Scrimmage Gone South (Crimson Romance)

by Pace, Alicia Hunter

  “Yeah. I’ve wondered. How do we get clean clothes? There’s no washing machine or dryer here.”

  “Rosemary Jackson comes in and cleans every Friday. As soon as she gets here, she takes the dirty clothes and linens to the drop off laundry. When she finishes cleaning, she picks them up and puts them away. So on Thursday nights, if you’ll make sure that all your dirty clothes are in the hamper, you won’t need to worry about it at all.” She was going to need to give Rosemary a raise.

  “Oh.” Clearly, this was not good news for him.

  “Kirby, what is it?”

  “I only have two sets of practice clothes. I’m supposed to wear clean ones every day. Something about fungus. And then there’s the smell. I kind of got in trouble today for having stinky practice clothes.”

  Which meant she was in trouble. Splendid.

  “Then I guess we’ll just have to buy you enough practice clothes to get you through the week.”

  “That won’t really work. The clothes are issued to us. Coach says we should be glad to have two sets. When he played, they only had one and he had to wash them himself every night.”

  “Poor Coach. Well, I guess we’ll stop by the self service laundry tonight when we go to the bookstore. And this weekend, we’ll see about getting a washer and dryer.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’ve spent enough at the drop off to have bought a set anyway. I’ve just been too lazy. And I’ll tell you what else we’re going to do this weekend. We’re going to go through your clothes and decide what we need to buy for winter. And we are going to talk about your social life and decide what is a reasonable allowance for you.”

  “Oh, Miss Tolly, I can’t — ”

  “Hush, Kirby. If you were going to be where no one was going to take care of you, you might as well have gone to Ohio. I’m going to screw up. So are you. But we’re also going to figure this out.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Is there anything else that you need immediately? Anything we need to get tonight?”

  “No. Only — ” His eyes wandered to the rah-rah paraphernalia on the sofa. “I just want to say that I know you didn’t used to go to games and I didn’t expect it. But it means a lot that you got that stuff.” He gestured to the pile of blue and gold. “I’m glad you’re going to come and see me play — that there’ll be somebody there for me like the other guys, you know. Wearing that shirt and all.”

  Oh, no. Anything but that. Anything.

  “Kirby, I — ” But she couldn’t say it, couldn’t look into his eyes and tell him he was mistaken, that she would not be coming to watch him play.

  “Yes?” He smiled a sweet smile and he wasn’t embarrassed at all anymore.

  “Uh … I know I’m not your mother. Not your grandmother. But is there anything else that the other guys’ moms do? Other than go to the games and make cookies?”

  “Well. You probably can’t do this because you have to be at work but lots of parents come to the pep rallies.”

  She took out her iPhone. “And that’s when?”

  “Fridays at 2:15.”

  She punched it in. “I’ll be there if I’m not in court.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. What do the other guys’ moms wear to pep rallies?” His eyes drifted to the shirt. Well, of course.

  Not only was she was going to a football game, she was going to a pep rally. And she was going tricked out like the biggest supporter who’d ever lived.

  Fabulous.

  “Come on.” She stood up. “Let’s do our errands and get some dinner so you can do your homework. You’re probably already behind on The Great Gatsby.”

  • • •

  After parking at the high school, Tolly threw her blazer in the backseat and jerked the rah-rah shirt on over her silk blouse. Because she always wanted to know exactly what was going to happen to her, she had thoroughly interrogated Kirby about what would go on at this pep rally. According to him, there would be a section of bleachers in the gym reserved for parents — who would be mostly mothers — and, though this part was not dictated, the band parents always sat at the top, the cheerleaders’ parents in the middle, with players’ parents — where Tolly would sit — in front. For the first ten minutes, the band would play and the cheerleaders and majorettes would dance. Kirby wasn’t sure what else went on before he made his entrance with the team.

  She was late, but if she hurried, she’d make it before the team came in. The band was playing “Mr. Touchdown” and Tolly looked past the dancing cheerleaders to the section of rah-rah shirts. Sondra Bowman waved and motioned for the other women to move closer together to make room for Tolly.

