Hometown Legend

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “What she thinks is that you don’t get it.”

  “All right, I’ll bite. Bev’s taking you away from me somehow cause I did something she didn’t like or didn’t do something she wished I’d done?”

  “No! Not that kind of getting to you. She knew you’d like it if she got me really interested in helping people and doing something about it.”

  “You’ve always been that way. You got it from your mama.”

  “But Bev didn’t want it to look like she was trying to impress you by showing so much interest in me.”

  I parked next to the house and Rachel reached for her door handle. “Just a minute,” I said. “Bev already impresses me. She’s the best worker I’ve ever had, does everything for me, takes care of me. And it does make me feel good that she’s taken you under her wing. So what would be wrong with my knowing that?”

  The evening was cool and Rachel looked like she wanted to get inside, but I wanted to finish this. I’d never claimed to be a smart guy, but I’ve got enough a what they call street smarts to have kept a business alive longer than it shoulda kept breathing. What was I missing here? “Tell me,” I said.

  “Daddy, don’t you have feelings for Bev?”

  Well, there was some good timing, cause I didn’t know what to think of how I’d felt when I thought Bev could die. And since I couldn’t get any more optimism outa that doctor, I was still worried about her, and probably more than I shoulda been about someone not related to me. “Course I do,” I said. “I appreciate her more than I can say right now, and her being sick has made me realize that.”

  “That’s it?”

  “For now.”

  “What’s that mean, Daddy?”

  “I’m just trying to figure it out myself is all.”

  “Have you figured out if she’s got feelings for you?”

  “I know she does.”

  “You do?”

  “She takes care of me, Rachel. She’s always been like a big sister. She listens. She tells me what she thinks. She knows the kind of stuff I like for lunch and break.”

  “Wow, isn’t that amazing after working for you for ten years?”

  Rachel wasn’t sarcastic often. “Well,” I said, “okay. But she’s great, you know? I couldn’t ask for better.”

  “You ever wonder why she’s never dated?”

  I shrugged. “Busy? Picky, probably. Knows her own mind, knows what she wants. Never found the right guy.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Well, see, there’s something you know that I don’t, cause you’ve been spending time with her. But course that’d be kind of an embarassing thing to talk about with your boss, personal stuff.”

  “You don’t talk to her about your personal business?”

  “Naw,” but as soon as I said it I realized how short my memory was. It hadn’t been that long since I told her about Jacqui. “Well, not much.”

  “Why? Cause it’s not right to do at the office?”

  “Sorta.”

  “Why not take her out and talk personal stuff?”

  I shook my head. “We don’t see each other like that. She’s older, and—”

  “How much older?”

  I was thinking six or seven years and almost said that when I thought back real quick. I had been a sophomore in high school when she was a senior. And it had been just a couple years since her big fortieth birthday bash. “She’s, um, two years older, but see I see her as—”

  “Two years is nothing for old people,” Rachel said.

  Now I was getting cold. She looked relieved when I got out of the car, and we hurried in to the warmth of the front room. She sat on the couch like she was ready to keep talking. I wanted her to get her sleep, and I hoped I could rest too, getting up so early.

  “Daddy, you don’t know what Bev thinks of you, do you?”

  “I think I do.”

  “Well, I know I do, so you want to guess?”

  “I think she likes working for me, and she always treats me with respect and I’d say even admiration.”

  “Admiration?”

  “Some people find me admirable. Is that so hard to imagine?”

  “Daddy, Bev is old-fashioned. She’s not gonna make a move until you do.”

  “Make a move?”

  “She’s desperately in love with you.”

  Rachel couldn’t know that. “Get off it,” I said, trying to keep from smiling.

  She stood and headed for her room. “You heard me,” she said.

  “You and Kim are dreaming,” I called after her.

  “No, we’re not,” she said. “We’re listening.”

