“Sho ’nuf,” Akil said.
“Thanks, fellas. Wish these knees would have held out — but yeah, them was the days,” Marquise said.
“For sure,” Akil agreed and clasped hands with his boss.
Marquise smiled and thought back on his senior year and that last state championship game at the humongous AT&T stadium and football field in Arlington, Texas. Seating more than 100,000, the stadium was familiar to him only because of their many televised NFL games he had watched. The Washington High Falcons had earned their way there with an undefeated 10 and 0 season. At this point, they were facing the Eastland Loboes who were also undefeated in their season.
Parents, siblings, uncles, aunts, friends, girlfriends, and college scouts filled the stands, full of anticipation. Cheerleaders on either side jumped, kicked, and chanted in perfect sync, creating a scene of sheer beauty. The aroma of hot dogs, nachos, and cotton candy infused the air. Sunlight filtered in, dotting the field. Both teams stretched thoroughly and warmed up while the coaches and their assistants threw the ball back and forth to various players and went through drills.
Just before the game began, Marquise had bumped chests with the team’s quarterback and his close friend, Tyler Forsythe.
“You betta run hard, baby!” Marquise’s mama had shouted, making him smile at the thought that he could distinguish her loud mouth even with the competing chatter. He’d looked up and spotted her, along with his sister and twin brothers. Each one wore a jersey with his name and number 32 emblazoned on it.
“All right, Falcons!” the coach said, clapping his hands. “All season I’ve watched you guys play some excellent football. You all are some football-playing dudes. You’re ready!” he shouted. “You hear me, men? You’re ready! Go out there and take care of business. We’re going to bring back that trophy to Mannford again! Right, guys?”
“Yes, sir!” the team shouted, jumped up and down and high-fived. The coach drew the team into a circle where they lifted their hands together with a victorious whoop. The championship game was on.
As excited as they were to play, the game wasn’t a breeze. Control of the ball changed sides again and again. Both teams had played hard. First half: no score.
Third quarter: no score. Then came the fourth quarter, and time was ticking down. The Loboes had gotten away with a field goal. Kick off. Falcons’ ball. First down, second down, third down. Marquise’s team had made it only to the 50-yard line.
Fourth and three with the game clock at fifteen seconds. Marquise stood ready, watching as Tyler scanned the field for an open receiver. Marquise caught his eye and quickly moved into a perfect position to receive Tyler’s short lateral pitch. Marquise caught the ball and rushed to the outside, pushing past the opposing team’s cornerback. He then spun, deftly breaking another tackle. He’d made a first down, but then, to his wide-eyed amazement, he was able to slip past several tackles and rush forward toward the goalpost and a touchdown. But then, one of the Loboe’s cornerbacks charged at him with a vicious helmet-to-helmet hit; another one dove at his knees.
Marquise felt himself fall across the goal line as if in slow motion. The black-and-white-striped ref threw both hands upward. “That’s better,” Marquise said to himself, even before he hit the ground. The Falcons fans erupted in shouts and cheers. He lay motionless in the end zone with the football still in his hands and a sense of satisfaction in his mind. But he also sensed that he had suffered a bad injury to his knees.
Coach Sanders, the trainers, several of the football team, and Tyler sprinted over to him.
“We did it up even better this time, didn’t we, Ty?”
“You bet, Marq,” Tyler said, smiling. “I’d say we did a fine job, brother.”
A photo of the two clasping hands made the front page of the Mannford Times newspaper. The headline read: “Falcons victorious, second state championship.” But Marquise also sadly remembered one of the captioned photos beneath the headlines: “Marquise Taylor, the game’s MVP: To undergo surgery for a severely torn ACL.”
Marquise had spent his last high school Christmas vacation in the hospital. No more football, the doctors had told him. The only thing making the news tolerable was that his mom, brothers, sister, and several teammates — including Tyler — were standing by his side.
Marquise smiled at the memory. After graduation, he and Tyler had gone their separate ways. Wonder what happened to him?