  “Thanks, Sondra. I had a client who would not leave.”

  “No problem.” Sondra was a pretty woman with dark amber skin and a friendly smile. Her son, Marcus, played left guard and it was his primary job to protect the quarterback — Kirby — after the ball was snapped. “Glad to see you here. You’re a good woman for what you’re doing for that boy.”

  “Not really,” Tolly said. “Kirby is the good one. No trouble at all.”

  Sondra laughed. “There hasn’t been a teenage boy invented who’s not trouble of some kind. But Kirby is a sweet boy. I’ll grant you that. He and Marcus have played together in their same positions since seventh grade and Kirby always thanks Marcus for protecting him. Look.” Sondra pointed to the north door. “Here they come.”

  Nathan stepped inside first and the band shifted into the Bobcat fight song. As cheers emanated from the crowd, Nathan made his way across the gym with the assistant coaches behind him, followed by the team, led by Kirby. The boys wore their game day jerseys and the coaches wore khakis and Bobcat blue blazers. Nathan wore a tie.

  Nathan was the kind of man who walked into a room like he knew the world was waiting for him — loose hipped, head high, half smiling with eyes half closed and looking at no one. He made his way toward the microphone in the middle of the gym floor as if he was alone and he had until next Tuesday to get there. Was it her imaginations or did most of the team seem to be trying to copy his lazy graceful gait?

  As Nathan stepped up to the mike, the coaches filed behind him and stood on his left, and the boys gathered to his right.

  “Bobcats,” Nathan said and the crowd went wild. Majorettes threw their batons, cheerleaders jumped and turned backflips, the crowd clapped and roared. Some students raised their hands over their heads, mimicking a clawing bobcat paw.

  Nathan put a hand in the air and gradually the noise subsided. “Bobcats. That’s you, you know. It’s not just me. It’s not just them.” He swept his hand toward the team. “It’s every band member, every cheerleader, every student, faculty member, and parent — ” He swung his eyes toward the parent section and his eyes locked dead-on into Tolly’s. A startled expression settled on his face and she raised the back of her hand to cover her mouth to hide her amusement. She couldn’t resist wiggling her fingers in a barely detectable wave.

  “Uh … ” Nathan looked down, collected his thoughts, and continued. “It’s you. It’s every man, woman, and child who comes out to support us, who believes in us. Last week, we disappointed you in Colbert County, when we failed to convert on the third drive in the first quarter. We lost that game by three points, which goes to show that mistakes in the beginning will always be with you in the end. You never come back from them.”

  Tolly was pretty sure he glanced at her when he said that last part.

  “But this week, we aren’t going to make those same mistakes. I told you the first time I stood in front of you, this year that it wasn’t going to be a perfect season — that we had a lot to learn about each other. But we are learning. We have learned from every mistake we’ve made and we are going to make it work for us tonight when we play Clay County. Now, we
haven’t beaten Clay County in six years. They think we are an easy game. They are confident, cocky. But this year — ” he raised his voice, not much but just enough “ — they are coming to our house!” And a bit more. “To your house!” And again. “And this year it’s going to be different!”

  Mayhem, this was the absolute definition of mayhem. Tolly was thinking of joining the cheerleaders for a few cartwheels herself when Nathan put up his hand again.

  “Do you want to know what the difference is this year?” His voice was back at its normal volume now. “It’s not the desire to win. Everybody wants to win. It’s not hard work. We work hard but no harder than past teams. It’s you!” He pointed to the crowd like Uncle Sam demanding patriotic volunteers. “It’s not lost on us that last week, after we handed you a defeat, when we ran off that field, you were on your feet cheering for us just as if we had delivered the victory we should have. You can’t know what that means.” Nathan put his hand over his heart. “But you can be sure that is an image and a feeling we will carry onto the field tonight. You give us your spirit and we will not let you down. Now, who’s going to come out tonight and bring that spirit?”

  “WE ARE!”