  • • •

  I was supposed to sleep after that? I set the alarm and stretched out, my hands behind my head. Somewhere deep inside I had known where Rachel was going, but I couldn’t let on. Trouble was, how bad was this? If I didn’t feel the same, was I going to lose Bev as my assistant too? And wouldn’t Kim love to hear me talking about that!

  I admit I missed Bev when she wasn’t there or I was traveling. I couldn’t remember not wanting to get to work every morning, even when there was nothing but turmoil cause of the layoffs. What else would I be looking forward to than seeing her? Besides being great at her work, I always felt like she was glad to see me and happy to do whatever it took to make my work easier.

  How long had she felt this way? Old-fashioned is right. Unless I totally insulted her by never picking up on it or treating her like a big sister instead of somebody I really cared about, she’d probably stay another twenty years and never, like Rachel said, make a move.

  I rolled onto my side. A light from behind the house shined through the edge of the curtain onto Estelle’s picture. All I could make out was the shape of her shoulders and hair. I forced myself back to high school and remembered the eyes of a teenager. But I couldn’t conjure the face of the woman I’d married. I stared and stared and worked at it, but the face in my mind was Bev’s.

  The panic, the concern, the shame over just dumping her at her house—I knew what that all was now. It wasn’t selfishness. It wasn’t worrying how I’d replace her at the factory. I didn’t want to be without her. If she should die in the same hospital and from something similar to Estelle …

  Well, that didn’t matter at all. This had nothing to do with Estelle except that she’d been gone so long. Bev made me happy. Bev was a bigger part of my life, of me, than I had let myself think. I couldn’t lose her. And for all my total embarrassment over the idea of even putting my arm around her the other day, all I wanted to do now was hold her. Who else would care as much? Who else should be standing with her now? I lay there praying for a good block a time between when I traded places with Kim and when Bev’s parents showed up.

  ICU rules and regulations or not, one of these days I was gonna get in to see Bev. She’d need her energy to get better and I didn’t want to mess her mind with something we wouldn’t even be able to talk about till later. But I wasn’t gonna hide my feelings or pretend I didn’t know about hers. If nothing else, I was gonna somehow let her know that nothing mattered to me more than her getting better. The reasons and the details could wait.

  23

  I was early, but Kim seemed relieved, and she brought me up to date quick. Bev had had a fitful night, but she never woke up enough for anybody to tell her Kim was there. The nurse said that whatever good might come from Bev knowing someone was with her would be outweighed by her need for sleep.

  “Should she wake up today, Calvin, would you tell her I—”

  “Course, Kim, and she won’t be surprised. I spose she’ll mostly be surprised that I’m here.”

  “I was about to say the same, but you are here, and that means a lot to me, so I know it will to her too. Do me a favor. If she asks why you’re here, don’t say anything, not one word, about work.”

  “Work?”

  “Even if the reason you’re here is because you think she’s the best employee you’ve ever had, it’d mean more
to her if she thought—”

  “It’s because I’m her friend. Give me a little credit, Kim.”

  “There’s hope for you yet.”

  “You gonna be able to get a little shuteye before heading to work?”

  “Probably not,” she said. “But thanks for asking.”

  “You want me to call you if—”

  “That’d be great. I’ll probably go home at noon or so and sleep until evening visiting hours. Will you still be here or do you have to get to the factory?”

  “I’ll be here,” I told her. “Praise the Lord for phones, huh?”

  • • •

  I couldn’t believe how long it’d been since I’d seen the Raschkes. They’d moved out of Athens City about a month after Estelle died. I never knew em well, but everybody knows everybody in a town our size. One thing was sure, they looked their age. Course they probably hadn’t slept and they were worried. I couldn’t get anything but the simplest greeting out of the old man and I soon saw that he had some kind of dementia. The missus took charge, got the head nurse to bring the doctor, and she and her husband spent quite a while with him in a little office.

