by Sally John
Recognition registered in the English teacher’s eyes. He knew what he was referring to. “She wants to take her team to the girls state tournament. They need permission to miss one and a half days of school. Policy says that you have to grant that and then ask the board to okay the trip. They also need to reserve the district’s van.”
“And when is the trip?”
“February. If you wait until the January meeting, she doesn’t have time to put things in order.”
“All right. That helps. Thanks.” He turned on his heel to go and then wheeled back around. “Ethan, how did you build a rapport with her?”
He shrugged. “Spent time with her. Wore school colors and went to her games.”
“Are you two involved?”
“Involved? As in—?” He burst into laughter, his brows raised as if that were the most absurd question he’d ever been asked. “No. She would drive me crazy.”
“Mm-hmm.” Joel walked away, murmuring to himself, “Tell me about it.”
“Coach!” Anne called to Britte, tilting her head toward the sidelines where she stood. They needed to talk privately.
“Run it again, ladies!” Britte yelled as she left the court. “Liz, call the play!”
Anne stepped around Britte, turning her back to the girls and facing her friend. “Coach, lighten up.”
Her eyes narrowed. Not a good sign.
“What’s going on, Britte?”
“What do you mean, what’s going on? We’ve lost Cassie. They’re practicing like they’ve never seen a basketball before, let alone held one. We’ve got a game tomorrow night. Bender has a good chance of beating us if we play like this.”
“Just back off a bit. You’re discouraging them. You usually don’t do that.”
Britte kicked a foot backwards, ramming the heel against the bleacher. The clang echoed across the gym. “Anne, we have this chat at least once a season.”
“This is a bit early for it, don’t you think? So how was your day?”
“Thanks for the pep talk, Mom. Sunny,” she shouted toward the floor and headed back out onto it, “keep your eye on Katie. Liz, you call the shot.”
Anne walked along the bleachers to where Cassie sat, her foot elevated and wrapped in a bag of ice. She sat down beside her. The dear girl had come to school today, hobbling on crutches. Her friends took turns carrying around a bucket of ice that she plunged her foot into during classes. She was a trooper and had been a good friend of Drew’s since grade school. Anne had known her for years outside of basketball. “Cass, what’s with Coach?”
“You haven’t heard?” Her eyes widened.
“No. I’m out of the loop.” Especially now.
“Sunny works in the office first hour. Coach came in and read Mr. Kingsley the riot act.”
“What!”
“She could hear her yelling even with the door closed.”
“About what?”
“We don’t know. Sunny asked Mrs. Powell, but she said it wasn’t any of her business. It didn’t make sense. Something about wearing school colors and being politically incorrect. And writing lesson plans. When Coach opened the door, she said, ‘It’s not my job, General.’ And she said ‘General’ in that growly voice she gets when you know she’s really mad.”
“Oh, good grief.”
“I had her fourth hour. She barely said three words. Just gave us a pop quiz and an assignment that she refused to explain. I heard all of her classes were the same. You know what, Mrs. Sutton? I’m kind of glad I don’t have to practice today!”
Nineteen
Joel swung his racquet and nailed the small blue ball against the front wall. Kind of like Britte Olafsson had nailed him about six hours ago.
Alec laughed. “Whew! Game point. Want to go another? We’ve got the court time.”
Joel used his T-shirt to wipe sweat from his brow and sat on the floor, catching his breath. “Nah. I told Lynnie I had an emergency meeting with a board member. Guess we better have our meeting before I head back. Thanks again for sparing the time.”
“No problem.” Still huffing, Alec slid down the wall and sat beside him on the floor. “It feels like we’re playing hooky. Feels good, actually.”
He grinned. “Know what you mean. Sounds like you’re playing hooky all week.”
“Not from housework! I told Anne I’d take a few vacation days off before Christmas, help her out in that department.”
“How’s she like her job?”
“She likes it. Annie’s Superwoman. She’s amazing. So, what’s the emergency?”
“Britte Olafsson. She chewed me out this morning.”
Alec laughed. “I’m only surprised that you were the recipient. Anne thinks you intimidate Britte, something no one else has ever come close to doing.”
“Really?” Joel chuckled. “At the moment I think I’m here in order to avoid her! Anyway, I deserved the dressing down. Evidently I forgot she had asked me to get board permission for the girls to go to the state tournament.”
“Ouch. You messed with her team. Did she get belligerent?”
“No. In truth, she gave me some things to think about. She said I should delegate more, not be overly concerned about insignificant details.” He chose not to mention her title of “General.” “I’m not complaining about Britte, Alec. She’s the best when it comes to teaching. Gordon Hughes may be complaining soon, however.”
“I suppose that would be about Jordan’s role on the team.” Alec shook his head. “He has to meet formally with Britte first and with the athletic director before the board will listen to him. There haven’t been complaints about her in the past, as far as I know. I can’t imagine it going anywhere. Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t clue you in about the girls’ trip. I just didn’t think about it. It’s odd Anne didn’t remind me.”
“Can we fix it now?”