  “Who’s going to sit in those stands tonight and make some noise?”

  “WE ARE!” Tolly was surprised when she found herself on her feet, delivering the correct answer, but she was glad when she saw Kirby beam at her.

  “Who’s a Bobcat?”

  “WE ARE!”

  “All right, then,” Nathan said quietly, as if his work was done, that it was all settled. And he turned and, with that same loose hipped slow saunter, led his coaches and his team to sit in the section of bleachers that had been reserved for them.

  What followed were cheers, a majorette routine, and a skit put on by the student council that Tolly did not entirely understand. Something to do with bees — or maybe it was yellow jackets — dressed up like football players, trying to sting a bobcat, who tricked them into stinging each other to death. Then came some announcements by the principal, one more cheer, and it was over.

  Should she go speak to Kirby? Probably not. Students surrounded the team but none of the other adults were moving that way. Nathan looked toward her. Maybe she should speak to him, tell him he’d made a good speech. After all, it was the truth and she was a fair person. Or better yet, offer to email him the user friendly food chart she’d made from the original nutrition plan. Stating the facts and being a good football parent wasn’t interacting. It was professional discourse.

  Nathan waved and made to move in her direction when one of the majorettes pranced up to him and put her hand on his arm. She spoke to him with such animation that Tolly wouldn’t have been surprised to see stars and hearts shoot out her mouth. Nathan nodded, smiled, and laughed at something she said before continuing to where Tolly stood.

  Over Nathan’s shoulder, Tolly saw the girl watch him walk away. Her expression changed from an exuberant teenage girl to that of a grown woman on the prowl in a bar. Tolly was pretty sure the girl’s eyes dropped to watch Nathan’s butt as he walked away. It was a butt worth watching but there was just something creepy and unsavory about the way she looked at him.

  “So you came,” Nathan said. He seemed happy about it, even a little pleased with her.

  “Yes. And I’ll be at the game tonight. I realized it was important to Kirby.”

  Nathan nodded with approval. “I’m glad to hear that. It is important.”

  Tolly opened her mouth to tell him she’d enjoyed his speech and offer the food chart, but instead, she found herself saying, “Nathan, who was that girl?”

  “What girl?”

  “That girl you were talking to.”

  “Who?” His expression was clueless. “There are hundreds of girls in this school.”

  “The majorette.”

  “Oh. Jamie Fisher. She’s in one of my English classes. What about her?”

  “You need to watch it.”

  “Watch what?” he said defensively. If he had shown any sign of softening toward her, it was gone. “If you are implying that I would ever — ”

  Tolly shook her head. “I’m not implying that. But what I just saw was a grown man innocently talking to a student and a girl on the make. Be careful. Don’t be alone with her.”

  “Townshend, for your information, I am never alone with female students. That was a lesson I learned, oh, about thirteen years ago. And this is probably hard for you to believe, but not every pretty teenage girl is deceptive and intent on collecting hearts for sport.”

  And with that, he turned and stalked away, leaving nothing between them except an iceberg.

  That’s what she got for interacting.

  But he’d said hearts. Had she collected his? Not that it mattered any more now than it did then.

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re dressed up for a Saturday morning,” Lanie said as Tolly approached the round table in the back of Lou Anne’s diner where she, Lanie, Missy, and Lucy always sat. This morning Lanie and Missy had Emma and Beau with them.

  Tolly looked down at her pink wool suit and black stilettos and sat down. “After breakfast, I have to go to Casey to interview a possible witness.”

  “And why is it — ” Missy cut up a waffle and split it between Beau and Emma “ — that my husband is on the golf course, but you have to drive an hour on your day off?”

  “Harris has already tried with her. He claims she’s a man hater. He couldn’t tell if she was being belligerent or if she really didn’t know anything.”

  “Maybe if the Bragg charm didn’t work, the Lee charm will,” Lucy said.

  “That’s pretty much what Harris said, but I think he just wants to play golf,” Tolly said.

  “You need to stop letting him run over you,” Missy said. “I can give you some private lessons. I am very effective.”

