Between Sundays Page 7

  “Your picture?” A surge of hope pulsed through Megan’s veins. He was listening to her, and that was progress.

  “Yeah.” He narrowed his eyes. “On a photolisting.”

  He might as well have slipped a knife between her ribs. The photolisting was part of the state’s adoption website. Rudy was among hundreds of kids listed with a photo and a short bio. Kids who were a stone’s throw from adulthood, still waiting to be adopted. She resisted her desire to tell him the photolisting was a good thing, that an adoption could happen. He had a better chance of winning the lottery. Instead, she sighed and put her hand on his big worn-out Nikes.

  “They got it all fancy and everything.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Says Rudy Booker’s a friendly young man with great athletic ability and much potential. Rudy’s still hoping that you’ll be his forever family.” He threw his hands up. “What a lie, huh?”

  There was no clearing a path through the jungle of disappointment Rudy was venturing toward. Instead, Megan took a quick breath and smiled. “You got me, Rudy. Me and your math book, which you’re bringing Wednesday.” She stood and reached her hand out to him.

  For a few seconds he hesitated, but then he clasped her hand and pulled himself slowly to his feet. “Still don’t know why.”

  “’Cause I said so.” She wasn’t nearly as tall as him, but that didn’t matter. Rudy was a kid, and he, like so many of the teenage foster children who acted tough, really wanted a parent figure. Megan wasn’t nearly old enough to be Rudy’s mother, but the years had given her a wisdom that belied her age.

  Rudy must’ve sensed that, because he gave her a reluctant grin. “Fine. But don’t be surprised if I show up at your door with my suitcase someday.”

  “Any time, Rudy.” She stopped and faced him. She was too young to adopt him, but she would never stand by and let him fall through the cracks. Not as long as there was a spot on her sofa. “I mean it.”

  This was the part of her job Megan liked most of all. Learning about the kids who were about to become a statistic, and doing whatever she could to show them a way to succeed. A way to survive.

  After an hour of heated pickup ball, Megan retreated to the lunchroom. She needed to call a couple social workers, and the youth center had a phone in the small eating area. Communication between the adults who cared for foster kids was crucial.

  An old TV sat on a rickety stand at the corner of the room, tuned in to ESPN. As Megan sat down, the story on the set changed and Aaron Hill’s face filled the left half of the screen. A concerned-looking anchorman announced that charges initially pressed against San Francisco’s star player for the 49ers were no longer an issue. “Early today, the teenager who first reported sexual harassment by Hill withdrew her complaint. A statement, issued through her attorney, said the girl was confident she misunderstood Hill, his actions, and his motives.” The anchor looked down at his notes. “In other NFL news…”

  The girl misunderstood him? Megan rolled her eyes and focused on the phone calls. She could only guess how much money Hill had paid for the misunderstanding to come to light. Stories like this about Aaron Hill were rare. Megan had only caught wind of an occasional tabloid headline where the quarterback had been seen at this bar or that party.

  But the story wasn’t a surprise.

  Aaron Hill’s arrogance shone through in every interview. He acted as if he were invincible, king of the world, an island. Rarely did he talk about his teammates or share the light with his supporting cast. He’d been careful with his reputation—or someone had carefully looked out for him. But that didn’t change the guy’s character. Megan was glad for Cory that Aaron Hill wasn’t his father. The sooner Cory became convinced, the better.

  As for the news, thanks to Mrs. Florentino, the story had slipped by without Cory noticing it. The woman down the hall had called Megan, concerned about the bad press surrounding Cory’s hero. “I keep the paper tonight, yes?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Megan’s heart warmed. The woman was beyond thoughtful. “You keep the paper. Thank you.”

  Megan finished her phone calls. One to a social worker about a teenage girl who’d come to the center last week with bruises on her arm. Megan had called the social worker the first time that same afternoon. Today the girl hadn’t shown up, and Megan needed to talk to her social worker to hear the news.

