Hometown Legend (17 page)

Kennedy glanced at the board again. “Anyone have a copy of Coach Schuler’s contract handy?” They shook their heads, including
Attorney Callman. “Not having it in front of me, sir, I’d have to review that, but regardless—”

“Mr. Kennedy, are you telling me you asked me to cancel practice for my very shorthanded team to discuss my employment, yet
you did not come prepared with a copy of my contract?”

“The purpose of this meeting was not to discuss your employment, Coach. It was to direct you to—”

“It’s not? If I disobey your directive, you’re not gonna take action on my employment?”

“We did not expect you to be insubordinate.”

“According to my contract,
you
are in violation of our agreement; I’m not.”

“Sir?”

“You’re overruling my contract, usurping my authority to carry out discipline. Can the county afford the lawsuit I would file
if you continue in this?”

Kennedy huddled with Callman. “To clarify, Coach,” he said, looking grave, “if we force you to reinstate these players, you
would quit?”

“Oh, no, sir.”

“Then we understand each other. For you to continue in your current role, you are directed to put those players back on your
team.”

“I respectfully decline.”

“Then we will be forced to ask for your resignation.”

“Then I will be forced to sue for breach of contract.”

The crowd murmured, and Kennedy asked for another few minutes with the attorney. When he turned back, he asked, “Mr. Schuler,
did you bring a copy of your contract?”

“I would never start a game without a game plan.”

“May we review it, please?”

Coach pulled his contract from inside his sport coat and delivered it to the table. Kennedy and Callman sat close, looking
at it together. Coach said, “Page four, paragraph six, sub point B.”

They passed the contract to other board members while Kennedy and the attorney whispered. Callman looked like he was really
trying to be persuasive, and finally Kennedy announced, “We’d like a five-minute recess to confer as a board.”

I half expected people to come up to Coach during the break and tell him that they either hated his guts or they were standing
with him. But nobody did. I said, “What do you think’s gonna happen?”

“Truthfully? I think I’m gonna get fired.”

“Can they do that?”

“I’d beat em in court eventually, but Athens City would be merged with Rock Hill by then. What would that get me but a lot
of expense and lost time?”

I hoped the board was wondering the same thing.

When Mr. Kennedy took the floor again, he said, “Mr. Schuler, we appreciate your helping us clarify this issue. We have acted
with advice of counsel as follows. Miz Slater?”

She stood and read from her steno pad: “Moved by Mr. Little, seconded by Miss Jarvis, and carried unanimously that Mr. Kennedy
be authorized to respectfully ask that Coach Buster Schuler consider the board’s most earnest and sincere request that he
reinstate to the Athens City High School varsity football team all thirty-three players dismissed Friday, September 14, 2001.”

She sat and Kennedy stood. “Would you do me that personal honor, Coach Schuler?”

“Of considering your request? I surely will.”

“And when might we expect the courtesy of your decision?”

“Oh, forgive me,” Coach said, “but I didn’t hear in that motion a requirement to report back.”

Kennedy scowled and bent to Callman, who whispered to him. When the board chairman straightened again, he said, “I’m asking
as a personal favor that you would report your decision to me within twenty-four hours. Can you do that?”

“Certainly. I can even save you the mystery and the time. I appreciate your couching your counsel in the form of a request
rather than an illegal directive. In light of that, I’m happy to report that I’ve considered your request and will not be
complying with it.”

“Mr. Schuler!”

“I will, however, continue with utmost diligence to perform my duties as contracted and assigned. I will, to the best of my
ability, make my priority educating and shaping young lives while hopefully also building a winning team that will make this
city and this county and the school board proud.”

“Now, Buster—”

“And I would also like to earnestly request that the board and parents and students—regardless whether they agree with my
decisions—would do
me
the personal honor of continuing to support this team by showing up at the games and rallying behind the boys.”

Someone yelled from the crowd, “I’ll save
you
the mystery! Forget it!”

People laughed and applauded. “Well, that’s fair enough,” Coach said. “At least both sides got to put in their respectful
requests. Now if there isn’t anything further, I have a big day tomorrow.”

A board member mumbled, “Move that we adjourn,” but before Mr. Kennedy could even ask for a second or a vote, the board up
and left. The crowd mostly booed. I asked Buster if he wanted to skip out the side door.

“They can mob me there as well as here,” he said. “Let’s go. Heads high.”

