** Author's Note: You can find my books online at Amazon. I write under the penname MOLLY TAGGART. Current titles include Roots that Clutch (novel), Off Target (novel), Out of Rhythm (novella), and The Caterer's Husband (novella). I hope you will try one! The Kindle version of Roots that Clutch will be on sale for just 99 cent 12/1/2013-12/8/2013!**

Chapter One

"Life belongs to the living, and he who lives
must be prepared for changes."
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Eric Taylor had just walked into the house when he stopped to give his daughter a kiss, but she was too absorbed in what she was watching to respond. "I'm glad you're still not too old for Dora," he said. "You're probably going to ditch Dora and your daddy when you go to Kindergarten next year." She hadn't quite made the cut-off this year, but he had not minded waiting to send her. Even if she was ready, he wasn't. Receiving no response now, he said, "Hey, Gracie Belle, give your daddy a hug."

She turned to him with one arm extended, palm up, and yelled, "Swiper, no swiping!"

He stepped back with his hands raised defensively in front of him. "A'right then. That's just a jewel in the crown of my day I guess."

Tami had come from the kitchen and was standing behind the couch. "Bad day? How did practice go?"

"I was five minutes late. The class I'm T. - I didn't factor into my planning the fact that students would stay late to ask questions."

Eric had begun a master's program in Sports Medicine that fall and was lowering his tuition by working as a T.A. for undergraduate classes. He had quit his high school teaching job in August but was still being kept on as the head coach of the Pioneers. It had been awkward not being around those kids all day long and then trying to connect with them at practice, but the team was doing about as well as could be expected. That is, about as well as Eric expected – they were doing better than the school itself had anticipated.

"And then traffic was heavier than I thought," he continued.

"Well, five minutes isn't that late."

"It is when you tell your players fifteen minutes early is on time."

"There is that. Come on, hon. Dinner's on the table. I already let Gracie eat. She was getting hungry."

Eric pointed to the TV before he followed Tami to the kitchen. "What's she need in that backpack, Gracie? What's she need to get across the bridge fast?"

"Rollerskates!" Gracie yelled.

"That's a damn big back pack," he muttered when he was out of his daughter's ear shot.

He sat down and sighed, long and hard. Tami put a plate in front of him. He waited for her to sit down across from him, asked how her day was, and began eating.

When she was done telling him, she asked, "What's bothering you, hon?"

"I'm just trying to figure out how to juggle everything. I miss you guys."

"I miss you too, babe. It hasn't been easy on me either. At least you don't have class tonight."

"And at least it's only for two years." Not, he imagined, that it would be easier when he began his new career, not if he continued coaching as well. In fact, that would be harder. How did a man pull off am 8-5 job and still coach? A man didn't, he supposed. Most high school coaches were also high school teachers, or they were retired from their past careers, didn't need a full-time salary, and now did nothing but coach. If he couldn't find a flexible job in the field of sports medicine, he would have to choose between giving up coaching or returning to teaching P.E. at Pemberton High. If he did the latter, at least the master's would mean a slight bump in salary, but it otherwise would have been a waste. And he didn't want this knowledge to go to waste.

He had barely started his program, but he already liked what he was learning. He enjoyed not only the subjects themselves, but his interactions with the professors and his fellow students. There had been one classmate, in particular, who had engaged him in some interesting conversations. Those conversations had gone well beyond sports medicine, however, which probably wouldn't have given him a second thought if that classmate hadn't also happened to have been female, and good-looking, and, for some reason he couldn't quite fathom, clearly attracted to him.

"What else is wrong, Eric?"

He didn't realize he had stopped eating and was starring at his plate until she spoke. He leaned forward and picked up his fork. "We'll talk tonight when Gracie is in bed. It's nothing serious. I think we just need to talk." When she looked at him with what-the-hell? eyes, he looked away and said, "This is good lasagna. Thanks, hon. I love your lasagna."

"Actually, it's Stouffer's lasagna, but, since you can't tell the difference, at least I know not to bother making my own in the future."

Eric swallowed. "Well, but…the presentation is beautiful."

She laughed, but he couldn't quite tell if she was amused, worried, or just a little pissed off. He knew he was going to have to get this weight off his mind, but he was not looking forward to their evening conversation.

After Grace was asleep, Tami and Eric settled down on the couch, each with a glass of wine.

"I've got to get the guest bedroom ready tomorrow," Tami said.

Eric raised his eyebrows. "Tell me Buddy Garrity did not take me up on that spontaneous, poorly-thought-out offer to visit anytime."

"No, no. You'll like these guests. Matt and Julie and the baby are coming on Friday. They're staying for two weeks."

They hadn't seen their grandson since shortly after he had been born. Matt and Julie had told the Taylors they weren't needed for more than a short visit. The young couple had wanted to settle into routines and work out things on their own. The pregnancy had been unplanned, to say the least, and Matt and Julie now seemed determined to prove they could handle their roles as parents.

Tami had devoured the pictures and the videos Julie had e-mailed her over the past several months and was looking forward to their visit. Henry Eric would be over six months old by now. Matt and Julie had named him after their respective fathers, and Julie had commented that when Henry was older, H.E. Saracen would look great as an author's byline on his first novel. "Or on an NFL team roster," Coach Taylor had replied, "right after where it says quarterback."

"Two weeks?" Eric now asked. "He can get that much time off from the gallery?"

"Actually, he's working. He has a show here in Philadelphia one weekend and another in New York the next weekend, so, they're going to stay here as a base. And his gallery wants him to scout out art while he's in both cities, so, they're still paying him too."

Eric took a sip of his wine and nodded.

"I've never seen one of his art shows, and I want to go to the one here," she continued. "You mind staying home with Grace and Henry Saturday evening so Julie and I can go?"

"When Saturday? You know I've got a class Saturday afternoon."

"We don't have to leave until after you're home."

"I can do that. I'd like some time with my little girl and my grandson."

Tami now shifted positions so that she was sitting sideways and looking directly at her husband. "So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

As soon as Tami asked, Eric looked away. He rubbed his chin. He was looking nervous and…she had seen this look before but couldn't imagine a reason for it now…guilty. She didn't like it. She didn't like it at all.