impatient man, but getting stronger would take time. He couldn’t force it and run the risk of new injuries or worse.
He was halfway down to the beach when Jackie streaked past him, running with that loose-jointed ease of the very young. The boy raced toward the old oak tree, head down, in a way that set off alarms. Was he crying? Again?
Damn.
Maybe he’d put off swimming today. Maybe today he’d just play a game of catch.
He returned to the cottage, where he put on a shirt and unwrapped the football he’d picked up yesterday. He tucked it under his arm running-back style, before grabbing his cane and limping off to the tree.
But when he got there, the kid was nowhere in sight. Had he climbed up to the crow’s nest? Topher bent upward, trying to see the boy through the leaves. Yes, right there was a patch of white school uniform shirt.
“Hey, kid, I got you a present,” he called.
He got no answer. So he stood there, clutching the ball, the familiar texture under his palm. He itched to throw the damn thing. Could he still hurl it seventy yards and hit a target? Probably not.
He leaned his cane against the tree and tossed the ball into the air and caught it. It felt good in his hands. A happy reminder of better days.
“Hey, kid,” he called again. “Wanna play catch?”
Crickets…or maybe cicadas. Literally.
He was about to drop the ball onto the ground by the tree’s roots for the kid to find, when someone spoke from behind. “I’ll play.”
Topher turned to find Reverend Micah St. Pierre walking across the lawn toward him. He wasn’t dressed for football. In fact, his gray cleric’s shirt and dress slacks were almost like a red warning sign.
“I, uh…” Topher stuttered. A man of God was the absolute last person he wanted to play catch with.
“I’ll do all the running,” the preacher said in a soft voice, then glanced up at the tree right before giving Topher a wink.
Oh. Damn. He was an idiot. The minister hadn’t come out here for him. Maybe he should stop thinking the world revolved around him and his pain.
“Sure, I’d love to play catch,” Topher said in a big voice. “It’s a lot of fun. Did you play football in high school?”
“Nah. But my brothers and I played catch all the time.”
Topher threw the ball, a tight spiral that hit the minister right in the chest. Micah St. Pierre caught the ball without a problem. Now came the challenge. If the preacher didn’t toss the football accurately, Topher was going to look like an invalid.
Micah reared back and threw, and damn if he didn’t put a lot of touch on the ball. It hit Topher in the chest, and he caught it without any problem.
For some stupid reason, the little black cloud that hovered above his head most days scuttled out of the way. He took a deep breath, redolent with the scents of late summer: Ashley’s flowers, the bay, and the recently mowed grass.
It was one of those beautiful days when the humidity gave everyone a break—the beginning of the football season. He threw the ball. The minister caught it and threw it back.
They settled into a rhythm, not talking, just throwing and catching. After about five minutes, the branches of the live oak rustled as Jackie left his nest.
Micah winked again and rolled his eyes toward the tree. He threw the ball. Topher caught it and sent it spiraling back.
“Whatcha doin’?” the kid asked. He’d come down to sit on the tree’s lowest branch. The one that ran parallel to the ground.
“Having a catch,” Micah said. “Wanna try?”
The kid cocked his head, considering. He looked as if he’d had a really good cry up there. His eyes were puffy, and he had a wet stain on his T-shirt, probably snot.
“No. I’m no good at sports,” Jackie said.
Topher limped over to the branch. “Well, neither am I. I can’t run or jump. And day before yesterday, I discovered that I’m not too good at swimming, either.”
The kid shrugged. Topher leaned against the tree limb. Micah stood back, tossing the football up in the air and catching it.
This was the preacher’s domain, wasn’t it? Topher knew nothing about kids. And yet Micah seemed more interested in playing with the ball.
Topher folded his arms across his chest. “So what’s the matter?” he asked.
The kid shrugged.
“Have a bad day at school?” Topher remembered his own rocky childhood before Granddad had put