  Mrs. Raschke talked to me like she thought she knew why I was there. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Sawyer, and we so appreciate how good you’ve been to Bev.” She told me what the doctor had told her, which was what I’d heard the night before. When she talked to her husband she put her face right in front of his and held both his hands. He seemed like he was on the edge of tears the whole time and didn’t understand much. Somebody told em they could go in and see Bev for ten minutes if they did their best not to wake her.

  I watched them tiptoe in and go to either side of the bed. They carefully put a hand under each of hers. Bev didn’t stir. I was so jealous I could hardly stand it. I wanted to go in there and slip my arm under Bev’s neck and draw her to me, telling her she was gonna be all right, that I loved her and would always be with her. Talk about waking her up. That probably would’ve killed her.

  • • •

  It was all I could do to switch gears and think about football, but the Raschkes said I should go and fulfill my responsibilities to the team. I slipped away praying Bev would wake up soon but sort of hoping she’d wait till I was there.

  We played our second and last nonconference game that Friday night, September 14, against the Plateau Pirates. In warm-ups and early in the game it was obvious they had a good club.

  Just like in the first game, everything started out wrong, specially on offense. Our defense was getting chewed up too, but somehow we kept em out of the end zone. Brian couldn’t get anything going when we had the ball. I didn’t want to nag, but I kept looking at Coach like it was time to try Jackson. Coach kept throwing his hat down and rubbing his head every time we failed to move the ball and Snoot had to punt. Finally Coach shrugged and nodded.

  I called for Jackson. He looked up from the bench like he was startled. I said, “Yeah, you!”

  “You like running through fences, son?” Coach said. “Now’s your chance. You run through the hole, boy, or your next practice is gonna be on a bed of nails.”

  • • •

  At the half it was scoreless, but Coach was still mad cause the Pirates were making us look bad. “Hello, Crusaders,” he began in the locker room. “Anyone awake? Can anybody explain how they can cut through our defense— except for Naters—like a hot knife through butter? Abel! I require a reply!”

  “Coach, you told us that if—”

  “If? If! If my mama was my daddy, I wouldn’t be here. Why don’t you go running. Go run and take Yash with ya.”

  He lifted them off their seats and pushed them toward the door. Yash said, “Coach, we’re in a game!”

  “Not anymore you’re not. Now go!” They would wind up running laps the entire second half.

  Coach whipped his jacket off and turned to his nephew. “Brian, what kind a sport is football?”

  “Contact sport, sir!” Brian said.

  “Contact sport? Everybody agree with that? Let me see a show of hands.” Coach smacked every hand he could reach. “Wrong, wrong, wrong! Football is a collision sport!” He knelt before Brian and pointed in his face. “You’re supposed to be a leader on this team, son, and you are running our offense like a fat man on a frozen pond!” He pointed at Elvis. “Now until I say otherwise, every play is gonna be a handoff to Jack!”

  Everyone froze, including me. We’d all heard him call Elvis Jack, but I studied his face on the way back out to the field, and Coach never seemed to realize it.

  • • •

  The second half was Jackson left, Jackson right, Jackson up the middle. Coach roamed the sidelines shouting, “Let the bone roll!” But even with Elvis racking up over a hundred yards, we still couldn’t punch it in for a score. With fifteen seconds left, it was still nothing-nothing, third and goal on their 4-yard line. We’d played a pretty lousy game overall, but it sure was fun to be in a close one and have the fans screaming.

  I thought we should let Snoot kick a field goal, but Buster called time out and told Brian to send Jackson up the middle. “Coach,” Brian whined, “they’re waiting for that!”

  “Jackson up the gut.”

  But Jackson didn’t run up the gut. When the hole closed he ran right, then circled back, got tripped up, and fumbled. Brian, who had stayed put like he was supposed to, picked up the loose ball. With time running out, he ran it in for the win.

  The crowd and the team went crazy. Elvis ran to the end zone and jumped to celebrate, and a big lineman from Plateau sent him sprawling. The Shermanater pile-drove the Pirate to the ground, and a huge brawl broke out. Three guys from our bench raced onto the field and got into it. Yash and Abel finally quit running and Yash joined the fight.

