Just to See You Smile
A moment in the snow…
Christmas magic…
She glanced at him. He wore khakis and a forest green V-necked sweater. It would bring out the green in his eyes, but she didn’t look for it. What was wrong with her? The tips of her ears felt warm, and her throat was closing up. She had thought about him through the short night, first thing in the morning, and all day until practice at one this afternoon, when at last the matter at hand took precedence over that other, whatever that was. Adrenaline…a crush…a moment in the snow…Christmas magic…
He reached across the distance between them and squeezed her shoulder. “Miss O, you look like a deer caught in headlights.”
She’d heard that one before!
“If it helps any,” he said, “my deer’s wearing a mask.”
She turned toward him at last. He was smiling his rare smile; the one that diminished the ever-present military aura, the one that tricked her body into believing it was on a roller coaster, on the whooshing down side of the steepest climb. “I was trying to chalk it up to Christmas magic.”
“Me, too.”
The roller coaster careened around a curve.
Sally John is the author of several novels, including the popular The Other Way Home and In a Heartbeat series. She has recently coauthored a book with Gary Smalley, A Time to Mend, in Nelson’s Safe Harbor series. A two-time finalist for The Christy Award and a former teacher, Sally lives in Southern California with her husband, Tim.
JUST TO SEE
YOU SMILE
SALLY
JOHN
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from The New English Bible, copyright © Oxford University Press and Cambridge University Press 1961, 1970. All rights reserved.
Cover by Garborg Design Works, Minneapolis, Minnesota
Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc.,7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
JUST TO SEE YOU SMILE
Copyright © 2003 by Sally John
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
ISBN-13: 978-0-7369-2093-3
ISBN-10: 0-7369-2093-5
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
John, Sally D., 1951-
Just to see you smile / Sally John.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7369-0883-2 (pbk.)
ISBN-10: 0-7369-0883-8 (pbk.)
1. Christian fiction, American. 2. Love stories, American. I. Title.
PS3610.028J64 2003
813‘.54—dc21 2002009617
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 / LB-KB / 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To
Cindi, Tom, Jeff,
and our mother,
Mary Carlson
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Other Books by Sally John
Other Books by Harvest House Publishers
Acknowledgments
When a project like this is finished, the heart overflows with gratitude for those who had a hand in its creation. My thanks go to:
Friend Rhonda Cox, for her teacher’s heart, for answering all my basketball questions without laughing, and for her devotion to coaching. Any mistakes are mine. Keep in mind the book is fiction.
Kelly Farmer, U.S. Marine wife, for graciously devoting time to answer a myriad of questions and thereby giving substance to “Joel.” Technical mistakes are mine. I hope he lives up to the Corps’ honorable traditions. If not, keep in mind he is fiction.
Daughter Elizabeth John, for clueing me in on athletic details and life.
Stephanie Begley and Anna Rehder, for the team stories.
Donna Begley and Judy Rehder, for the winter night bleacher memories.
Editor Kim Moore, for her unfailing sense of direction.
Tim, for believing in the possibility.
Prologue
Love one another; as I have loved you, so you are to love one another. If there is this love among you, then all will know that you are my disciples.
—John 13:34-35
A tiny woman with primly curled silver hair stood outside the high school gym doors, encircled by a sea of graduation caps and gowns. One by one, boys in royal blue and girls in yellow gold bent to return her hug, to wait for the twinkling blue eyes to register recognition, to receive a personal story. “I remember when you…”
“And this,” she said to each one as she smiled at the child standing beside her, “is my great-niece. She wants to be a teacher.”
The girl confidently shook their hands, repeating “Congratulations” in a crystal-clear voice. Her close-set blue eyes focused intensely as if she memorized each face; her head tilted as if to better catch every word. Though her blonde braids and chubby cheeks indicated she was only about nine, she was already as tall as the woman.
As the students moved on through the crowd of wellwishers, the girl’s eyes widened. “Did you teach all of them kindergarten?”
“I did, honey. Do you want to know how I remember them?”
The child nodded.
“Because I loved each and every one of them as if they were my own children. In a way, every class is a family. My job is to make sure each member feels that they belong, that they make a difference. Can you
be that kind of teacher?”
Again the girl nodded solemnly, her mind almost audibly clicking, storing away the sage advice for future use.