“C’mon, ref. Are you on drugs, man?” the teenaged customer said, shouting at the TV and rousing Marquise back to the present and the current game on the shop’s big screen. “You must be seeing somethin’ different from everybody else. You know that was pass interference, dude! What’s up with dat?”
“Shawn, what did I tell you last time about yellin’ like that in my barbershop? You know the ref can’t hear you and neither can anyone else on that TV.” Marquise chuckled, lightly slapping the teen on his newly groomed head.
Chapter
13
On the car radio, Tyler turned up Bob Seger’s “Against the Wind.” With all the windows down, he let his ’66 Chevy pickup carry him along the highway to his lake house, thirty miles outside Mannford. He had named it his “Little Slice of Heaven.” The quaint cabin was nestled among fragrant pines next to a creek that sparkled brilliantly in the sun. He combed his hands backward through his wind-blown hair and stepped out of his truck. Better check on everything inside first, he thought. His cowboy boots crunched on the gravel as he trod the path toward the cabin’s front door. A blue jay added his arrival to the mix with a complaining screech as a roadrunner scurried fussily across the path.
As he trudged up to the rustic wood cabin, Tyler took note of the creaky wooden steps and loose doorknob. I’ve got to bring down my tools next time and get some more of these repairs out of the way.
He paced through the small lake house, walking through the beams of sunlight that shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows that each offered a marvelous lakeside view. On to the country-decorated kitchen he had updated with off-white shiplap and concrete countertops. Running the sink’s faucet until the rusty red water turned clear, he filled the coffeemaker so he could make the strong, black coffee he loved. His comrades at work called it “mud.”
As he waited for his coffee to brew, he inhaled deeply, savoring its aroma. Meandering across the pine hardwood floors, he stared out the window at the peaceful water and the many-hued wildflowers. All moved gently with the breeze.
I love this place, he thought, inhaling deeply again — this time to catch a scent of the house and nature. So peaceful. Wish my life could flow just like this.
His thermos bottle now full, Tyler stepped out into the bright morning sun. He considered stopping to grab his cell phone but decided against it. Instead, he grabbed his fishing gear and ice cooler from the bed of the pickup, then stopped for a moment and glanced off toward Mannford.
“Geez. Problems, problems, problems up there,” he muttered as he thought of the previous night’s riot. Then he turned back toward the pond and the peace that it invited. Tyler grinned in anticipation of the fine day that lay ahead of him.
Laden with thermos, fishing gear, and cooler, he trudged down the rocky path that led to the dock where he hooked his bait, threw in his line, and took a healthy swig of his coffee.
Almost as soon as he swallowed, he saw his pole bend. “Whoa,” Tyler bellowed and then laughed from joy. As he felt his line pull sharply, he squeezed the pole more tightly. Something large had bitten on his fishing line. He jumped to his feet and wrestled the line back and forth before he pulling out a huge catfish. “I got you! Whooo! What a beaut’!” Tyler shouted, grinning at his success. With one already on the ice, Tyler settled in for a morning of good fishing. He’d soon caught a few good ones.
If he thought he could let go of all his anxieties about back home, however, he soon realized that he was
mistaken. Flashes of the televised incident with Darrelle Moseley, mixed with Friday evening’s riots and his fight with Laura, plagued his mind. His peaceful morning fishing trip had turned out to be anything but.
Man, all this stuff stinks. Tyler shook his head and then had to swipe at the corner of his eyes.
Not wanting to cry, even while alone, he abruptly stood, dusted off his jeans, and trudged back to his cabin. Sighing loudly, Tyler closed up his Little Slice of Heaven and loaded the bed of the pickup with his fishing gear and the cooler, filled with his fresh catch. Retracing his route up the rocky trail, he drove reluctantly back to Mannford.
He glanced into his rearview mirror at the cooler of fish. That kind of catch typically would have put him on top of the world. Not so much this time. He turned up the volume to Sirius Classic Rewind. One of his and Laura’s old favorites, Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing,” was playing. For a moment he lost himself in the music but soon found himself engulfed with grief. Once again tears burned the corners of his eyes, and he pounded the wheel.