  “We moved her to a different foster home.” The caseworker sounded encouraged. “Apparently she was sneaking out to meet her boyfriend, and last week they got into a fight. The guy’s just a junior in high school, but already he has a history of abuse.”

  Megan was confused. “So they pulled her from her foster home?”

  “No supervision. Something like this, we figure she needs a new environment.” The social worker hesitated. “It wasn’t a great match in the first place.”

  Megan wondered if she could add another sofa to her already crowded apartment. “Where is she today?”

  “With a counselor. She’s pretty upset.”

  The call ended with Megan more discouraged than ever. The girl gets abused and loses her foster family all in one week. Of course she was upset. Megan would make a point to pull her aside and talk to her when she returned to the center.

  The second call was to Rudy Booker’s social worker. Megan gave the man an update on the teenager and asked for the phone number of Rudy’s school.

  “I’ll follow up on the math test.” Megan found a pad of paper in her purse and jotted down the school’s number. “I’m sure they’ll let him take it again.”

  “Thank you.” The man sighed. “I’ll make a call too. But if you’ve got time to tutor him, that could make the difference.”

  “Yes.” Megan looked out the door and into the adjacent gymnasium. Twenty-five kids were lined along the walls waiting for a turn on the court. “Sometimes the smallest things make the difference for these kids.”

  When she was finished, she hung up the phone and headed back to the gym. Cory met her in the hallway, his eyebrows raised high into his forehead. He still had his backpack slung over his shoulder.

  “Any phone calls?” His eyes were so wide she could practically see the whites around them.

  Megan wrapped her arm around his slim shoulders and pulled him close. “No.”

  Cory was antsy. He pulled back and searched her face. “Some kid told me Aaron Hill’s in trouble with the police.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “That’s crazy, right?”

  She wanted to be careful how she handled this one. Honesty was everything to kids like Cory. “The news said a girl accused Aaron of doing something wrong. But she changed her mind yesterday, so everything’s okay.”

  Cory made a face. “Probably a Raider fan.”

  “Probably.” Megan wanted to change the topic. “How was school?”

  “I aced my spelling test.” He stuck his chest out. “Mrs. West said she wouldn’t be surprised if I’m the smartest boy in third grade.”

  “Of course.” Megan’s voice was ripe with teasing. “Look who’s helping you with your homework.”

  “True.” Cory hugged her again. “Hey, my bike got a flat tire. I walked it all the way up the last hill.”

  Megan thought about the money she didn’t have. “I think there’s a patch in one of the drawers in my office. Seems like someone donated a pack of patches a few months ago.”

  “So…not a new tire?” Cory didn’t look disappointed, just matter-of-fact. As if he wanted to be sure about his options.

  “Nope, buddy. No new tire this year.”

  “Okay.” He skipped ahead of her a few feet and then turned around. “Let’s fix it later. The guys want you to ref the next game.”

  Megan laughed. “Last time they told me I need glasses.”

  “That’s only ’cause they love you.” Cory gave her a silly grin. “But I love you more, know why?”

  This was the best part of her day, no question. The teasing and laughter she shared with Cory. Now if only he would let go of his
insistence that Aaron Hill was his father. That way she could adopt him and he’d never again have to wonder where he belonged.

  She played with the bill on his baseball cap. “Why do you love me more?”

  “Because”—his eyes twinkled—“you’re going to take me to Derrick Anderson’s pizza party again this week.” He folded his hands, his eyes pleading with her. “Please, Megan?”

  The organizers of last week’s party had already talked to her, and like before, she had promised that both she and Cory would help with cleanup. “Tell you what?” She took hold of both Cory’s hands. “Every time Derrick Anderson has a pizza party at the youth center, you and I will go. I promise.”

  “Wow!” Cory’s eyes lit up. “You’re the best ever! I mean it.” He began turning in a circle, still holding her hands until they were both dizzy. Then he threw his fists in the air and danced around. “I can’t believe it!”

