He sat back in his chair and folded his arms, calling my bluff. “You wouldn’t leave.”
“I would,” I said without blinking. “I won’t stay at a school that doesn’t do what’s best for its students or staff, not to mention how sexist this all is. Charlie is what’s best for the team, students, and school.”
“You’re basing your decision on a woman?” He huffed out a low laugh.
“No. I’m basing it on your actions and doing what I think is right.”
He stood up, but his attention skidded to the door. I turned instinctively. Charlie was there.
Her hair was down around her slumped shoulders. I wanted to go to her, but the fire in her eyes told me not to.
“Nice of you gentlemen to have this discussion without me.” With three steps farther into the room, she dropped a piece of paper on Philander’s desk. “I wanted to let you know that I’m finishing out the semester, and then I’m formally resigning.”
Philander didn’t say a word as he picked up the paper, which I assumed was a letter of resignation. She turned on her heel, barely sparing me a glance.
I followed her out. I could deal with Philander later.
“Charlie, wait.”
She didn’t listen to me, continuing down the hall as students filtered in. I slipped behind her and pulled her off to the side. She stopped and reluctantly faced me.
“Can you look at me, please?”
Up close, I noticed her bloodshot eyes. I reached out to touch her cheek, but she reeled away from me. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
She took a quick glimpse over her shoulder before turning back to me, and lowered her voice to a whisper so the students couldn’t hear. “Why did you go in there this morning?”
“I’m trying to make things right.”
“I don’t need a white knight.”
The argument I had formed on my tongue died at her words. “I thought—”
“You thought I’d want you to miraculously save my job so you could be the hero? I’m not some maiden stuck in a tower.”
“I know that.” She was one of the strongest people I knew. “I wanted to help.”
“You making a scene is not helping. I don’t need to be made to look any weaker than they already think I am. You’re only making it worse for me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“And you threatening to leave is crazy. You will never leave here, you love it too much.”
“But I will.” I put my hand on the wall next to me as if I were holding the place up from falling down around us.
“No, you won’t. You’re not a quitter. It’s not in your blood.”
“You’re not a quitter either.”
She used one of her hair ties to put her hair up. “I’m not, but I know when an environment is good for me, and this one isn’t.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Her gaze landed somewhere over my shoulder. “I’ll figure it out though.”
I cleared my throat. “And what about us?”
“Us? We had a good run, I guess.” She patted me on the shoulder like she would a teammate.
She was hurt, I got that, but her apathy cut deep. “Don’t say that.”
“Oh, now you’re upset? Now you want a redo?”
I crowded her space, forcing her to take me seriously, look me in the eyes. “I’m sorry that everything went down like this, but I’ll do what I have to in order to be with you.”
She blinked away from me. “Maybe in a different time or a different place. Maybe if we were different people. . . .”
I caught her hand as she started to walk away, but she shook her head, refusing to turn back to me. “Charlie, please, don’t leave.”
“Good-bye, McGuire.”
CHAPTER
28
Charlie
Three weeks had gone by of me living a relatively quiet existence. I kept to myself at school, half embarrassed and half enraged. The whole school had heard what had happened, and the players asked questions. But I didn’t have it in me to explain the unexplainable.
I spent my time counting down the days and avoiding Connor. Sonja and Piper tried to keep me in good spirits, but with no plan of where I was going or what I was doing next, I put up a wall. They were hurt by my actions, always turning them down when they offered to take me out, but I didn’t want to become any more attached to them than I already was. Besides, they were friends with Connor. I wasn’t about to ask them to pick sides, so I gave up.
We had a few days off for Thanksgiving, but the only thing I had to be thankful for was the reprieve away. I’d bought my ticket home to Georgia, cringing at the money I spent for the late booking and direct flight. I was mere weeks away from not having a job and already worried about my checking account. I needed a few days to regroup and come up with a plan.
I got into Atlanta on Wednesday and picked up my rental car. My dad had halfheartedly asked if I wanted him to pick me up from the airport, but I knew he was busy with the team. They had a big game coming up on Saturday, Tech versus State—rival Georgia teams—and I was sure he wanted all the time possible with his staff and players.
I stopped by the market to pick up some flowers before driving to the cemetery. My mother was buried in a family plot in Savannah, where she grew up. I didn’t get around to seeing her very much, but I always made time to visit Gram. She had a little spot under a tree next to First Baptist Church, along with her husband, my dad’s dad. I sat down and placed the white daisies at her gravestone.
“Hey, Gram.”
Birds chirping was the only response. The only one I ever got.
“Nice day out today.” With the sun at its highest, I wore sunglasses and an old zip-up over my T-shirt. “I came home for Thanksgiving. It’s tomorrow.”
Raised in church like the good southern girl I was, I believed I’d meet my grandmother again, but until that time, I wasn’t sure what she was doing or if she even knew what day it was. I liked to fill her in.
