Onstage, Robbie’s dancing was expressive but controlled; his movements were angry and urgent like the music, but there was a hint of joy, too. Dean could tell that Robbie knew he was good. That was all Dean really wanted for him — to be good at something and know it. He wouldn’t have chosen dancing, of course, but he was glad that it was something physical. Maybe it was the dumb jock in him, but he felt that the physical world was more reliably rewarding than the intellectual one.
If Dean had come into the auditorium alone, he would have left without letting Robbie know what he’d seen, but he had Bryan with him and Bryan wouldn’t understand that impulse. Instead, he clapped at the end of Robbie’s impromptu solo. The spell was immediately broken. Robbie blushed in displeasure and all the elegance disappeared from his body at once, his limbs going slack. He returned to his usual “whatever” posture. But Robbie’s teacher was happy to see Dean.
“Coach Renner! Thanks for dropping by.” She smiled as if she knew him already, and Dean struggled to remember her name as they shook hands.
“Abby,” she said. She lowered her voice. “We met once before. At Coach’s? You were with your brother-in-law?”
“Oh right, of course.” Dean felt awkward. One of Laura’s friends. She probably knew more about his personal life than he did.
“I’m so glad you got to see Robbie dance.”
“Me too,” Dean said. “Sorry to interrupt. We’ll wait outside so you can finish up.”
“Oh, it’s fine. Robbie, you can actually go home now, if you’d like. You’ve got it down.”
“I can stay,” Robbie said. “I don’t mind.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry. Go home with your dad.”
Robbie reluctantly left the stage and grabbed his backpack and school clothes from the first row of theater seats.
“You can go change,” Dean said. “We’re not in a hurry.”
“Let’s just go.”
Outside it was already dark. Robbie hurried ahead to the car, clearly embarrassed. Dean apologized for intruding and Robbie mumbled “It’s okay” and then unzipped his backpack and started to reorganize its contents.
“I’m glad I got to see you rehearse,” Dean said. “You’re really good.”
Robbie shrugged. “It’s only dancing.”
“You know what they say — the most grueling sports are football and ballet.”
“That wasn’t ballet. And I know you’d pick football if you could choose — or basketball, or soccer. Anything with a ball.”
“That’s not true.”
“Dad.”
“All right, there’s some truth to it. But that’s only because I’m a terrible dancer.”
At last, Robbie smiled, a little. “You’ve still got Bry,” he said. “I mean, to play football.”
“Did you hear that, Bry?” Dean said. “It’s all on you.”
“Put me in, Coach!” Bryan said, eager to make them all laugh. And they did.
At home, Dean made a quick dinner of chicken drumsticks with mashed potatoes and green beans. Laura called when Dean was loading the dishwasher.
“I can’t really talk now,” he said. “The boys. .”
“Oh, are they right nearby?”
“Yeah. I’ll call you back later, okay?”
“Okay.”
But he didn’t call later. Instead he read about racing strategy after he put the boys to bed. He stayed up to watch Letterman, mindlessly, like he used to do over the summer. The guest was an actress he’d never heard of. He dozed off during her interview and woke up, an hour later, to a commercial for a CD collection of hits from the 1960s. Song titles scrolled down the screen, lyrics from his childhood. He felt disoriented as he made his way upstairs to bed, stopping as always to check on Robbie and Bry. The room seemed thick with their breathing. Two lives, he thought vaguely. That night he dreamed of his mother. He had dinner with her at the Red Byrd diner and she was very charming, asking him questions about the football team. He kept trying to tell her about the cross-country girls, but she was dismissive. “You never got to know me,” she said. In the midst of the dream, Dean became lucid and, realizing he was in a dream, tried to interpret it. He had the idea of calling Laura but he couldn’t, he was in a dream. Then it was morning, and he was waking up. He could call Laura, if he wanted, but when he picked up the phone, the receiver felt too heavy in his hand.
That day at practice, Dean took the girls to the Antietam Battlefield for a fartlek workout. It was one of the first truly chilly days of the season, with a cold wind that seemed to warn of winter. On the wide-open battlefield, whipped-up clouds slid across the sky.
Dean warmed up with the girls, leading the first mile at a relaxed pace. He’d brought Bryan’s bike so that Bryan could keep up. It felt good to run on the battlefield’s smooth, paved roads and to breathe the cold autumn air. The leaves were beginning to change on some of the trees, spots of red and gold at the edges, and the grasses were yellowing. It gave the park the bleak sepia tones it had in photographs of the war.
After about ten minutes, Dean dropped back and told Missy to take the lead — and to run fast. She bolted ahead, and the other girls rushed to follow. Dean’s own lungs burned as he kept the pace. He thought she would tire after a few minutes, but she kept it up for almost a mile. Then See-See took over and slowed things down for a while. They came to a steep hill, and Bryan lost momentum on his bicycle and had to stop and walk. Dean dropped back to help him, watching as the girls crested the hill and then disappeared from view.
“Come on, Bry, let’s cut across and meet them at the other side of the loop.”
As he ran across the transverse road, Dean kept glancing to his right, watching for the girls in the distance. He couldn’t see them and worried they might have taken a wrong turn. Ahead, Bryan made lazy loops on his bicycle. “Daddy!” he said. “I see them!”
Dean sprinted ahead. There they were, running toward them, Jessica in the lead. He felt a sense of relief that he knew was out of proportion, but he didn’t care. He let the feeling wash over him as he ran.
ON THURSDAY, THE last hard workout of the week before race day, it was overcast and gray. The football team had reserved the weight room, so Dean used his planning period at the end of the day to set up a simple circuit-training workout in the small gym. He was in the midst of pulling out the tumbling mats from the equipment room when he saw Laura heading toward his office.
“Hey!” he called to her.
“Hi!” She waved back, but in a cautious way that made Dean feel guilty. He hadn’t talked to her since their brief conversation on Monday night. Instead he’d left an apologetic message with her secretary, calling at a time when he knew she wouldn’t be available.
“You’re a hard man to get a hold of,” she said. “I was coming to the high school anyway, so I thought I’d see if you were here.”
“I’m glad you did.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and led her into his office. “Bryan’s around, just so you know.”
“I know,” she said. “He goes to practice with you, right?”
“Sometimes Robbie, too. But not today, he has rehearsal. He’s actually really good, I saw him dancing the other day, not that I know the first thing about dancing. But still, he’s got something!” Dean could hear how fake and jovial he sounded. He could see on Laura’s face that she heard it, too.
“What’s going on with you?” Laura said.
“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy.”
“If you’re busy, that’s fine,” she said. “I’m busy, too. But you don’t have to avoid me.”