  Megan watched him, and her heart filled with love. Sometimes Cory seemed so old for his age, so worldly and wise. He was only eight, but on his bike he could navigate through the roughest parts of the city, getting himself to and from school every day, and to soccer practice and home again. The vehicle code suggested an independent bicyclist should be eight or in third grade, which Cory was. More than that, he was savvy to bicycle safety, more than most older kids.

  Here, though, his face filled with hope and wonder, the truth was very clear. Cory was still just a young boy, a child. Weekly dinners with one of the 49ers was a dream come true.

  After he settled down and they were on their way into the gymnasium, Megan stopped him. “One thing though…”

  “What?” Cory was still buzzing with excitement. He bounced in place while he waited for her to continue.

  “No more letters for Aaron Hill.” She raised her eyebrows just a little. “Derrick Anderson’s a good guy. He passed on your letter, I’m sure.”

  “But…” Cory’s face fell, “Aaron hasn’t called.”

  Megan wasn’t sure how to say this, but it had to be said. If not now, then later. “Cory…” They were in the entryway into the gym, and she leaned against the doorway. The pickup game could wait. “What if Aaron isn’t your dad? Remember, we talked about that.”

  A shocked look flashed in Cory’s eyes. “But I told you…” His tone was filled with hurt. “My mom said it was true, and my mom never lied to me. Not ever.”

  Great. Megan steadied herself. Any ideas, God? I’m fresh out here.

  Do not worry, daughter…every day has enough worry for itself.

  The words seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her, but Megan had heard them before. They were from a Bible verse, something she’d read from one of the Gospels. She uttered a silent thanks to God. “You’re right, Cory.” She smiled at him. “Your mother would never lie.” She put her arm around his shoulders again. “Let’s not worry about it right now.” The guys were picking teams on the other side of the gym. “We have a game to play.”

  For a few beats, Cory looked wary. As if he wanted to bring the subject up again. But Megan jogged with him over to the guys. The kids were a mix of ages and colors, both boys and girls. A few of the older kids had made sure the teams were fair, and for the next hour Megan did her best to officiate.

  By the time the game was finished, Cory was himself again, but he didn’t bring up Aaron Hill or the phone call that never came. Not that day or the next, or Saturday night when the 49ers played the Bears in the first preseason game. Aaron stayed on the field the entire first half until they were winning 21–0. Derrick played the second half and threw another three touchdowns.

  Even then, Cory asked nothing about whether Aaron had called. Megan wasn’t sure what to make of his silence. Most likely, he didn’t want her to question the issue again. Whatever the reason, Cory believed with all his heart that his mother had told him Aaron Hill was his father. Even so, she hoped his silence on the issue might be a sign of something else. That no matter what he believed or even what his mother believed, the truth was clearer with every passing hour. Aaron Hill was a talented quarterback.

  But he wasn’t Cory’s father.

  SIX

  Derrick felt better than he had in years.

  The last game was proof he wasn’t past his prime, and though the starting job would of course go to Aaron, Derrick stood ready to fill in whenever needed. The newspapers shouted loud about his efforts, calling San Francisco the only two-quarterback show in the NFL. For a time, it had looked like Derrick might even get the start for the game against the Bears. But in the end, the front office made the call. Aaron was the franchise. One shady news story wouldn’t put him on the bench.

  All that and this: Aaron Hill was sitting shotgun in his Ford F–150, ready to spend an evening at the youth center. When he first found out from Coach that Aaron wanted to come along, Derrick almost laughed out loud. The idea couldn’t have been Aaron’s. Miracles didn’t happen that fast.

  “It’s the girl, right?” Derrick had raised a wary eyebrow at Coach Cameron.

  The man massaged his temples and frowned. “He needs a little good PR.”

  “So the press’ll be there?” Derrick bristled at the idea. “This isn’t about us, Coach. You know that.”

  He put up his hand. “The media wants in on anything Aaron does. I can’t believe they’ll send a camera crew. But a reporter or two are bound to show up for a slice of pizza.”

  Derrick choked back any further complaints. This was what he’d prayed for, that Aaron Hill might have a Friday night free to visit with foster kids. Anything to help him see past his own reflection in the mirror. However it had come about, Derrick had a feeling his teammate was bound to make progress tonight. The kids had that effect on everyone they met.

