Maeve's Symphony (8 page)

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Three years in the relentless spotlight of professional football had conditioned Josh to move past the awed reactions of people he met because he refused to buy into the illusion of stardom. He had never been comfortable with unwarranted adulation, especially from those who formed his childhood and past, the ones who had watched him grow and mature during his years in Westerville.

Like the Callahan family, for example. Sunday gatherings at the home of Maeve's parents were as familiar as daybreak, but when he strode the trio of narrow cement steps leading to the front entrance of their bungalow-style home, the door came open, and he was treated like a celebrity rather than a long-time part of the family.

Time and distance worked that way, he figured. Just like him and Maeve. Outlooks and attitudes constantly evolved and shifted, even within the walls of this sunny yellow home with its burgundy shutters, neat shrubs and well-tended lawn.

Doug Callahan was the lone exception to Josh's well-meaning, though overdone reception. He snorted, tugged Josh across the threshold without preamble, and delivered a much welcome chest bump and a hug Josh returned full force.

“It shocks me, Andrews, the way you've managed to pinpoint targets on the field without your best wide receiver backing you up.”

Doug polished his fingernails against his shirt and waggled his brows. Josh fell into laughter and hooked an arm around Doug's neck putting his friend in a loose choke hold for a playful instant. “Hey, I fought tooth and nail with management to get you on the team roster. Couldn't get them to bite.”

“Because they're crazy fools, my friend.”

Any kind of response Josh might offer jammed in his throat when he glanced up the open stairwell. There at the top stood Maeve, who paused and watched them intently. She wore her clothes from church—a simple navy skirt and a sweater set of white that framed her slender figure to perfection. Her hair tumbled into loose, fiery waves against her shoulders. Antics with Doug hit the sidelines in a hurry. When she descended the stairs, Josh couldn't have looked away if he wanted to.

How many times had he stood at the foot of these very steps, eager and waiting—for a movie date, a dash to the mall, to take her to a dance, to dinner? Time didn't stand still, it swirled all around—pushing him back into their history, pushing him forward into every hope and wish he held for the future. Pushing him to Maeve, and Maeve alone.

“Hmm. So.” Doug's attention pinged between Josh and Maeve. “Rumors of your laser-like intensity aren't without merit.”

Josh shot his friend a scowl. “Shut up.”

Doug's laugh rumbled. When Maeve reached the bottom stair, Josh offered his arm and led her into the dining room, which busted at the seams with family, neighbors, friends. Josh took a drink of the boisterousness, and savored every drop. He held Maeve's hand in place at the crook of his arm. Contentment poured in a delicious flood while they made rounds, chatted with a few people, and warmed up to the gathering.

His first introduction was one he looked forward to—meeting the man who had nabbed the heart of Siobhan Douglas, orthopedic surgeon AJ Cooper.

“So they repaired the rotator cuff via arthroscopic surgery?”

Josh plated a pair of fresh-from-the-oven Irish soda bread rounds—Mrs. Callahan's creation, no doubt. The treats were each marked by a cross on top. Mouth already watering, he added a dollop of strawberry jam to each. “Less invasive, as I'm sure you know.” They shared grins. “The surgeon didn't have to cut through muscle tissue. Instead, he moved the muscle aside and created a window for repair.”

“Still, that's delicate stuff.” AJ winced. “And you've got an arm that—man—just blows my mind. I couldn't get over it when the girls told me you were friends from way back. Is everything going to be OK for your return next season?”

“Prognosis is good. I'm building up to what I used to have in the way of velocity and accuracy.”

“Let me know if there's anything you need. I'm happy to give you any advice, or—”

Siobhan drifted into the room, chuckling as she latched her arm through AJ's. “I should have known I'd find you talking shop with Josh.” Siobhan lifted effortlessly to tip-toe and pecked Josh's cheek. “We're still your biggest fans.”

Josh returned the kiss. “And you're still a charmer, through and through.”

More people filed in. Plates clattered, silver clanged, conversation built to a rolling wave that appealed.

Josh returned his full focus to Maeve. “Quite a crowd. The only ones missing are my mom and dad.”

“How do they like Florida? They're in Tampa, right?”

