Tell No One

by Taylor Sissel, Barbara

  Kyle is at the sink, water running, and Connor is at the table slurping up the last of the milk from his cereal bowl when Harris comes into the kitchen.

  He looks up. “Hey, Dad, can you take me to school? Kyle’s picking up Sam, and he says there’s not enough room for my fat ass—”

  “Language.” Holly shifts around Harris, heading for the coffee she put on to brew before getting into the shower.

  “Kyle said it. I don’t talk like that.” The injury in Connor’s tone is put on. He’s happy by nature, the family comedian.

  Harris envies that. As far back as he can remember, he’s never been much on conversation, which drives Holly nuts. But by now his reticent nature is ingrained, a habit.

  “I’m not fat,” Connor says. He isn’t. “And anyway, I don’t want to go with him and Sam. All they do is play kissy-face all over each other. It’s gross.”

  Like Harris, both Connor and Kyle are tall, well-built boys. Broad shouldered, long legged, with big hands and feet. Naturally strong and athletic like their dad. Kyle is dark haired, gray eyed, and quiet like Harris. Connor is a bit huskier, with Holly’s sandy hair and her green eyes, wide, warm smile, and dimples. Harris is inordinately proud of his sons and his wife. Sometimes, like now, in the most ordinary moment, he’ll be swept with a wave of love for them so strong it closes his throat. He thinks it’s because, growing up, he didn’t have much family. It was mostly him and his mom, trying to stay safe. He’d been determined that his wife and kids would have a better life; he’d be a better husband, a better dad. But lately the man he wants to be seems like some fake guy, no more than a front he puts on, while the guy he really is lurks in the shadows of his brain, yapping at him, goading him. It’s getting harder to control that guy. Hard enough that if it weren’t for his family, he wouldn’t even try. But for them above all, he’s got to hang on, keep his grip.

  “Will you take me, Dad? I already missed the bus.”

  Harris glances at Connor. “Can’t today, buddy. I’m already late.” He gets his jacket from the mudroom and shrugs into it. He gives up trying to zip it. His hands are shaking too badly. Avoiding Holly’s stare, he addresses Kyle. “Getting your brother where he needs to go is your job, ace. You get paid to do it.”

  “I got another job, washing dishes and busing tables at Cricket’s,” Kyle answers.

  “Since when? And since when do you make a decision like this without talking it over with us?” Holly’s incensed. She glares at Harris. “Are you okay with it?”

  Kyle speaks before Harris can. “I’m only working Fridays, twelve to three, and Saturdays seven to three. It’s not that much.”

  “Fridays?” Holly’s frowning.

  “Early release for seniors, remember? Sam got a job there too.”

  Holly pops a slice of wheat bread into the toaster. “Sam’s working there? Is that a good idea? The two of you spending so much time together?” Holly clearly thinks it isn’t.

  “We’ll be work-ing?” Kyle’s emphasis halves the word into two. He looks at Connor. “C’mon, squirt, if you’re coming.” Evidently he’s changed his mind.

  Picking his fights, Harris guesses.

  “I think we need a family night.” Holly is determined. “How about Friday? We’ll get a pizza delivered and play Risk like we used to. Or go out for dinner and then go bowling or roller-skating.” Her glance dances from Kyle to Connor to Harris.

  His heart hurts for her, the animated longing exposed in her expression, her tone of voice, for the days that used to be when the boys were younger. But family nights have been over for a while. Kyle and even Connor are too old to be interested in spending time hanging out with their parents, especially in public.

  It’s no surprise when Kyle declines. “Wildcats have a basketball game Friday night,” he says, and Holly deflates. Family night can’t compete. His girlfriend, Samantha, is a cheerleader, and these days Kyle goes where Sam goes. “We’ll probably go out after. There’s a dance at the rec center.”

  “I don’t want to argue . . .” Holly picks up a towel, folding it.

  But . . .

