The Abstinence Teacher

The bigger girl got up right away—she was crying and clutching her midsection—but Maggie's teammate remained motionless on the grass. Tim Mason and John Roper came running onto the field before the ref had even blown the whistle.

“Who got hurt?” Ruth asked.

“That's Abby, Tim's daughter.” Arlene drew an anxious breath. “I hope she's okay. Last week, a girl from Willard Falls broke her collarbone. They had to take her away in an ambulance.”

The players took a knee while the coaches attended to Abby. Tim Mason crouched at his daughter's side, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. He addressed a worried comment to his assistant, who nodded grimly, and signaled to the ref. By this point, the Bridgeton coach had wandered onto the field to see if he could help.

“This is scary,” Arlene said.

At almost the same moment, though, Tim's face broke into a dazzling smile of relief as Abby pushed herself into sitting position and held out a hand. In a single smooth motion, her father hoisted her up from the ground and cradled her in his arms. He asked a question; she nodded yes. The spectators applauded as they made their way slowly across the field, like an old-fashioned bride and groom.

“He seems like a nice guy,” said Ruth.

“Who, Tim?”

“Yeah. I just met him a little while ago.”

“He's good with the girls,” Arlene said, a bit stiffly.

Ruth couldn't help herself. “I actually thought he was kinda cute. I mean, I know he's married and everything.”

“You're joking, right?”

“He's a little short,” Ruth conceded. “But he's got a good build.”

Arlene hesitated for a moment, apparently trying to decide if Ruth was pulling her leg.

“You know he's one of them, right?”

“One of who?”

“That church. Tabernacle. Whatever you call it.”

“Really? He doesn't seem the type.”

“Ask him,” Arlene said. “He'll be happy to tell you all about it.”

“Oh, shit.” Ruth laughed, remembering the way the coach had held her hand and stared into her eyes. He hadn't wanted her body. He'd wanted her soul. “I'm such an idiot.”

Arlene patted her on the shoulder.

“We gotta find you a boyfriend.”

This was no idle offer. It was Arlene who'd set Ruth up with Ray Mattingly, the divorced computer guy with whom she'd had her only serious relationship since Frank had moved out. Not that it was all that serious. They'd had a couple of bad dates, then a couple of good ones, then a lovely weekend together in the Poconos, on the way home from which he informed her that he was moving to the Research Triangle of North Carolina. He said he would've mentioned it earlier, but he hadn't wanted to spoil their trip.

“Any candidates?” Ruth asked.

“I'll give it some thought,” Arlene promised.

The ball went out of bounds off the Comets, and the Stars called for subs. Maggie was one of three girls who came sprinting onto the field.

“Thank God,” said Arlene. “Now maybe we can get some offense going. If we win today, we'll be tied for first place in Division B-3.”

RUTH DIDN'T think of herself as the kind of person who cared deeply about the outcome of a game played by fifth graders—or the standings in Division B-3, whatever that was—but even she found it impossible not to get swept up in the excitement as the clock wound down, and every play became fraught with danger and possibility. You could see the tension on the faces of the spectators—they'd abandoned their conversations and drifted en masse toward the sideline, creating an irregular human fence around the field—as well as the players, who seemed to have moved beyond fatigue into the realm of pure adrenaline. Watching them, Ruth felt a sharp pang of envy, wishing she could be out there herself—hair pulled back, shin guards tucked under her knee socks, completely alive in her body, in the moment— wishing she'd grown up at a time when sports were a routine part of a girl's life. She would be a happier person now, she was pretty sure of it. The momentum had taken a worrisome turn in the latter part of the second half. Now it was the Comets who dominated, mounting one offensive assault after another, getting off numerous solid shots on goal—including a penalty kick that ricocheted off the post—without managing to score. The Stars seemed intimidated, as if they'd given up trying to win and had decided that the best they could hope for was to run out the clock and escape with a tie.