“I’ve got to do better —for Laura and me,” he said. “I’ve got to do something new.” Determined to formulate a plan — for the first time in a long time — he began to feel hopeful. I’ve got to pull this off — if Laura hasn’t already left me. Still his stomach was tied in knots. “I’m going to hope for the best,” Tyler said aloud. He turned up Steven Tyler and drove on.
The leaves and branches of Mannford’s majestic towering oaks waved in the August breeze as Tyler arrived back into the city where he had to maneuver his way in and out among the eighteen-wheelers and city traffic.
Back home, he opened the garage door to find that Laura’s car was not there. Sheer quiet met him when entered the house and walked through to the backyard. Tyler made his way down the path to Laura’s workshop. As he entered, the smell of Laura’s paints and solvents filled his nostrils with a dizzying scent. Tyler raised the cover off her current work and was amazed to see a painting of him as he slept. His interest rising, he studied his face. Surprised, touched, and impressed, he felt that he was staring at his very essence. Laura had titled it A Fetching Face. Once again tears filled his eyes. Tyler returned the canvas cover to the painting, exited the workshop, and retraced his steps to the house.
Back in the house he picked up his cell phone to call Laura but decided against it. “I just want to see her,” he said to himself, wanting to purge that morning’s image of her tear-stained face. He shuddered. I’ve got to make this better. Tyler stood thinking a bit longer then laid the cell phone on the dining-room table. After bringing the cooler full of fish into the kitchen, he glanced at the digital clock on the stove. If I get a move on, I might just have enough time.
Tyler jumped into action by first turning up his and Laura’s playlist. John Legend’s “All of Me” began playing as Tyler went to work. Setting the oven to 375 degrees, he cleaned the fish and whipped up a quick lemon-garlic butter sauce. All the while, he sang along to the music, remembering the last time he and Laura had danced and kissed and made love to this song. He put the fish in foil, poured on the sauce, and added black and red pepper and Italian seasoning. Closing up the foil packet, he put it on a cookie sheet and popped it in the oven.
While the fish cooked, he put rice in the steamer and made a quick salad. Tyler then placed everything on a serving dish and set it on the counter for Laura. He then set the table with their best china and grabbed a piece of paper to write his wife a note.
“I’m going to get this right with you, honey!” it said.
Just as he finished, his police radio went off to the sound of the dispatcher’s voice reading a statement from the police chief. “Officers: We are going to need all-hands on deck again this evening. A pamphlet is circulating that last night’s group is planning another protest. I’m hopeful it will be a peaceful one, but of course we need to be prepared for the worst. We’ll meet at substation 77 at 1500 hours and get into full riot gear. Be ready.”
Tyler breathed out hard. “Man, I’m so not looking forward to another night like the last one,” he said.
With a longing look at the table he’d set, he turned toward the bathroom to take a shower.
As he passed through the room, Tyler looked upward and whispered a long-overdue prayer. “Please, please, please Lord,” he said, “let this work out for Laura and me.”
Chapter
14
Keiana wrapped up her last rounds for the day and stopped at the nurses’ station, situated at the center of the circle of intensive care rooms. She joined the other nurses as they were replacing their charts for the incoming shifts and preparing to leave.
“Bye, Keiana. See you Monday,” Jackie said and waved.
“Bye, Jackie. Have a great weekend,” Keiana called back. As Keiana stepped up to replace her charts, a movement in one of the rooms caught her eye. She walked from the desk and stared through the slatted window into young Sadie Linden’s room. Levante, the girl’s boyfriend, was alone in the room with her. She didn’t see anyone else in the room, though she knew Sadie’s parents had been staying there round the clock.
Maybe her parents stepped out for a few moments, Keiana thought.
She glanced back toward the nurses’ station at the monitor for Sadie. The girl’s vitals remained steady; no crazy spikes. Levante seemed more relaxed than he had been earlier — less strained and defensive. He stood next to the bed, obviously talking to Sadie, then picked up a plastic water container and filled it at the room’s sink. Keiana wondered what he planned to do with the water, since the girl was NPO (nothing by mouth).
