Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [45]
“If he’s going to start center forward for Northwestern, he needs to stop babying himself. Time he toughened up, Francine.”
“I can’t believe this. Charles, he’s not even thirteen years old yet.”
“That means there’s five years left. Five years to prove he’s recruitment material. He’s not going to get the interest of a coach if—”
“Stop.” Fran leaned toward Charles in her frustration, pulling her hands into fists. “Stop right this instant. We don’t even know where he wants to go to college yet. Maybe he’ll be interested in Harvard. Or Wheaton. Charles, we’re going to—you are going to allow Charlie to decide this. So help me, I will stand my ground on this one. You will not pressure him already about college and a soccer career. He’s a boy! And we will allow him to remain a boy until the time comes when he needs to make grown-up decisions.”
The intense look on Charles’s face slowly evolved … relaxed … into a wide grin.
Charles would never forget the first time he noticed Francine. He was a junior, the star quarterback on the college team. Somehow he’d missed completing a requirement for graduation, a science course—either geology or biology. For that reason alone he’d registered for Biology 101 and was dreading it, until he glimpsed the gorgeous brunette sitting in the first row.
In the first five minutes he’d learned her name: Francine Dupre. Yes, she’d patiently answered, her father was French, her mother, American. She’d gone to France every summer to visit relatives and spoke French like a native. Amazing eyes, her body tall and slim and poised—she looked like a model and carried herself that way. The aura around Francine tended to set every male within twenty feet on edge; she was that noticeable.
Still, those attractions alone wouldn’t have provided enough impetus for Charles to pursue her. He’d eventually learned of a deeper quality. Though she appeared as delicate as the English teacups and saucers his aunt kept in the curio cabinet of his adopted childhood home, there was a side to Francine not readily apparent—a flint-like will. And like flint, when struck with steel, she sparked. Charles Edgar Thomason soon realized the delicate bone china was the perfect match for his steel.
As he watched Fran’s eyes flash and spark now, Charles couldn’t help but think back to the girl who first caught his attention in Biology 101.
“What are you grinning at?” His smirk and raised eyebrows made her anger even more intense.
“Always did like a spark of fire in your eyes,” he said, his own eyes glowing.
“You’re absolutely despicable, Charles.” She charged up off the chaise, her feet barely skimming the floor as she covered the distance to the door. She flung back over her shoulder, “I’ll take this to mean we are in agreement now. You will stop pressuring Charlie. And I will make an appointment with the doctor once this tournament is over.”
“Hey. I never agreed to that. He’s got a bruise, Francine!” Charles moved to the landing outside their room, leaned over and called down, “We are not in agreement on this.” He scowled at her retreating back, disgusted with himself for the momentary distraction.
But she had moved on. Was already checking on Charlie. “Okay, love?”
Apparently engrossed in the ballgame, Charlie merely glanced her way and barely nodded. “Sure. Doin’ great.”
Charlie’s eyes were on the game, but his attention had roamed elsewhere. From the moment his parents started bickering, he’d begun fretting. More and more frequently, their disagreements focused on him—his schedule, which was a constant rush to varied activities; any physical issues, from mere sniffles to the broken arm he’d suffered last year; and his emotional makeup, whether he was happy or merely out of sorts. The need to be constantly upbeat dogged Charlie; the slightest sign of weariness or negativity caused his mom to worry. And then his dad lectured them both. No matter what, it’s my fault when they fight about me, Charlie lectured himself. I gotta be more careful