“Sure. It’s just a formality. We’ll call a special meeting. Only take five minutes. Let’s shoot for Thursday, seven A.M., superintendent’s office. Work for you?”
“That’s fine. Thanks. How many members will mark this one against me?”
Alec chuckled. “Oh, three of the seven. You know, Joel, Britte’s not the only one you intimidate. Your methods are controversial to some parents, but for most of us board members, your quick, hard-hitting changes have been a godsend.”
“I realize alienating some people comes with the job. I just hope you see fit to renew my contract. I like it here in Valley Oaks.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Hey, Drew and I finally had a talk. The fight was a girl thing.”
“Nine out of ten times…” He shook his head. “Ready?” They stood, gathered their things, and walked through the door.
“Joel, do you have any Christmas Eve plans?”
“I’m staying in town.” He grinned. “That’s about it. Catch up on some work. Please don’t feel obligated—”
“Anne would have a fit if she knew you were sitting home alone on a holiday. Come on over, about four. The Eatons will be there. You know, the pastor and his family. Val and the kids. You don’t want to pass up Anne’s cooking.”
Food and company? “Thanks. Sounds great. Is there a gift exchange involved?”
Alec laughed as they headed toward the locker room. “No. Just bring yourself. I think it’ll be good for Jason and Drew to see you outside the school environment. You can tell them all about life in the Marines.”
“Either one of them thinking of joining up?”
“Jason has toyed with the idea. This business in Afghanistan has some of the guys riled up. You were in Desert Storm, right?”
“Right.” He didn’t offer anything else. Alec knew most of his story.
Alec stopped in the middle of the hall, all trace of his mellow demeanor vanished. “Oh, yeah.” The details must have come to him. “Maybe you don’t want to talk about it.”
Joel slapped his shoulder. “Can’t say it’s my favorite subject.”
She hadn’t exactly ye
lled at him, had she?
Elbow propped on her dining room table, chin settled into her palm, Britte eyed the cold lump of macaroni and cheese and soggy tossed salad. No sense in pretending. She was not going to eat dinner.
How many times was she going to rerun this morning’s office scene in her mind?
It was her voice. It was a perfect coach’s voice that carried well. She could effortlessly speak in class. With only slight exertion on the vocal cords, she could make her words understood across the gym. She was born with this voice. She had not yelled at him.
“It’s your tone.” Oh, great. Now her mother’s voice was in on this.
“I didn’t use a tone, Mom,” she spoke aloud to the empty house. “I was angry, and I think I had a right to be angry. It was righteous indignation. He hadn’t done his job, and I called him on it. End of story.”
Britte carried her dishes to the kitchen and proceeded to clean up.
She had been uncommunicative and a grouch the entire day. No doubt there were rumors racing around the school, probably throughout Valley Oaks by now. Would they know the gist of the argument? Maybe it wasn’t even an argument since it was totally one-sided. What they would know was that she had called him “General.”
A water glass slipped from her hand and crashed into the sink, breaking apart.
“Nuts!”
She leaned against the countertop and willed herself to stop evading her conscience.
Oh, why had she called him “General”? Up until that point, she was home free. Upset and straightforward were acceptable behavioral patterns, part of life. Calling him that derogatory name was—
A defense. She understood that now.
Facing him across the desk, she had, for the first time, seen the color of his eyes. Hazel with green flecks. And they were not haughty nor condescending nor cold. They were full of— No, not full. They were overflowing with care and concern.
She wasn’t about to accept that from him. And so she had retreated, put up her defenses, and called him “General.”
“You’re my sergeant!” Britte yelled. “Back me up!”
A part of Joel knew it was a dream, but a heavy blackness wouldn’t release him.
The artillery explosions were deafening. The roar of the chopper. The orders screamed from his own throat. Sweat steaming the night goggles. The unbearable cries of the injured.
He felt the sensation of floating. The chopper took off.
Britte’s shouts faded.
No! Britte wasn’t there!
She was gone. He knew she was gone, left to the enemy. They had to go back!
“Go back!”
The sound of his own voice jerked him awake. He sat up, his breath coming in short gasps, his body drenched in sweat. He flicked on the bedside lamp.
The dream was nothing. The worst was yet to come.
“God, don’t let them start. Take the memories away.” At times, he knew God had answered that prayer.
Why was Britte in the dream this time?
He knew why. He had refused to admit it up to this point. Remembering meant feeling again, and the feelings agitated unbearable memories, forcing them to surface. The simple solution to avoiding the memories was to avoid the feelings. But Britte Olafsson disturbed the feelings, cutting loose emotions long buried. All she had to do was show up.
And between school Monday through Friday, Saturday basketball, and Sunday church, she showed up every single day.
Long accustomed to the discipline of focusing his mind, Joel mentally reviewed chores awaiting him in the morning. In that way he successfully blanked her out.
But the feelings kept churning, and the memories reappeared.
Joel was tired of the incessant struggle. He lay back down and curled into a fetal position.
“God, help me.”
He imagined supernatural hands unlocking gates. He saw the deluge of ugliness pouring through, coming into focus. The choice he had made so long ago haunted afresh.
