Free Maeve's Symphony by Marianne Evans Page A

yesterday. You serious about hitting some passing drills once we’re finished with appetizers?”
    Maeve’s gaze rested on Josh briefly, but when he looked into her eyes, she ducked her head, shy and hidden. That bugged him. She’d emerge, then duck, emerge then duck. Why? He wanted her to break out of that shell she wore with such determination, but how could he accomplish that task if she remained closed off and remote?
    He returned to the moment at hand. “Sure. That’d be fun. Let’s get the kids involved, too. We’ll make a game of it.”
    Doug’s eyes lit. “Seriously? Dan and Nick will go nuts!”
    Dan was Doug’s six-year-old son; Nick had been introduced to Josh as Dan’s closest buddy from next door. The two boys watched as the exchange built, and high-fived once they heard the all-systems-go verdict from Josh. Their unison whoop of happiness split the air.
    Josh laughed and set aside his plate. “I guess food can wait for a bit. Let’s go.”
    The Callahan’s backyard hadn’t changed at all. A few wooden chairs still dotted the cement patio. A simple, glass-topped table was surrounded by a quartet of chairs. Wooden buckets and a batch of ceramic pots rested empty for now, but he knew come spring flowers would stuff them full and overflow the edges. Just beyond the patio, a few trees dotted the lawn. Suspended from the giant, curving branch of an old maple tree was a thick rope from which dangled a time-worn tire.
    Doug vanished into the garage for a few seconds. When he emerged, he called, “Go long, Andrews.”
    Josh complied on instinct, freedom a song as he ran toward the middle of the yard. Doug launched the football he had retrieved and it landed neat as a guided missile against Josh’s chest. “Hit me right on the numbers, Callahan. Maybe you should have been the QB instead of me.”
    “Ha! Not a chance.”
    Josh returned to the patio and regarded his mini-recruits. “OK, guys, here we go. First of all, Dan, get me a couple of your grandma’s kneeling pads. The ones she uses when she gardens.”
    Doug’s boy dashed off in a hurry and returned from the garage lightning quick. Josh led them to a spot about ten yards away from the target—far enough to be a challenge yet close enough to prompt a sense of accomplishment if they succeeded.
    “For starters, I want you to drop to one knee. Then, I want you to extend your left arm toward the target and make sure you’re perpendicular. Cock your right arm back…and release.” Enjoying the mantle of coach, Josh crouched and pressed a guiding hand against Dan’s arm. The ball took flight, sure and straight. “See? Your left arm maintains balance and aim. Try it on your own this time.”
    Focused and intent, Dan copied Josh’s prompts perfectly; sure enough, the ball sailed straight through the tire hole.
    “My turn, Josh!” Nick made ready to fire then let out a loud whoop when his football sailed straight through the opening.
    “Keep doing this exercise, and you’ll build muscle memory. Furthermore, you can tell your friends you’ve learned a practice move straight from the pages of an NFL training book.” In his peripheral vision, Josh noticed Maeve exit the house via the sliding glass doors. She strolled toward them, and his nerves began to dance. “The key is focus and control. You can’t let anything pull you away from your intended target.”
    “Focus and control.” Maeve nodded, studied the target for a second. “Good advice, and makes sense, doesn’t it?”
    The boys chirped affirmative responses. When he looked at Maeve, Josh’s confusion built. What was going on? Something warm and alluring sparkled in her eyes.
    “Let’s see how well Coach Andrews can practice what he preaches.”
    “Yeah, Josh! Send one! Show Aunt Maeve how it’s done!”
    Dan’s rambunctious encouragement prompted Josh to ruffle the kid’s curly red hair. “You got it, buddy.” He knelt.
    “Oh, no.” Maeve jerked her thumb backward,