  The word is a shout in Harris’s mind. He knows what Holly’s going to say and that there’s no way it won’t piss Kyle off, and he wishes he could stop her. He imagines walking over to her, taking her in his arms, and kissing her, deeply, so deeply she would lose her breath, lose her reason. He used to have that effect on her. They used to make each other weak in the knees. She once recognized and appreciated his signals, too, but this time she ignores it when Harris catches her eye and gives his head a slight shake, trying to warn her not to say it, that Kyle and Sam are spending too much time together.

  Predictably, when she goes ahead, telling Kyle, “I think you and Sam might be seeing a bit too much of each other,” Kyle’s fist thumps the kitchen counter.

  “We work. We go to school. She’s got cheerleading practice. I have ball practice. We hardly see each other.”

  Holly looks to Harris, an appeal for his support. He weighs in reluctantly, knowing Kyle couldn’t care less what he says. “Your mom and I are just concerned you’ll get sidetracked. You can’t slack off just because you’ve got interest from a couple of college football programs, you know. If you want a scholarship, now’s the time you’ve got to work your ass off harder than ever.”

  “Now Dad said it. Aaasss.” Connor rolls his eyes.

  “I’m working out, hitting the weight room every day after school. I’m in there as much if not more than Gee.”

  “Gee? You guys aren’t hanging out together again, are you?” Harris regrets his obvious consternation, but he’s helpless against it.

  “You keep asking me that. What’s your deal with him, anyway?” Kyle is nonplussed.

  “Nothing. It’s—”

  “Weird,” Kyle finishes.

  “It’s ’cause Gee’s a smart-ass,” Connor says, mischief lighting his gaze.

  “Connor,” Holly warns.

  “It’s what Dad says.” Connor’s defensive. “Gee’s stuck on himself, thinks he’s a hero.”

  “He pretty much is, on the football field, anyway,” Kyle adds.

  “There’s no I in team. That’s what my coach says.” Connor drops this pearl of wisdom as if no one’s ever heard it before. “When the Warriors win, Gee tries to play it off like it was a team effort, but then he only talks about himself, how he got three hundred yards passing, how he did this and that.”

  “Maybe he is on an ego trip, but he gets it done. He shows up, and he works hard. We made it to state the last four years because of him. That’s why I don’t get it, Dad.” Harris feels Kyle’s glance again, and it’s unnerving. “What’s your problem with him?”

  “I didn’t think either one of us had much use for him since the fight.”

  “That’s ancient history. Aren’t you the one who says we shouldn’t hold a grudge?”

  Before Harris can answer, Connor drops his spoon into his cereal bowl, setting off a clatter. “You guys never won state, though,” he points out.

  “Yeah, well”—Kyle’s attention, thankfully, is drawn from Harris to his little brother—“like my coach says, winning isn’t everything. Anyway, with me and Gee both graduating this year, it’s going to gut the team. Bet they don’t go anywhere next year.”

  “Who’s bragging now?” Connor says, disgusted.

  “I’ve got to go.” Harris grabs his to-go mug, fills it with coffee, spilling some. Skimming Holly’s cheek with his lips, he ducks out the back door.

  5

  Caroline—Monday, January 8

  Caroline took a taxi to the rental-car company, where she sat for an hour answering questions and filling out paperwork related to the accident. She was nearly faint with gratitude when they agreed to lease her a second vehicle. Exhaustion fell over her as she drove back to the Marriott, and while she was longing for a shower and a nap, there wasn’t time for anything but the shower. She needed to go back to TSU. Doing research while waiting to be dis
charged from the hospital, she’d found out Jace had been head coach of the Tillman Tigers since his dad had retired. If she could find him in his office, she would try reasoning with him again, even though the idea of confronting him half panicked her. Where else could she go? Whom else could she speak to?

  She didn’t expect to find the man himself sitting in the hotel lobby. But there he was, reading a newspaper. She spotted him as soon as she came through the entrance door. A frisson of unease slipped up her spine. But at the same time she felt a flare of hope that Jace had had a change of heart and was going to tell her what he knew about her dad after all.

  She said his name. “Jace?”

  He looked up. “Caroline. God, I’m glad to see you . . .” Folding the paper, he got to his feet. “I heard about your accident,” he said, coming toward her. “Are you all right? They said at the hospital you’d been discharged. I was hoping I’d find you here so we could talk.”