“I . . .” I swallowed. “I feel awful, Gram. I was doing good up there in Minnesota. I made friends and had a job I was good at. But I tried to hold on to it all too tight.”
I looked around at the rows of headstones, the trees losing their leaves, the blue sky, as my heart filled with heaviness. My eyes watered, and I dabbed at my nose with my sleeve. “I wish you were here. That you’d talk to me. I don’t know what to do. We argued a lot, but you always had something smart to say. I’m sure you’d have some good words of advice right now . . . and I could use some. I really need ’em.”
Tears ran down my face, and I pushed my sunglasses up to wipe at them. “I’m lost, Gram.”
A cool wind blew my hair in my face, and I tucked it behind my ear. Curling my knees up, I hugged them to my chest. “I met a boy, he’s kind of a jerk. But sweet too. He’s a stand-up guy, you’d like him. I think. Actually, I don’t know.” I laughed to myself, wiping the last of my tears away. “He reminds me a little bit of Daddy . . . maybe you would like him. He’s handsome too. Tall, with blue eyes.” I focused on the orange mums someone had left at a grave a few over. “It didn’t work out between us though. I should’ve known it wouldn’t. It never does. But I really loved him . . . still love him.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed in soul mates, but living with my father had convinced me that losing my mother was like losing half of his soul. And for the first time maybe ever, I had empathy for him. Because even with all the arguing, being with Connor felt like being home. I was myself. Comfortable and cozy.
I sat with my grandmother for a little while longer, listening to the soft sounds of nature, soaking up as much sun as possible before rubbing the headstone. “Thanks for listening.”
I arrived home just as the sun set, lighting up the hardwood floor of the living room through the big bay window. I tossed myself on the brown couch that was probably as old as I was and kicked off my shoes. My dad�
�s house was small compared to what some other college coaches’ houses looked like, but after Mama died, he’d sold the big house with the garden and pool to move here, a craftsman home with a tire swing in the back. I’d heard him say once when I was little that he couldn’t live with the memories of her haunting him.
Sometimes I wondered if I haunted him.
I’d grown up in this house with Gram and Daddy, his father having died a few years before. And as I gazed at an old photo of the three of us, I realized my father was alone too. We only had each other left.
For all the time I’d spent resenting his quiet reserve, his sometimes absentmindedness when it came to being a parent, I finally understood how much of a struggle it must have been. He’d been younger than me when Mama died, and just out of college when his daddy died. He had all of that before he was even really a man. And he’d had to figure it out on his own.
I made myself at home in this house that I hadn’t lived in for years, though nothing much had changed. The refrigerator was still filled with sweet tea and cold cuts. The light in the kitchen had been left on, a surefire trait of my dad’s. I put my suitcase up in my old room, empty of anything except for a bed and one lone *NSYNC poster on the back of the door. After changing into sweats, I made a sandwich and turned on the television in the family room just a few minutes before Daddy walked in through the garage.
“You here, Charlotte?”
“In here,” I called, waving a potato chip.
He dropped his bag with a clunk in the hall and came to sit down next to me. He flipped off his shoes and put his arm up on the back of the sofa. “How was the trip?”
“A little turbulent, but okay.”
He nodded. “Got yourself somethin’ to eat?”
I held my plate up.
“Good. What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the TV.
“Hallmark movie.”
“Since when do you watch this?”
“My friend Piper got me hooked.”
We watched a fire start in the bakery, ruining the pies for the woman trying to win the annual pumpkin pie contest. But luckily the handsome hero was close enough to help her out.
“You like this stuff?”
“Yeah. It’s nice to see happy endings. There’s nothin’ wrong with that.”
Daddy rubbed his forehead and then met my eyes before giving in with a small nod. He patted my knee. “You’re right.”
I had filled my dad in about what had happened with the team, but skimmed over most of the other stuff. I hadn’t told him everything about Connor or my life in Minneapolis.
But I thought it was about time we talked. Really talked. “Did I ever tell you about the offensive coordinator there?”
He tapped his foot. “Uh, yeah. I think.”
“His name’s Connor. He played for a D-Two school, he’s a good coach.” He nodded along as I said, “He didn’t like me in the beginning, but then we started gettin’ along. . . .”
Dad hmmed, his attention on a shampoo commercial. Seconds later he turned to me, comprehension lighting his brown eyes.
“You and this Connor guy are together?”
I shook my head. “He was offered head coach.”
“Guess that’s the end of that then.” He sucked air in through his teeth.
I pulled my ponytail out and redid it. “I like him a lot though. I think I love him.”
“You think?” He swiveled his head back and forth in thought. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d talked about a boy with him, and I bet he couldn’t either. “There is no thinkin’ when it comes to love. You either do or you don’t.”
I dropped my head back. He got right to the point, like a coach, but the subject matter wasn’t anything that I was accustomed to. “I love him.”
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m leavin’.”