He better not be giving that girl a drink! She thought as she pulled herself up straight, ready to rush into the room. As she took her first step toward the room, a song she recalled singing as a child in Sunday school came strongly to her: Be still and know that I AM GOD. Be still and know that I AM GOD. Be still and know that I AM GOD!
Somehow Keiana knew she was supposed to hold back from entering the room. She watched nervously as the tough-looking boy with pants sagging took the water container to the girl’s bedside. He dipped a washcloth in it and gently washed Sadie’s face, being careful to avoid her breathing tubes. Next, he moved to her feet and washed them. After he washed and dried her feet, he emptied the container into the sink and returned to her bedside. She couldn’t make out his words, but his tone sounded soft and kind as he spoke to her while rubbing her head and smoothing her hair back. Keiana could see his shoulders heave as he bent over her bed. He was obviously crying. Finally, he pulled a chair close to the bed and gently took hold of Sadie’s unresponsive hand.
Keiana looked on in astonishment. She was amazed by the sheer loveliness that had emanated from the tough-looking young man and the peace-filled song that she’d heard in her spirit.
Relieved and calm now, Keiana slowly stepped into the room.
Levante looked up quickly, eyes wide, seeming unsure of what to expect. The room had a lovely fragrance.
“Boy, that smells good,” Keiana said.
“That’s Sadie’s favorite lotion,” he said. Then he flashed a beautiful smile.
“Don’t worry, young man,” Keiana said, patting him on the shoulder. “We’re taking excellent care of Sadie. I trust all will be well soon.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I do too! I’ve been praying for her.”
“Good, good.” Keiana, astounded, nodded, and stepped out.
On her way to the parking garage, she couldn’t get her mind off that hospital room with its sacred scene of a boy washing the feet of his girlfriend.
She drove into the lovely late-afternoon sun. Her spirit felt alive, buzzing. Driving through Mannford, she hummed the beautiful song to herself over and over. Be still and know that I AM GOD. Joy, thanksgiving, and a sense of peace rose in her heart. “Thank You, Lord, thank You, thank You,” she prayed as she made her way to Mis
s Helen’s to pick up Nisha.
Laura pulled up to the law office of Bortle & Thomson. She turned the car off with trembling hands and headed haltingly into the building.
“I’m Laura Forsythe,” she told the receptionist. “I have a three o’clock appointment.” She forced her voice to sound braver than she felt.
“Yes, Ms. Forsythe, Counsel Thomson will see you now,” the receptionist answered — looking serious, somber. “Please follow me.” Her cheerful Chanel Eau Vive perfume, pink sweater, pink-and-grey tweed skirt, and pink-and-grey pumps contradicted the staid vibe of the divorce-office waiting room.
The receptionist led her into a handsome inner office decorated with brown leather and chenille chairs and carved cherrywood tables. Several potted ferns completed the look.
“Hello, Ms. Forsythe, I’m Lydell Thomson. How can I help you today?”
An hour later, Laura pulled away from the law office, Terms like summons with notice, equitable distribution of assets, and alternate dispute resolution were whirling about in her mind, causing her head to swim and her stomach to tie itself in knots. She merged her yellow and white Cooper onto the Beltway and just drove, not sure where she was heading.
Chapter
15
“Be still, Jaylen. You gon’ make me mess up,” Marquise said as he held the thirteen-year-old’s head a little more firmly.
“Sorry, man. Chance the Rapper be spittin’ some rhyme though,” Jaylen said, referring to the music playing through his Airpods.
“You right, Jaylen, Rapper be spitting, but you gonna be b —”
Just then the door swung open, and a woman whom everyone called Aunt Mabel stepped into the barbershop. Every so often she had come in selling various wares — with a ready joke, a tall tale, and a comic cackle. This time, though, she entered cussing a blue streak. All the men stopped and stared.
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Marquise said as he held up a hand to quiet her. “What’s up with all the language, Aunt Mable?”
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