Free Kicking Eternity by Ann Lee Miller Page B

that.”
    “I didn’t say—”
    “I flunked out of college.”
    Raine’s pupils nearly eclipsed the jade of her eyes.
    “Yeah, I have twelve whole credits—all in art. I have no significant job history, an artist ’s temperament. And I’m not spiritual enough for you.”
    “You’re plenty spiritual. You read Phil Jackson’s Sacred Hoops that brings Zen Buddhism and native American religion to bear on basketball . You know Daoism—”
    “Wait! You read Sacred Hoops?”
    A hint of a smile curved her lips. “It goes fast when you leave out all the references to basketball.”
    He shook his head. She read Sacred Hoops because he mentioned it in conversation .
    “This week I’m studying Zen Buddhism. Next week, Islam. By the way, enlightenment through reading the Bible is a lot easier than doing zazen.”
    “Why? Why are you doing this?” Now he was the one uncomfortable standing inches apart in the doorway. But he didn’t move.
    “You were right. I need an education on the religions my students will be coming from.”
    “Buddhism and Native American religions?”
    “Those are to understand you.” The words came out fast, like she spoke before she thought.
    “Going to a lot of trouble for someone you don’t want a relationship with.”
    Raine’s breath caught. She looked away from him, over his shoulder toward the lodge door.
    Even after waving his failures in her face, she was interested. All of a sudden he was caught by the burnt orange light dousing the tables and chairs, the deep shadows in the aisles, and how the light bathed Raine with color and shadow. He wanted to paint her here like this. He wanted to capture this moment when he discovered she cared about him—even when she didn’t want to.
    “Raine.” He waited till she brought her eyes back to his. “Let me help you with the rest of the paper crèches. You weren’t finished with them, were you?”
    She smiled guiltily. “Just started.”
     

Chapter 7
     
    Raine pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her eyes swept across the Canteen porch to the pines lining the dirt road. She warily studi ed her father , sitting next to her on the bench. His last dye job —an exercise in the ridiculous Mom insisted on— had grown out a couple of inches, the familiar white stripe making him look like a skunk .
    She was tired of fending off all his questions about Eddie. “Thanks for stopping by, Dad.” Maybe he would get the hint and leave.
    “That reminds me. I brought your mail.” He pulled envelopes out of his back pocket and handed them to her. “You’ve got one there from the Passport Office. You didn’t tell me you were applying for a passport.”
    She could hear him exhale. Funny how you could hear displeasure in the way a person breathed.
    She ripped off the end of the offending envelope. The dark blue booklet slid into her hand. She flipped it open to her grainy image, ran a finger over the United States seal, and breathed in the newness. She’d never been out of the state of Florida.
    “When I was a little girl, Mom used to read me story after story about missionaries. When I was in second grade, I decided I wanted to be a missionary. In third grade, I decided to go to Africa. It’s not like you haven’t had time to adjust to the idea.”
    “You don’t take a eight -year-old’s decision as gospel.”
    “But my desire to go to Africa has only gotten stronger over the years. You watched The Invisible Children documentary. How could you not be moved?”
    “Raine, it’s not safe for an unmarried woman to go to Uganda. You could get raped or killed.”
    “That could happen here.”
    “Uganda is at war.” His voice was tight.
    “Somebody has to take care of the children.” She saw Drew look up from buying a soda at the snack bar window.
    Her father shook his head, disappointment radiating from him like the wintergreen scent of his breath mint .
    She dropped her feet down to the floor. “Don’t