  “Who told you? Alexa?”

  “No, no. Dad said someone—a nurse—found his contact info in your purse and called him. She said you’d hit a patch of ice, lost control.”

  She kept his glance, not responding. The lobby was deserted. She was aware of the midafternoon quiet. Even the desk clerk had disappeared. The door to the hotel office behind the desk was open, though, and voices and occasional laughter were audible. Possibly talking here was a better option than at his office. At least here if she screamed, someone would hear.

  “Look, I know you were upset, leaving my dad’s house yesterday. I was rude—”

  “Yes. Why is that, Jace?”

  Something like annoyance tightened his mouth. His glance shot to the door.

  Caroline thought he would leave and she would lose her chance to hear what he’d come to tell her if she didn’t soften her approach a bit. She shifted her purse on her shoulder. “Maybe we should sit down.”

  At his nod, she led the way to a seating area, a sofa and two chairs arranged around a low table. Her cell phone rang as she sat down in one of the club chairs, and when she pulled it from her purse, she saw it was her mother—her fifth call. There were missed calls from Rob too. Caroline silenced her phone and, returning it to her purse, looked at Jace, sitting opposite her on the sofa’s edge.

  “Maybe we could start over,” he said.

  “All right,” she agreed, and she felt the tension loosen a bit from her shoulders.

  “I was surprised yesterday to hear you were on campus, that you’d come into town to see my dad. I wondered why you didn’t just call.”

  “I was afraid—a voice on the phone—it’s impersonal. He might not have remembered.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a while,” Jace said. “I think I was fourteen or fifteen the last time I saw you.”

  She wondered if he remembered the occasion, that they’d gone fishing and he’d taught her to bait her hook.

  He caught her glance. “I’m really sorry about last night. I—I know I overreacted, but it’s just—Dad’s in his seventies now. A year ago he had a stroke that affected his memory, both short and long term. You can’t trust what he says—”

  “My dad’s in his seventies, too, but unlike you, I don’t know where my father is.”

  “Neither do we, Caroline, and that’s the truth. Dad hasn’t heard from Hoff in years. After you left last night—”

  Caroline made a face.

  Jace looked away a moment, seeming chastised. “After your visit,” he began again, “we tried to figure out when we last saw him, and we decided it was when he came to watch me play at OSU, a preseason game my sophomore year, in the fall of 1989. Like in September, maybe?”

  “A year after his accident.”

  “Almost. It’s like Dad said: he wasn’t the man we remembered.”

  “In what way, exactly?” Caroline both did and did not want to know.

  “He was stressed out, wound pretty tight. At his hotel he lit into the desk clerk because the maid hadn’t emptied the wastebasket in his room. We went out to eat, and your dad couldn’t sit still long enough to get his meal. He went outside to smoke—”

  “Smoke? He never smoked. He hated the smell.”

  “He was smoking like a fiend.”

  Caroline felt at a loss. It didn’t match anything she knew about her father. The man she remembered had smelled of laundry starch and Old Spice.

  “I think he was on some pretty heavy meds, too, for the pain. He had headaches. He said the pain was like nothing he’d ever felt, not even when he tore his ACL.” That injury had sidelined her dad’s budding pro career. He’d been drafted by the Houston Oilers right out of high school in 1969. Around the same time Caroline’s mom had discovered she was pregnant. The couple had eloped. According to Lanie, Hoff had been ecstatic about the baby, riding high. He and Caroline’s mom had adored each other; they’d felt they had the world by the tail. Caroline loved the story—the beginning of it, anyway.

  She said, “Dad’s doctors—they must have done tests—”

  “You know how Hoff is. Just like my dad. They aren’t going to go through any of that. Suck it up. Walk it off. Ignore it. That’s how guys like them deal with their shit.”

  Tears welled in Caroline’s eyes, and she willed them away. “I need to find him.”

  “I don’t know where he is. Neither does my dad. Look,” Jace went on when she didn’t respond, “I know you don’t want my advice, but you should go home, let it go.”