  “That’s it, right?” Jay Ryder was in the backseat. He leaned forward and pointed straight ahead. “The big brick building?”

  “That’s it.” Derrick pulled into the parking lot, found a spot near the back of the lot, and cut his engine. He looked at his teammates. “There’ll be a lot of kids tonight.” His voice held the slightest warning. “Be patient. Most of them haven’t ever been to something like this.”

  Jay got it. His expression said so. He gave a firm nod and climbed out of the truck. Then he heaved the oversized duffle bag over his shoulder. “That’s a lot of water bottles and bumper stickers.”

  “T-shirts too.” Derrick grinned as he stepped out. “Kids love T-shirts.”

  Aaron looked uncomfortable as he fell in next to Derrick. He looked at his watch. “So, what’s the story? These kids are wards of the court, or homeless…or what?”

  Derrick stopped and stared at his teammate. “You’re serious?”

  “’Course I’m serious.” Aaron looked embarrassed and irritated all at once. “I’ve been in a football uniform since ninth grade, Derrick. What do I know about this?”

  No matter how far Aaron had to go, he needed to start somewhere. Derrick steadied himself and took a slow breath. “Foster kids don’t have permanent families. Most of the time they were taken from their biological parents because of drugs or abandonment or criminal activity.”

  “That’s where foster parents come in.” Aaron nodded as if this was the part he understood. “They take care of the kids until someone adopts them.” He hesitated. “Right?”

  Derrick jerked his thumb toward the big brick building. “Ain’t nobody gonna adopt the kids in that youth center. They’re too old and too jaded. They’ve been passed from one foster home to another. We got thousands of them right here in San Francisco.”

  “I studied that in college.” Jay moved closer, so the three formed a loose huddle. “People want to adopt babies, not middle-school kids.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Makes me wonder…I never woulda got here without my parents’ support.”

  “Exactly.” Derrick frowned at Aaron. “You understand a little better now?”

  The walls in Aaron’s eyes became a little thicker. “It isn’t my thi
ng, but yeah. I understand.”

  Derrick paused, but only for a moment. Then he looked past Aaron and started walking again. “All right, gentlemen. Let’s go love up on some kids.”

  They moved into the building and the buzz through the gym was instant. Derrick had brought along two other players! Jay Ryder and…and Aaron Hill! Derrick waved at the kids as he directed his teammates to the front of the room. They set up near each other, so the kids could form one line and visit with each of the players all at once.

  Just as the first kids reached the front of the line, Derrick remembered the boy’s letter. He was sitting next to Aaron, and he nudged him. “Hey, what’d you do with that letter?”

  Aaron leaned closer and held his hand up to his ear. The room was loud with the sound of excited kids.

  Derrick raised his voice just enough to be heard. “The letter I gave you last week—what’d you do with it?”

  The blank look on Aaron’s face told the story. “Letter?”

  “From the boy.” Derrick scanned the room, but in a sea of kids, the freckle-faced boy with the big eyes didn’t stand out. “I gave you a letter from a boy I met last week.”

  Aaron’s expression changed. “Oh, that.” He hesitated. “It’s still in my locker.”

  A frustrated sigh forced its way through Derrick’s lips. “If I see the boy, I’ll tell you. At least you can fake it.”

  Aaron looked bored. “Whatever.”

  The kids were forming more of a mob than a line, and volunteers were trying to straighten them out. With that, the director of the center announced the players had arrived—in case anyone had missed their entrance—and they’d be meeting kids and signing autographs for the next couple hours. Pizza would be there in just a few minutes, and after dinner there would be another drawing.

  A pair of little girls, clearly sisters, stepped forward. “Hi.” The voice of the taller one was barely audible over the roar of the group.

  Derrick reached out and took her hand. “Hi, I’m Derrick Anderson. What’s your name?”

  “Susie.” The girl held tighter to the hand of her sister. “We love the 49ers.”