  When it was finally over and the Pirates were on their way back to Plateau, Coach told me, “Remind the boys this wasn’t much to celebrate. And I want everybody on the field once they’re dressed.”

  I got em out there and Coach started grabbing guys one by one. “You,” he said, pulling Brian and then Elvis out of the pack and pushing them onto the sideline, “and you, line up over there.” He kept grabbing guys. “You, and you, and you, over there.”

  Finally fifteen guys were separated from the rest, and I think pretty much everybody’d figured out that he had picked all the ones who’d been in the brawl. He turned his back to the others and said to those fifteen, “I do not believe that fighting makes you tough.” They looked down.

  Then Coach spun and pointed at the rest of the team. “But I know, I know that standing on the sidelines watching makes you a coward. Now the rest of y’all don’t know what it means to be a team, and I don’t want to see you on my field again. You go on and go home. Go on!”

  It was like the air went out of everybody, me included. Abel, who had watched from the sideline when Yash raced onto the field, said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Coach turned his back on him.

  I could hardly believe it myself, but I knew one thing: Buster Sawyer never said anything just for effect. He had just fired thirty-three guys off his football team. That just left Brian Schuler, Sherman Naters, Yash Upshaw, Snoot Nino, Elvis Jackson, and ten other guys who, as Coach said, knew what it meant to be a team. Well they’d really be finding out now.

  Coach stepped in front of Elvis. “You fumble my ball one more time, and I will not give you a second chance.” He paused. “See y’all Monday.”

  • • •

  I spent every spare minute at the hospital, but now they were telling me Bev was intentionally being kept in a coma. The hospital wasn’t saying much—covering their own tails if you ask me—but this was sounding more serious than I feared.

  I sat outside Bev’s room most of the day Sunday and finally went to church that night. After the service, where we prayed for Bev, Coach told me, “Got to face the music in the most public place we can.”

  “We?”

  “You’re not s
till with me?”

  “Course, but I got enough enemies in this town. Former employees, for instance.”

  “So, I’m on my own.”

  “What are you asking me to do?” I said.

  “Sit with me at breakfast at Tee’s before school.”

  “That’s pretty public, all right.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “At least Tee’s boy is still on the team.”

  Back at the hospital that night, I told Rachel. “I’ll be there too then,” she said.

  “Rachel …”

  “I will. Anybody with a brain knows Coach did the right thing.”

  “Cept the kids who got booted and their parents.”

  “They’re wrong, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, but the man kicked kids off the team for not fighting, Rachel.”

  “That’s why I’ll be with him and you tomorrow morning, Daddy.”

  I called Coach and told him.

  “Well,” he said, “she won’t be the only teenager at our table. My nephew will be there too.”

  • • •

  Next morning, Tee’s was packed and people were waiting for tables. But like she’d known we were coming, Tee left one open, and Elvis pointed us to it when we walked in the door. The place went quiet, but Coach, cool as a poker player, ordered as soon as he sat down across from Brian.

  Just over my left shoulder at the next table sat Abel Gordon, his dad, Andy, and Josie. Out of the corner of my eye I sensed Andy’s hateful stare. He didn’t say anything till our food arrived and we had just looked up from praying.

  “Schuler’s a danged lunatic,” he said, loud enough for everybody in the place. Several obviously agreed. “You don’t punish players for not fighting, especially during senior season when college is on the line.”

  “Pass the salt,” Buster said quietly.

  “And that assistant coach is softer than a Georgia peach with rain rot.”

  Now I’m a Christian, but I confess that’s not what I was thinking just then. Rachel’s mouth was thin and tight and her eyes had narrowed. I kept chewing, trying to be an example. Brian was looking between Coach and me, as if wondering who was gonna be the one to shut the guy’s mouth.