star Coach Lands in Wolverine Country. A small crowd had already gathered for the first day of spring training, everyone eager to catch a glimpse of the new hire.
Allie’s dog, Molly, stopped in her tracks, sniffing the air. “Come on, girl,” Emma urged, shivering as Allie guided her puppy back toward the football stadium.
Rain drizzled as gray clouds hung low over the playing field, scraped raw in places, more clay than grass. Every cleat was caked in red brown; spatters of dirt patterned every shin. Between plays, the ball was wiped clean and handed back.
While Allie made the social rounds, Emma surveyed the crowd. Most notably, Sheriff Lee Gaines stood on the edge of the field. He’d been a school booster since the beginning of time, with a passion for the game said to rival the University of Alabama’s Bear Bryant.
The whistle blew again; players gulped water from plastic cups. Two hulking linebackers took turns drinking from a Gatorade jug, swapping trash talk between mouthfuls.
The new coach, Boyd Thomas, stalked to the end zone. His staff, in matching windbreakers, parted as if a jetliner had taxied onto the field. The coach stopped and spoke to the quarterback, emphasizing the conversation with crisp gestures. He grabbed at the headphones around his neck and spun a finger in the air, signaling the players to resume the drill.
He was a University of Georgia graduate, Emma had noted from the article in the newspaper. And below a long section, the story noted that Thomas had risen from a foster kid to a head coach with one of the winningest records in the state. The last paragraph mentioned his family would be taking over the pharmacy and old-fashioned soda shop downtown. The coach’s wife was a pharmacist, and the current owner was retiring and happy to leave the place in capable hands.
As Emma watched, the players huddled, clapped hard, and got into formation. The quarterback called his play, leaning in to catch the snap. Feet shuffled, bodies collided.
Coach Thomas caught the edge of his ball cap and pulled it out straight, peering toward his players. A perfect spiral
“You grew apart? Or was it about something else?”
“He wanted kids.” Emma shrugged. “I didn’t.”
Allie’s forehead creased. “You know? I don’t get it. You’re so good with . . . Caroline.” Her voice faltered.
Emma hemmed, examining her salad plate. “I didn’t feel like I could handle a baby. Caroline was at such a tender age.” She looked up at her sister pointedly. “We were all so worried about her. Dividing my attention wouldn’t have been fair.”
Allie’s face lost color.
“And . . .” Emma said the next words softly and carefully, knowing they’d cut deep and fast. “And you were . . . gone. For so long from Caroline. From all of us.”
Allie inhaled sharply and winced. “I know.” She hesitated. “I’m so grateful she had you. I-I never meant for her to be a burden.”
“Never,” Emma said as something fierce and raw tugged at her heart. “I love her. I always will. She’s blood. There’s nothing that will come between that.”
“Of course,” Allie murmured, her words barely audible.
Emma took a sip of water, gathering her thoughts. Nothing would come between her and Caroline. Ever. But Allie, Allie had let her down. The tie was broken; the blood was tainted.
“Anyway, it just didn’t work out,” Emma added. “I’d rushed into it, thrown myself into the wedding planning. Mom was reviewing catering menus like her life depended on it.” She ran a finger around the rim of the glass. “I think I loved the idea of being married. But then it seemed like we were being Barbie and Ken in one of those pink plastic playhouses.”
The truth was that none of it—and no guy, no matter how perfect and kind—would ever compare to the only man she had ever truly loved.
April 2006
The headline stirred the already-hungry Brunswick fans into a feeding frenzy. Star Coach Lands in Wolverine Country. A small crowd had already gathered for the first day of spring training, everyone eager to catch a glimpse of the new hire.
Allie’s dog, Molly, stopped in her tracks, sniffing the air. “Come on, girl,” Emma urged, shivering as Allie guided her puppy back toward the football stadium.
Rain drizzled as gray clouds hung low over the playing field, scraped raw in places, more clay than grass. Every cleat was caked in red brown; spatters of dirt patterned every shin. Between plays, the ball was wiped clean and handed back.
While Allie made the social rounds, Emma surveyed the crowd. Most notably, Sheriff Lee Gaines stood on the edge of the field. He’d been a school booster since the beginning of time, with a passion for the game said to rival the University of Alabama’s Bear Bryant.
The whistle blew again; players gulped water from plastic cups. Two hulking linebackers took turns drinking from a Gatorade jug, swapping trash talk between mouthfuls.
The new coach, Boyd Thomas, stalked to the end zone. His staff, in matching windbreakers, parted as if a jetliner had taxied onto the field. The coach stopped and spoke to the quarterback, emphasizing the conversation with crisp gestures. He grabbed at the headphones around his neck and spun a finger in the air, signaling the players to resume the drill.
He was a University of Georgia graduate, Emma had noted from the article in the newspaper. And below a long section, the story noted that Thomas had risen from a foster kid to a head coach with one of the winningest records in the state. The last paragraph mentioned his family would be taking over the pharmacy and old-fashioned soda shop downtown. The coach’s wife was a pharmacist, and the current owner was retiring and happy to leave the place in capable hands.
As Emma watched, the players huddled, clapped hard, and got into formation. The quarterback called his play, leaning in to catch the snap. Feet shuffled, bodies collided.
Coach Thomas caught the edge of his ball cap and pulled it out straight, peering toward his players. A perfect spiral
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