“Every minute,” she admitted. “I’m very optimistic for its success. We’ve already sold seventy-eight percent of our membership goal. Through the industry grapevine, I’ve heard that our competitors are scrambling to initiate similar services.”

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Absolutely. But it’s still imitation. We’ll be first.”

Her enthusiasm was evident in the way her whole face lit up. Her eyes sparkled. Her smile was so beautiful and uninhibited, it made his heart ache. And he realized this was the first time he’d ever seen her look really happy. Ever.

He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Good luck to you and Select. Not that you need luck. SunSouth’s stock is at an all-time high.”

“You’re monitoring the stock?”

“I’m an investor.”

“Truly?”

“Yep. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. It’s working.”

“I’m very busy and working hard, but I’m also maintaining some balance in my life. I give myself Wednesday afternoons off.”

That explained her casual outfit. She wasn’t going back to work later. He tried not to read anything into that. Tried but failed.

She watched him closely as she said, “Those Wednesdays off allow me time to devote to other things that are important to me. Like the Elaine Speakman Foundation.”

He shifted in his seat. “The foundation. Right. I saw your picture in the newspaper recently. At some black-tie fund-raising event. How’d it go?”

“Very well.”

“That’s good.”

“Beyond the money raised that night, the foundation recently received a sizable donation.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“One hundred thousand dollars.”

“You don’t say.”

“Hmm, but it was a rather unusual donation.”

“In what way?”

“For one thing, it was made in cash. Hundred-dollar bills deposited directly into the foundation’s account.”

“Huh.”

“Anonymously.”

“Huh.”

“And the bank handling the deposit said the donor insisted on remaining anonymous.”

Griff kept his expression impassive.

“I respect him for keeping such a generous donation private,” Laura said. “I only hope he knows how much his gift is appreciated.”

“I’m sure he does.”

After what seemed to Griff an endless suspension in conversation, she relented with a gentle smile and changed the subject. “You’ve been staying busy, too.”

“You heard about the program?”

“I saw you interviewed about it on TV.”

“It’s catching on, working out really well.”

“You sound surprised,” she remarked.

“I am. It just sorta dropped into my lap.”

Upon his discharge from the hospital, he had appeared in court and pleaded guilty to the assault charges. Jim McAlister got him released on bail and at his sentencing hearing argued brilliantly on his behalf. His arguments were supported by Laura Speakman’s deposition, presented in her absence by her attorney, as well as by the testimony of Internal Affairs officers who had been investigating Stanley Rodarte.

Griff received a stern reprimand from the judge and had a year of probation tacked onto the ones he was already serving. Jerry Arnold remained his probation officer. McAlister and Glen Hunnicutt, who had proved to be a true friend, took Griff out for dinner to celebrate what they considered a victory.

Shortly after that, Bolly Rich had surprised him by inviting him for lunch. He apologized for refusing to listen when Griff tried to warn him about Rodarte. He said he was sorry for refusing to give Griff aid when he most needed it, but mostly for not giving him the benefit of the doubt. “It was two weeks before Jason would speak to me again.”

Griff waved off the apology. “Don’t worry about it, Bolly.”

“You’re letting me off the hook too easily.”

“I’ve been let off easily, too.”

Then Bolly told him of a program he and other sportswriters across the country had been discussing for a long while. They felt the time had come to implement it. “We’re tired of the negativity surrounding sports, college and professional. As much as we write about slam dunks, touchdowns, and home runs, we’re forced to report on drug abuse, steroid use, guns and violent behavior, rape-”

“Gambling,” Griff said.

“Gambling. We’re sick of all that crap. We want to turn it around, put honor and the ideals of good sportsmanship back into sports. But we’re just a bunch of wordsmiths, and I’m the most colorful of the group, if that gives you any idea. What we need is a spokesperson.” Uneasily, he added, “And somebody who is squeaky clean wouldn’t have much impact.”

“You need a poster boy with a catchy slogan like ‘Don’t fuck up like I did.’”

Bolly grinned. “That sorta captures the gist of our thinking.”

“They needed a bad boy like me to talk to young athletes,” he explained to Laura now. “With the voice of experience, I warn them against common pitfalls. Bolly and his colleagues rounded up some corporate sponsors to fund the program. The NCAA has lent its full-fledged support. Fellowship of Christian Athletes. Alumni organizations. Sports associations all over the country have scheduled me to speak.” He shrugged. “Maybe the talks I give are doing some good.”

“You’re being modest, Griff. I read just this week in Mr. Rich’s column that already they’ve collected thousands of pledges signed by athletes swearing off steroids, et cetera. Including his own son.”

“Jason’s a good kid. He probably wouldn’t get into all that anyway.”

“But others would. Your speeches are making a huge impact.”

“We’ll see.” He grinned at her. “At the very least, I’m chalking up a hell of a lot of frequent flier miles on SunSouth.”

“You should sign up for Select.”

“Can’t afford it. My expenses are covered, and I get a more than decent salary, but I’m not going to get rich, Laura. Ever.” He would never be rich like Foster Speakman. Like her. That was what he was telling her. “But I’m working in sports, on the periphery at least. And I’m doing something worthwhile.” He smiled. “Sometimes, after I give a speech, they even ask me to toss the football a time or two. Give them pointers. Stuff like that.”

“I’m sure those young athletes are dazzled.”

“I don’t know about that. But I enjoy it.”

They were quiet for a time. She glanced out the window, into the fireplace, at the bowl of tulips. “Would you like some more tea?”

“No thanks.”

“How is your friend Marcia?”

He was surprised she remembered Marcia. “Doing good. I saw her just last week.”

“Oh.”

At that Laura’s polite smile wavered just a bit. Or maybe he imagined it. “She’s got one more surgery scheduled, but it’s only for fine tuning.”

“The operations were successful, then.”

“She looks fantastic. Better than ever.”

“That’s good. Is she…has she returned to…work?”

“Full-time.”

“Really.”

“Yep. Business as usual.”

“Hmm.”

If she was wondering about the nature of his visit to Marcia, why didn’t she come right out and ask? He was hoping she would. He could tell her they were strictly friends now, but at least Laura’s asking would indicate she cared about whether he was satisfying his sexual urges with a professional.

Instead, she said, “How were your holidays?”

“Fattening. Ellie cooked like there was no tomorrow. Yours?”

“I went away. Stayed in a bed-and-breakfast in Vermont, drove back roads, read a lot.”

“Sounds nice.” Sounded lonely.

“Would you like some more tea?”

“You asked me that already, and I said no.”

“Sorry. How is your shoulder?”

“Fine.”

“All healed?”

“Laura, why did you call me?”

His abruptness surprised her, then she looked chagrined for being caught stalling. She took a deep breath and said quietly, “I wanted to thank you.”

His heart plummeted. She really had invited him just for tea. “What for?”

“For keeping our secret. You had so many opportunities to tell the whole sordid story. You didn’t. You protected Foster, as well as me. He certainly hadn’t earned your confidence. I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated it.”