Choice? No, not really a choice. It was a behavior, a mindset drilled into him until it had become second nature. Semper fi. To leave a buddy behind was not a viable option.
But the fallout! The repercussions! Death…court martial…disgrace…oblivion in a bottle…
Until Sam and Jesus.
Forgiveness was a free gift.
Sam prayed that someday Joel would let that fact sink from his head into his heart in order to complete his healing. Was his spiritual mentor’s prayer being answered?
For the first time in ten years, Joel Kingsley wept.
Twenty
“Goodbye!” Anne smiled as her customer walked out the door, purchases in hand.
There was a lull in what had been an extremely busy morning, five days before Christmas. Her coworker Natalie, a local college student, was helping the lone remaining customer. Anne took the opportunity to poke her head into the tiny office where her boss sat at the desk.
“Charlie, do you mind if I leave 30 minutes early?”
“Not at all.” He smiled his slow smile. Today’s flannel shirt was a red plaid. “You’ve got a game tonight, right?”
“Right. Something has come up, and I need to talk with the head coach beforehand.”
Charlie set down his pen and leaned back in the chair. “How’s the juggling act going?”
Anne glanced away. The way the man saw things sometimes startled her. She met his clear blue eyes. “You probably wouldn’t believe it if I answered fine?”
“Probably not. This has got to be tough for you.”
“It is, but I’m learning.” She pointed upward, imagining the issues she juggled as if they were indeed merely balls. “Alec and the kids can fend better for themselves than I gave them credit for. The team is in place. I don’t need to expend much energy on the girls except when I’m with them. And then there are the cookies. Do we really need a zillion different kinds baked in my kitchen? I don’t think so.” She could go on…Britte…Val…PTA…parents…in-laws…Christmas… “By the way, what are you doing Christmas Eve? My family would like to meet you. We’re having friends over for dinner.”
“Thank you for the invitation, dear lady, but I’m going to Chicago. Our son and his family live there. It’s the first since Ellen…” His voice faded for a moment. “My wife. She died last spring.”
“Oh, Charlie. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. There won’t be a zillion different kinds of cookies in our house this year either.”
Her struggle with priorities shriveled in light of his situation. At least all of her family would be together.
Charlie mimed a juggler tossing balls in the air. “And where does your new job fit in?”
“Ah, the job.” She smiled. “You know what it’s like to visit a place you used to love living in? And suddenly you remember, you feel bits and pieces of yourself that made you who you were then? You wonder how you lost them along the way. That’s what this job is to me.”
He smiled, stroking his beard. “Anne, when was the last time you held a paint brush?”
“Good heavens. I have no—” A memory rushed at her. “Yes, I do. Amy was two months old. Drew was three. I had my little corner in our bedroom where I kept an easel and supplies. One day I was painting. All of a sudden I heard a crash and both kids screaming. Drew had heard Amy wake up from her nap. He lifted her out of the crib, carried her into the kitchen, and tried to put her in the infant seat, which was on top of the counter. The seat flew off onto the floor. Fortunately Amy landed on the counter. I cleared away my things within the hour. Drew held the trash bag.”
Charlie studied her for a long moment. “In January our classes start up again. You could join, no charge, and paint once a week.”
The bell on the gallery’s front door jingled.
Charlie stood, came around the desk, and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a way to find those lost bits and pieces.”
Wednesday afternoon Anne walked through the deserted high school ha
llway. The industrial mint green walls had finally been painted an off-white a few years ago. Heavyduty carpet had replaced the shiny black tile. She could still remember dress-up days when her pumps clicked smartly on that old hard floor.
High up the walls, above the lockers, hung large, framed photo collections of graduating classes. She stopped, as she always did, in front of Alec’s class. He was by far the cutest among the 80-some other faces. He looked so young, so full of promise. Oh, Lord, what’s happening to him? Please, take him back to this…this hope. Remind him that in You he can do anything.
Anne knocked on Britte’s open door. She was at her desk. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here?”
Anne shut the door. “Wow, I just had this sense of déjà vu. Remember Mr. Robbins?”
“The cadaver? Fortunately he retired before I took Algebra II.”
“This was his room. He made me stay after school one day for giggling during his class. He scared the willies out of me.” Anne slid into a student desk. “Unlike you, he was totally noncommunicative.”
Britte smiled. “Did you get off from work early?”
“There was a break in the action, and I told Mr. Manning the head coach needed to talk to me about being overly communicative.”
Britte winced.
Anne shook her head. “You called him ‘General’?”
“Among other things. By the way, I’m sorry for snapping at you at practice yesterday.”
“Calling me ‘Mom’ is not on the same level as calling your boss that horrible nickname.”
“I’ve been trying to apologize to him all day. He was out of the building two of the six times I went to the office. The other times, Lynnie didn’t know where he was.”
“He’s probably avoiding you.”
“Probably. Not that I blame him. Annie, he forgot to bring up the girls’ trip to State after I asked him to three times. So I called him on it. Then I accused him of not taking the girls’ activities seriously, of not attending our games like he does the boys’. He admitted to being politically incorrect.”
“He agreed with you?”