Across the open, central area inside the small-town high school, a young couple faced each other, unconcealed adoration evident in their gaze. She wore the yellow gold cap and gown, her long black hair cascading to her waist. He wore dress slacks, and his football shoulders strained against the white button-down collared shirt. A certain air about him declared that his diploma was already gathering dust.
The girl reached up and brushed a dark brown curl from the young man’s forehead. “You want me to open it now? Here?”
He nodded, smiling.
In her palm was a tiny, gold-foil-wrapped gift. Giggling, she swiftly opened it and pulled out a ring box. Her smile rounded into an oval. Lifting the lid, she uttered a small cry.
“It’s a promise ring,” he explained. “Not an engagement ring.”
“But it’s a diamond!”
“It’s called a chip.” He removed the narrow gold band from the box, took her left hand, and slid the ring onto the third finger. “I promise to always be on your side, to always take care of you. No matter what.”
Halfway across the country on the West Coast, an outdoor ceremony had just been completed. A slender young man stood before an older couple. His face, partially shaded by the dark bill of his white cap, was fresh, teetering on the brink of manhood. Yet, somehow, he exuded the sense he was already there.
He wore the Marine dress blues of the Honor Grad as if the uniform had graced his closet for some time, waiting only until the boy’s height and breadth would fill the white-belted blue jacket and blue pants with the red stripe along the sides. Something evident in his sharp eyes, square jaw, and rigid posture added years that had scarcely begun to accumulate.
The older man spoke. “Son, you’ll make a fine Marine.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The woman dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’m very proud of you.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She clutched his white-gloved hand and laughed. “But I would appreciate a little eye contact and a smile!”
He grinned and looked down at her. “Sorry, Mom.”
His father asked, “Are you still thinking career?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t foresee a reason to ever leave the Corps.”
“It’s what you’ve always wanted.” He smiled, nodding in approval.
The woman tucked her handkerchief into her purse. “Just don’t forget to call me on Christmas.”
“Semper fidelis, Mom. I’ll always be faithful to you, my country, and my fellow Marines.”
One
Twenty years later
Britte Olafsson hated goodbyes.
In no hurry to say another one, she inched her white Jeep down Acorn Park Lane. At last she parked, a short distance behind a U-haul trailer. And there she sat, lost in goodbye thoughts.
Naturally, there had been the unavoidable loss of elderly grandparents. Perennially, on the last day of school, she had dreaded the parting with yet another favorite teacher. The ongoing departure of pets—and on the farm that included cows and horses—never ceased to stun her.
The first almost truly unbearable goodbye occurred when she was 13. Her best friend moved across the country. Again, at 16, her next best friend left. Three weeks before graduation, a senior boy, a close friend, died in a car accident.
In college she had tried not to make best friends, an impossible challenge at a small Michigan school where she spent four years playing basketball with four other women who knew her better than anyone ever possibly could. Of those four, the nearest now lived 300 miles away. Then there had been Eric—
Britte opened the car door, jumped out, and slammed it shut.
And now there was Isabel Mendoza.
A cold November wind whipped Britte’s ponytail against her cheek as she jogged across the front yard. Frozen grass crackled beneath her running shoes. Snow wasn’t yet in the forecast, but the steady north wind left no doubt that winter had arrived. Crummy day for moving.
Britte recognized her brother’s lanky form backing against Isabel’s glass storm door. She pulled the door open for him. “Hi, Brady.”
“Hey, sis.” He turned, his arms hugging a kitchen table chair, and stepped down to the sidewalk. “Where’s your coat?”
“I’m wearing a coat.” She saw Isabel’s favorite padded rocking chair now approaching, carried by someone hidden behind it. She kept the door open and waited.
Brady tsked, only half jokingly. “How many times do Mom and I have to tell you? A warm-up jacket does not count as a winter coat.”
“Yeah, well, it’s 30 degrees and you’re bundled up like an Eskimo, ready to race a dogsled across the tundra. You’re going soft on me!”
Walking toward the truck, he called over his shoulder, “Windchill is five degrees. You’ll get sick, Itty-Britty!”
The nickname was a taunt left over from their childhood, his final zinger that typically caused her to smile. At the moment she didn’t feel like smiling. She shouted, “Brady, your persnickety side is showing! Has Gina seen your persnickety side yet?”
The door shifted in her hand. She pulled it wider, making room for the rocker’s exit. The high school principal came into view, carrying his usual stoic demeanor right along with the chair. “Mr. Kingsley!”