  Tolly laughed. “No doubt. But I don’t mind. It’s a beautiful day. And, frankly, I could use some alone time. And some quiet.” Kirby had been with her three weeks now and while she was very pleased that he now felt at home, that comfort brought a lot of noise with it. TV sports announcers shouting, music blaring, cell phone buzzing, and teenage boys running up and down the stairs like St. Bernard puppies.

  “So I take it he’s gotten over walking on egg shells,” Lanie said as she lifted a glass of orange juice to Emma’s mouth.

  “I put a pad on the refrigerator so he can write down what he needs without having to ask. At first, he wouldn’t put anything on it. Yesterday, he wrote shaving cream, apples, and an MG convertible.”

  That got a laugh from everyone.

  Lou Anne set a cup of coffee and a bowl of cheese grits in front of her. “Did you want the usual, Tolly? If not, I’ll get you something else.”

  “This is perfect. I can always count on you, Lou Anne.”

  “More than you know, baby. Kirby played a good game last night.”

  “He did,” Tolly agreed. “I was very proud of him.”

  She’d even seen a little of the game this time. She’d lived through three games now, two wins and a loss. The first two games, she’d kept her eyes closed most of the time. Last night, she’d been able to keep her eyes open, but had avoided the game by watching Nathan on the sidelines slapping bottoms, screaming, and throwing his clipboard and headset. It had been entertaining until a Bobcat running back broke away and ran for a sixty yard touchdown. Excited, Nathan had tried to run down the side of the field but had to stop to grab his knee.

  After that, she’d watched Kirby play. She and Nathan hadn’t spoken since the day she’d warned him about Jamie Fisher. When they’d been invited to watch college football at Harris and Missy’s, they’d reverted to speaking at and around each other.

  But that didn’t matter. She shook it off and dug into h
er cheese grits.

  “How are all the pregnant ladies feeling today?” she asked.

  • • •

  The meeting went very well. Turns out, the witness knew more than she thought did and she was willing to testify. Harris just hadn’t asked the right questions or admired enough cats and African violets. Tolly placed the pot of purple violets she’d been gifted with in the back floorboard and slid behind the wheel. Maybe she’d better call Harris before heading home. She would not have service on the road between Casey and Merritt. Just as she reached for her phone, it rang. She checked the caller ID. Kirby.

  “Hey, sweetie. I’m about to head back. What’s up?”

  Silence. Though it wasn’t logical, a bad feeling shot through her.

  “Kirby?”

  “Tolly, this is Rayford Stumps.”

  Why was the Chief of Police calling her on Kirby’s phone?

  “Yes? Where’s Kirby?”

  “Kirby’s been in an auto accident and I’m at the scene.”

  Oh, God, no. “What? Let me talk to him. Put him on.” As soon as she heard his voice, her ears would stop ringing. This was bad — a million times worse than a football pileup.

  “Can’t,” Rayford said. “He’s been taken to the hospital. The ambulance just left.”

  Ambulance? Lanie had been in an accident last spring and had been in a coma for days. For a while there —

  “Is he alive? Is he all right?”

  “He was lucid enough to hand his phone over when I asked for it. That’s all I know. You’d better get over to the hospital.”

  “Rayford, I’m in Casey! I’m an hour away!” Panic, panic, panic. And to think she’d been looking forward to the quiet car trip. Now all she wanted was some teenage boy noise — the kind that would wake the dead.

  Dead. She didn’t know how to plan a funeral.

  “Then calm down and come on back. Now, what adult can I call to go be with him until you get there?”

  To be there to hold his hand when he died? Rayford might as well have said it. What if he was brain dead? What if she had to make the decision to turn off a respirator? Well, she wouldn’t do it. She’d let him live, no matter what it took. Doctors didn’t know everything. He might wake up. It had happened, even after twenty years. She’d take care of him. Not that she ought to be trusted. Who had he been in the car with anyway? Any decent parent would know that. She should have gotten him a car. But no! She’d been too busy moping over her high school journal and worrying about the nutrition plan!