“Yep, have been for about eight months now.” The linen-covered table was laden by a stomach-tempting assortment of appetizers. Simultaneously, they reached for small china coffee cups. Following a hand bump, Josh retrieved two, and filled the first one for Maeve—black being her preference. He urged her to precede him in line. “They love the climate and love being close to the beaches and water. Winters in upstate New York were getting old.”

“Fortunately, this year was merciful.”

“I thought about that last night. I've been lucky during this visit. Weather patterns at the end of winter and start of spring are such a gamble. Right now temps are almost balmy.”

Doug followed in from behind. He reached for tongs stationed near a massive crystal serving bowl and dished a generous helping of salad. In passing, he nudged Josh's shoulder. “Maybe so, but do you remember the Snow Bowl?”

Josh cringed and registered Maeve's anticipatory grin. “Oh, man. Are you really going to bring that up again?”

“You bet I am. It was my senior year. The weather was a nightmare, remember? We had an entire week, of, what, blizzard-like conditions? Man, all it did was snow.”

Josh caught Maeve's attention and rolled his eyes. The sound of her snicker tickled his ear.

“As the newly elected captain of the Eagles, Josh here decided to call a scrimmage. On February twentieth. During a brief break in epic eight- to ten-inch snow squalls.”

AJ paused from eating to give the conversation his full attention which made Josh grin.

“Be fair. It was sunny that day, and temps hovered near the mid-fifties, and the field had been cleared. Sorta. For the most part. Almost.”

Doug answered that back-pedal with a teasing grumble. “Returning squad members looked forward to, oh, say, six months of down time—”

“Loafing.” Josh interjected over an exaggerated cough. He tossed back a pair of creamy, spicy ham roll ups, plated some veggies and strawberries, a few chunks of pineapple.

Undeterred, Doug continued. “You called the scrimmage, but furthermore, expected all attendees to show up in shorts, short-sleeves and cleats. He wanted to kill us.”

Laughter built among those who made their way around the table. Josh moved to a crème cheese, hot-pepper jelly spread and slathered a helping atop a few large crackers. Nobody knew how to feed the masses like Mrs. Callahan.

“As I was saying, Josh was bent on destruction. The team superstar forced us to run patterns for almost an hour—across a frozen football field.”

“It was a blast. Everyone loved it.”

“Or so they said, following treatment for hypothermia.”

“Dude, I was trying to earn my spurs and become an awesome team captain. Remember, I was only a junior at that point. I felt a hardcore need to impart the ideals of self-discipline, stamina—”

“I reiterate. He wanted to kill us.”

“Almost succeeded, too.”

“After that awful snowbound, gut-wrenching practice—”

“Exaggeration.”

“We dived...you heard me right, dived…straight into the nearby snowdrifts work crews had left behind when they plowed the school parking lot.”

“It was invigorating. Let it also be stated, for the record, that I led the charge. I was the first one to sink into almost five feet of snow.”

Doug snorted. “Yep. In shorts. And a t-shirt. You-da-man, Josh.”

Josh did away with a few avocado spears and carrots. “Do you guys still have the tire swing out back?”

Doug stopped chewing on a fork-full of salad and swallowed fast. “We took it down a couple years ago.”

“Oh.” Time marched on, Josh thought. Time marched on. His attention moved briefly to Maeve. Man, she was stunning. “That's a bummer. I come here and old memories hit. I get an itch to do some target practice.”

Doug's grin built slow until it split his features. “I hope you mean that, because in honor of your return, Dad strung it up yesterday. You serious about hitting some passing drills once we're finished with appetizers?”

Maeve's gaze rested on Josh briefly, but when he looked into her eyes, she ducked her head, shy and hidden. That bugged him. She'd emerge, then duck, emerge then duck. Why? He wanted her to break out of that shell she wore with such determination, but how could he accomplish that task if she remained closed off and remote?

He returned to the moment at hand. “Sure. That'd be fun. Let's get the kids involved, too. We'll make a game of it.”

Doug's eyes lit. “Seriously? Dan and Nick will go nuts!”

Dan was Doug's six-year-old son; Nick had been introduced to Josh as Dan's closest buddy from next door. The two boys watched as the exchange built, and high-fived once they heard the all-systems-go verdict from Josh. Their unison whoop of happiness split the air.