“Afternoon, Miss O. Thought I recognized your coach’s voice.”
“Who roped you into this?”
Only a slight lift of his brows changed his expression. “Your brother has a way with words.”
She laughed. “Tell me about it. I grew up with Mr. Motor Mouth. At least he’s put it to good use by writing books for a living.”
As he continued down the sidewalk, another kitchen chair appeared in the doorway. Big Cal Huntington had an arm looped through it. He carried a second one behind him. “I can’t believe you two call each other ‘miss’ and ‘mister’ outside of school.”
“Habit. We can’t risk some student overhearing us and realizing teachers and principals actually have first names. Our mystique would be destroyed in no time. Hey, congratulations, big guy! Engaged, huh?”
“Yep.” The deputy sheriff grinned in a distracted sort of way as he lumbered down the steps. It was the same grin Brady wore these days, the one that must have spread across Isaac Newton’s face after the apple whacked him. They, too, had been hit over the head by a new law, the law that governed their hearts and sent them scurrying off to buy engagement rings. She grinned to herself. Watching these guys fall in love amused her to no end.
Brrr! Britte dashed into the house, her nose and fingers numb from the cold.
Isabel’s front room was a disaster. Her things were making their way out to the U-haul, while Lia’s furnishings were shoved willy-nilly out of the way. The men had previously made quick work of moving Lia out of her apartment above the pharmacy and into the rental house Isabel was vacating.
The sound of female chatter drew her down the hall. She found Isabel and Lia in a bedroom making up the bed.
“Hi, Isabel. Lia!” she cried as she wrapped the pharmacist in a bear hug. “Congratulations! Mom told me the news this morning!”
“Oh, thank you, Britte. I am so happy.” Lia returned the hug and then held out her left hand. The sparkle of a diamond mirrored the one in her dark, almond-shaped eyes.
“It’s beautiful. Cal’s out there grinning like he just won a million bucks. Actually, I think he has.”
Lia smiled and caught the bed sheet Isabel was tossing her way.
Britte plopped down on the carpet. “Hey, sorry I’m late.”
Isabel threw her a smile. “You’re not late for lunch, Coach.”
“Impeccable timing, if I do say so myself.” She gave her friend a thumbs-up. “You know, if you had planned more than a week in advance that you were moving from Valley Oaks to Chicago, I could have rearranged my practice schedule.�
��
“It’s the day after Thanksgiving. You shouldn’t make those girls practice on a holiday weekend!”
“It was a simple shoot-around and only mandatory for the coach.”
Isabel tucked in the sheet. “I hate the thought of missing your game Wednesday.”
Their eyes met, acknowledging the unsaid. Isabel would miss every game this season after three years of not missing a single one.
Lia piped in and eased the tension in that calm way of hers, “Next Wednesday? Chloe and I will be there! She loves basketball now. Come to think of it, she loves all sports now.” She grinned. “Probably has something to do with Cal enjoying them.”
Isabel burst into laughter. “You think?”
Britte sighed to herself. Couples were cropping up everywhere. Cal and Lia. Brady and Gina. Isabel was moving to take a new job and live near Tony Ward, a likely candidate for fiancé in the not-too-distant future. Was there something contagious in the village well-water system? She always drank bottled water.
“Isabel, where’s Tony?”
“Picking up pizzas for lunch.”
“Sounds good. So what’s with Mr. Kingsley? How’d he get involved today?”
Isabel shook a pillow into its case. “Britte, you make him sound like an old man. What is he, 37, 38?”
“Something like that. He’s my principal. As in my immediate boss. He has a permanent ‘mister’ aura about him. Can’t seem to get his first name onto my tongue. What is it, anyway?”
Isabel threw the pillow at her. “You’re hopeless. Cal never takes a moment off from being a cop. You never take a moment off from being the prim-and-proper schoolmarm, except during basketball season, but now it’s even worse. Schoolmarm morphs into fire-breathing coach.”
“You have a problem with that?” She threw the pillow back.
Isabel just shook her head in reply and straightened a blanket.
Lia cleared her throat and flipped back her bobbed, jet black hair. “Um, I’ve seen Cal take quite a number of moments off from being a cop.”
Britte and Isabel collapsed into laughter.
Lia’s deadpan expression didn’t change. “But you’re not getting details.”