“Come on, ladies!” Frank bellowed from down the sideline—Ruth had moved away from him in the second half, unable to cope with his enthusiasm—his voice so ragged with emotion that Ruth felt ashamed for both of them. It was simply beyond belief that she'd spent two hours with a man like that, let alone twelve years of her life. “Let's get some backbone!”

Smelling blood, but clearly frustrated at their inability to score, the Comets launched a furious last-ditch onslaught, bringing their two defenders way up past midfield to increase the pressure on the beleaguered Stars, who couldn't seem to clear the ball from out in front of their net no matter how hard they tried.

“Oh Jesus,” Arlene groaned. “This is not good.”

One of the Comets—a lanky girl with boyishly cropped blond hair—had an open shot that went wide. A few seconds later, the same girl dropped a beautiful corner kick right in front of the Stars’ goal, but Louisa reacted quickly, snatching it up on one bounce. Without a second's hesitation, she charged forward and whizzed the ball down-field, toward the right sideline. At first it seemed to Ruth that she was throwing wildly, just trying to get the ball as far away as possible, but suddenly it became clear that it was a planned maneuver, because Maggie was already far upfield, moving at full tilt, as if she'd known where the ball was going to land before it had left Louisa's hand, long before the Comets even sensed the danger.

Maggie took control of the ball near midfield, with nothing but grass between her and the goal. It looked to Ruth like one of those scenarios from a wish-fulfillment dream—one player way out front, everyone else stampeding behind, unable to catch up. When it became clear that help would arrive too late, the Comets’ goalie began moving away from the net, hoping to force a bad shot. Maggie just kept charging forward as if the goalie weren't even there, and it looked to Ruth for a second like another collision was inevitable.

“Shoot!” Frank was shouting. “Bang it in!”

But Maggie didn't shoot. With the goalie closing in on her at full speed, she kicked the ball sideways instead of straight ahead, a maneuver that made no sense to Ruth until she noticed that Candace Roper had also outrun the Comets’ pursuit and was pulling up even with Maggie just in time to receive the unexpected pass.

Candace had a little trouble getting control of the ball, giving the goalie time to whirl and make a panicky sprint back to the net, but it was too late. By the time she got there, Candace's shot—a weak dribbler that would have been an easy save under other circumstances—had already trickled across the goal line.

IT WASN'T true, as certain people insisted in the weeks that followed, that Ruth had gone to Shackamackan Park that morning looking to cause trouble. In fact, trouble was the furthest thing from her mind as the ref blew the whistle to end the game, giving the Stars a hard-fought 3-2 victory.

“We did it!” Arlene cried, hugging Ruth and jumping up and down at the same time. “I can't believe we did it!”

“What a game,” Ruth said. “The girls just didn't give up.”

She was surprised at how exhilarated she felt—proud of Maggie, mainly, but also mysteriously validated as a parent—and these good feelings even spilled over onto Frank as he approached with a cockeyed grin on his face. He looked wired, the way he used to get when he stayed up all night writing a term paper.

“Can you believe your daughter?” he asked. “Is she amazing or what?”

Ruth was about to launch into her own rhapsody of agreement, but she checked herself when she saw that Eliza had wandered over from the picnic table to join them.

“You missed quite a game,” Frank informed her.

She shrugged. “How'd Maggie do?”

“Good,” Ruth said. “They won.”

Eliza nodded, and Ruth could see the struggle it took for her to produce even a halfhearted smile.

“Cool,” she said.

Ruth's heart went out to her. Eliza was going through a rough patch. The divorce had shaken her, the newspaper stories about her mother had mortified her, and puberty had knocked her for a loop. In three years, she'd gone from being an adorable little girl to being a chunky, strangely proportioned adolescent with greasy hair—it didn't matter how often she washed it—a perpetual squint, and a mouth that hung open in a look of constant bewilderment. Her grades were mediocre, and her best friend had dumped her for a more glamorous crowd.

“She did good?” Frank asked. “Are you kidding me? She kicked ass out there.”

Eliza's only reaction was to tug her upper lip over her lower one, a strange habit she had developed in the past few months.