Josh laughed and set aside his plate. “I guess food can wait for a bit. Let's go.”

The Callahan's backyard hadn't changed at all. A few wooden chairs still dotted the cement patio. A simple, glass-topped table was surrounded by a quartet of chairs. Wooden buckets and a batch of ceramic pots rested empty for now, but he knew come spring flowers would stuff them full and overflow the edges. Just beyond the patio, a few trees dotted the lawn. Suspended from the giant, curving branch of an old maple tree was a thick rope from which dangled a time-worn tire.

Doug vanished into the garage for a few seconds. When he emerged, he called, “Go long, Andrews.”

Josh complied on instinct, freedom a song as he ran toward the middle of the yard. Doug launched the football he had retrieved and it landed neat as a guided missile against Josh's chest. “Hit me right on the numbers, Callahan. Maybe you should have been the QB instead of me.”

“Ha! Not a chance.”

Josh returned to the patio and regarded his mini-recruits. “OK, guys, here we go. First of all, Dan, get me a couple of your grandma's kneeling pads. The ones she uses when she gardens.”

Doug's boy dashed off in a hurry and returned from the garage lightning quick. Josh led them to a spot about ten yards away from the target—far enough to be a challenge yet close enough to prompt a sense of accomplishment if they succeeded.

“For starters, I want you to drop to one knee. Then, I want you to extend your left arm toward the target and make sure you're perpendicular. Cock your right arm back…and release.” Enjoying the mantle of coach, Josh crouched and pressed a guiding hand against Dan's arm. The ball took flight, sure and straight. “See? Your left arm maintains balance and aim. Try it on your own this time.”

Focused and intent, Dan copied Josh's prompts perfectly; sure enough, the ball sailed straight through the tire hole.

“My turn, Josh!” Nick made ready to fire then let out a loud whoop when his football sailed straight through the opening.

“Keep doing this exercise, and you'll build muscle memory. Furthermore, you can tell your friends you've learned a practice move straight from the pages of an NFL training book.” In his peripheral vision, Josh noticed Maeve exit the house via the sliding glass doors. She strolled toward them, and his nerves began to dance. “The key is focus and control. You can't let anything pull you away from your intended target.”

“Focus and control.” Maeve nodded, studied the target for a second. “Good advice, and makes sense, doesn't it?”

The boys chirped affirmative responses. When he looked at Maeve, Josh's confusion built. What was going on? Something warm and alluring sparkled in her eyes.

“Let's see how well Coach Andrews can practice what he preaches.”

“Yeah, Josh! Send one! Show Aunt Maeve how it's done!”

Dan's rambunctious encouragement prompted Josh to ruffle the kid's curly red hair. “You got it, buddy.” He knelt.

“Oh, no.” Maeve jerked her thumb backward, directing his attention to a spot near the lip of the patio. “Not from here. From back there. The good ol' twenty yard line.”

The playful light in her eyes left him wanting to show off and win her admiration. Hey, he was only human. Injury or not, a twenty yard pass versus a stationary tire swing would be a cakewalk.

“Remember, guys, it's all about focus. Right, Josh?” Her gaze remained trained on him; attraction sparked and charged. Warmth chased away any sense of chill from the air around them. Josh's throat went dry, his mind clouded by a swirl of desire as she turned away and a breeze carried her floral scent his way.

Focus? Now? Yeah, sure.

“C'mon, Josh! You'll be awesome! I wanna see you launch it!” Nick bounced from foot to foot, pumping his fists.

“Fair enough.” Josh moved to the spot Maeve indicated, dropping a knee pad on the cold, crispy grass at his feet. From there, he knelt, and eyed the dangling tire. Maeve inched the hem of her skirt upward just far enough so she could kneel next to him without spoiling the fabric. Josh shot her a look, catching on to her plan. So, she intended to keep an eye on him, watch right over his shoulder in an attempt to distract.

Like he hadn't dealt with that scenario before—and from far more intimidating sources.

Following a blink, he slipped into QB mode, directing his aim. Intensity and determination carried him into a moment of heightened focus that turned a seemingly miniscule opening into a canyon.