He hmmed, doing the head turning again. “And you want to leave because you aren’t coachin’ there, right?” When I nodded, he moved his arm to hold my hand. I don’t think he’d done that since I was a little girl. “You know, I, uh, I don’t think I did this dad thing real well.”
I thought he’d done fine, especially after I’d done some soul-searching today. And I told him so.
He disagreed. “I never told you that you’re so much more than a football player. I never knew how.” He cleared his throat, casting his eyes away from me as if he couldn’t look at me when he said, “I didn’t talk about your mother enough, or how much I loved her.” He rubbed at his chin. “Sometimes you remind me so much of her. She didn’t like to be told no either.” He wiped at his eyes as my own clouded with tears, and he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for keepin’ you away from the memory of her. It was hard for me to share it . . . her. You deserved better.”
I accepted his hug and apology, and kept my head on my dad’s shoulder even as he laughed to himself.
“I was late to the hospital when your mother had you because of practice. By the time I found out she was in labor, you were already halfway out. You weren’t waitin’ for anyone.”
I’d never heard this story, and I smiled at how his voice filled with emotion.
“You were, still are, so headstrong. You did what you wanted to do. When you were a toddler, it was infuriating, but as an adult, it’s admirable. You make a goal, and you go after it.” He faced me, looking at me as if I were a little girl again. “I only ever wanted you to be happy.”
“I know, Daddy. I was happy.”
He tapped my chin. “I want you to be happy all the time. I know coaching makes you happy, but what else? I know you’re more than a girl with dirt on her knees and a ball in her hands. I always knew that, but never told you. You’re smart and courageous, and a damn good motivational speaker. If you wanted, you could write books or go around and give speeches. You can do anything you want to, and should. If you love Connor—and I’m sure you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have told me—then you should be with him. Don’t run away because of the team. Stay and do something else. Or stay and coach at another school. There is more than one way to skin a cat.”
It seemed so simple when he put it like that.
“Do whatever you want to do, except run away. That’s not for my brave, stubborn daughter. She doesn’t run. She fights.”
My heart sped up at his succinct description of me. I wasn’t a coward, and I wouldn’t let some misogynistic men chase me away. “I’m going to stay in Minneapolis.”
“Good.” He nodded.
“And I’m going to see what other positions are available.”
“I love you, Charlie-Larlie. I’m so proud of you.”
He hugged me, and I squeezed him tight around the neck. “I’m proud of you too, Daddy. Love you.”
He kissed my cheek, then released me. “Glad you’re home. Want to come to practice with me tomorrow? We got this freshman kicker I want you to look at.”
“Okay. Dinner later tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. Got the turkey defrostin’ now.”
There would need to be more heart-to-hearts, but this was a good start. After the good conversation, I felt a weight off my shoulders. I still didn’t know what exactly I was going to do, but I felt much better hearing my father tell me I had other options than football.
• • •
THE NEXT morning, I was greeted with big hugs and even bigger smiles at the college. Some of the older players ribbed me for leaving, but most told me how much they missed me. The other coaches were just as effusive with their praise, and for a few moments I questioned why I’d left. I’d made good money there, but I had no chance of moving up—and I was reminded of that when I met the new male coaches. They had less experience than I did, but had higher titles than me while I was there.
It was a slap in the face. I’d gotten used to the sting. Didn’t mean I liked it though.
Mediocre men were celebrated. Highly skilled women were doubted.
That aside, I had a good time. The practice was always short on Thanksgiving, a small reprieve for the players on the holiday. It was nice to be back, but also kind of made me miss the Douglass team. I felt like I had a special bond with those kids, working our way up from the bottom together. Thinking about leaving them did make me sad.
After practice, Dad and I took the long way home, weaving through yellow trees outside the city. We talked more, this time about the Otters. I told him about Brett Spencer and his dad, and how he had certainly had a big hand in getting rid of me. Football parents were everywhere, but I’d never thought one would be my downfall.
At the house, we changed into our comfy turkey-eating clothes and got to work on dinner. I made the mashed potatoes and green beans while Dad got the fryer ready. It was tradition, one that I thought made our unconventional father-daughter relationship one step closer to normal, me watching him outside, drinking a beer and frying a turkey.
Just as I set the table, the doorbell rang. Dad was washing his hands. “Who’s that?”
“I don’t live here anymore. I don’t know.”
“I got oil all over my hands, can you grab it?”
I put the plates down on the table before going to the door, but couldn’t see anything out of the peephole with the obnoxious wreath the house cleaner had hung.
I opened the door a few inches, and my eyebrows shot up in shock. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Is that how you greet everyone at your door?” Connor held a straight face, but his question was laced with humor.
I shut the door on him, half in reflexive anger, half in utter disbelief that he was here.
He knocked on the door three times, and I got my bearings before I opened it again.
He tilted his head. “Is that how you greet everyone at your door?”
All kinds of emotions rushed through me as all my words left me. What a terrible time to be speechless.
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