  Caroline held his gaze, a kind of pressure building behind her eyes, something willful and stubborn. “You’re right. I don’t want your advice. I want to know where my dad is, and I still feel as if you’re holding out on me.”

  Jace started to rise. “I’m not going to sit here and let you call me a liar again.”

  “Did you follow me last night from your dad’s house and run me off the road?” Caroline hadn’t known she would ask. Alarm at her temerity shot up her spine, but she watched him freeze, watched his eyes widen with disbelief that could have been genuine.

  He drew himself up to full height, his stare fixed on her. “You’re seriously asking me that? Are you crazy?”

  Caroline kept her seat and her equanimity despite the beating sense of her panic at having accused him of something that might well be nothing more than a fancy induced by the knock she’d received on her head. “You were very angry last night for no reason that I can see. I wasn’t hurting your dad.”

  “I told you—”

  “He’s ill, I know. But as I said last night, so is my aunt. She’s dying, very soon now, and she wants nothing more than to see her brother.” Caroline forced the words past the hard knot of tears in her throat. “Finding him is what I can do, the only thing I can do for her now.”

  If Jace was affected, it was only for a moment. “It may be the wrong time and wrong place, and maybe it won’t make a damn to you, but Dad’s a candidate for induction into the coaching Hall of Fame next year.”

  “So?”

  “So I want him to live to receive the honor, Caro. He deserves it. He’s the winningest coach in Tillman history. Did you know that? Coach of the year four times out of his fifteen-year tenure. He led the Tigers to five division championships. He’s universally loved by all his former players. They email him, call him up on the phone. Some say he changed their lives. The man is a force for good, a fucking legend in this city.” Jace’s voice rose. “I won’t let you badger him, break him down, and take that from him.”

  Caroline’s offense took precedence over her apprehension. “That is the last thing—”

  “I can’t let you see him again.”

  Caroline’s own voice rose. “If you hadn’t been so rude, I might have found out what I wanted to know from him last night.”

  “Everything all right out here, folks?”

  Startled, Caroline switched her glance to the hotel reception desk and the clerk behind it, who was regarding her, brows raised. “It’s fine,” she said, taking a breath.

  Jace wipe
d his hands down his face. Calming himself, Caroline thought, or erasing her from his vision.

  “All right, then,” the clerk said. But he remained at the desk, ready to intervene should they come to blows.

  “Look,” Jace said in a low voice, “it’s pointless, talking to Dad. That’s what I’m trying to get you to understand. You’re only going to upset—”

  “You’re the one who’s upset, Jace. Why is that? I’ll ask you again—what do you know about my dad that you aren’t telling me?” There was something. Caroline could feel it. He was too wound up, too invested in convincing her he and his dad knew nothing.

  He sat down, and he was slow making eye contact, slower still to answer. “There’s a woman . . .”

  “A girlfriend? Dad has a girlfriend?” When Jace seemed to hesitate, Caroline said, “It’s all right; you can tell me. I know he’s not the faithful type. Is she here?”

  “Not here. In Kansas. Wichita.”

  “Wichita.” She breathed the word. “Where the letter came from. My God.” It couldn’t be a coincidence. What were the odds? The sense that she was finally getting somewhere lifted her heart. “How do you know about her?”

  “Does it really matter? She went to Tillman, graduated from there sometime in the eighties. Pop and your dad—they kind of looked out for her. I think she worked for my dad for a while in the athletic department. She was a secretary or something.”

  Caroline saw it in her mind’s eye, the envelope addressed in a decidedly feminine hand. Why hadn’t her father addressed it himself? Caroline had wondered since finding the letter.

  “Her name’s Tricia DeWitt. Last I heard—and it’s been a while, five or six years at least—she had opened a flower shop in Wichita. Bloom, I think it’s called. Maybe she knows where Hoff is. I’m not telling you to go there, okay? I’m not saying she knows anything.” Jace got up, and Caroline thought he would leave, but he stayed where he was, looking down at her. “Do you remember when we were kids, you and your dad were here for a Wildcat homecoming game, late seventies, early eighties, maybe. You must have been nine or so. I was twelve. We found the little kitten in the road?”