We walked out with everybody else, and scared as I was, I noticed no one had the guts to confront Coach. Mostly they ignored
us or talked to each other loud enough for us to hear. When we drove off, Buster let out a big breath and said, “I didn’t
know if I’d be back or not.”

Rachel was already home when I got there. I told her about Coach’s bluff and she smiled. “He’s taking a lot a heat at school.
Kids think he’s lost his mind. There’s gonna be petitions, kids boycotting the games, all that. There’s gonna be a small crowd
at homecoming.”

“Too bad. First league game. Dickinson’s gonna be tough.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Well, figure the Shermanater’s ma and her boyfriend, and that’s three. How much noise can y’all make?”

M
r. Raschke slept most of the next afternoon in the waiting room. His wife, after thanking me too many times for their airline
tickets, spent most of her time in with Bev. I was still not allowed in her ICU room, but through the glass wall I saw her
with her eyes open for just a few minutes when she talked to her mama some. I wished I was in there, but when Mrs. Raschke
took a break, she told me Bev wasn’t making sense anyway. “Couldn’t understand a thing,” she said. “I don’t think she even
knew she was talking to me.”

“Does she know I’m here?” I said.

“I thought she knew that already, Mr. Sawyer. I didn’t say anything. I don’t believe she was really awake anyway.”

Rachel showed up after school and Mrs. Raschke held her close. “I’ll never forget somebody singing that old Jimmie Rodgers
song at your mama’s funeral and you crying your eyes out, poor thing.” Then she broke down for the first time and I figured
she was remembering her own daughter as a little girl.

The floor nurse joined us and said, “The doctor is hopeful the repair procedure was successful and they won’t have to go in
again. They don’t expect her to be lucid until about midday tomorrow, but barring any other complications, she should be out
of the woods.”

I was so relieved I could hardly speak. “What about out of the hospital?”

“That may be another week, and she’ll need bed rest at home too. But they’re optimistic, provided she has a restful night
and everything stays positive.”

I thanked her and turned away. It’d been a long, long time since I’d cried. Rachel had to notice, but she didn’t say anything.
“God still answers,” I said. She nodded.

• • •

I didn’t know for sure when Bev would be conscious and really out of danger, but we had to talk. At least I did. Only thing
I was afraid of was that maybe she hadn’t really told Kim she cared for me. Maybe Kim was just assuming based on somethin
else Bev said. What if I went telling her I realized I loved her and it sent her back into a coma?

The next morning I shaved, showered, ate, and was out of the house in twenty-five minutes. I was kinda surprised to find nobody
waiting at ICU, but the night nurse, about to come off her shift, told me Kim had just left and the Raschkes were expected
by mid-morning.

“The doctor says Miss Raschke should be awake today.”

“No kidding! She doing all right?”

“He’s encouraged. Her temp is normal. They’ve cut back on the meds, so she’s sleeping on her own, and when her body tells
her she’s rested, she’ll wake up.”

“How long, you figure?”

“Not long. She should be back in a regular room tomorrow.”

I pulled a chair next to Bev’s door. The walls and the doors of all the rooms in Intensive Care were glass to give the nurses
a good view. I turned the chair to face her and just sat watching. I don’t think she moved for the first twenty minutes or
so, but when the day shift came on, a couple of different staffers went in to check her charts and readouts, and I think she
knew things were happening. She looked to be trying to turn over, then gave up cause of all the tubes and stayed flat on her
back.

I was tempted to make some noise and wake that woman up. She had to get hungry though, didn’t she? “What time’s breakfast
come round?” I said.

Nobody answered. I turned to find the nurses’ station empty for some reason. That wouldn’t last long, but this was my chance.
I looked up and down the hall, then hurried in. Bev had those little plastic oxygen feeds in her nose, and her lips looked
dry. Her right hand was bruised from the IV, and her fingers were the only things moving. If they’d cut back on her medication,
she was gonna start feeling worse all over. Bev closed her mouth when she breathed in, and when she breathed out her lips
made a little pop.

I found a clean washcloth in the bathroom, soaked it with warm water, and wrung it out good. Soft as I could I pulled it slow
across Bev’s lips. She pressed her lips together, licked em, and exhaled again. I dabbed her forehead, pushing her hair out
of her face, then drew the cloth across each cheek and over her chin, folded it, and caressed the back of her hand on either
side of the IV feed.

When I returned from putting the washcloth back a nurse was at the station, but she was on the phone and didn’t seem to notice
me. I stood at the foot of Bev’s bed and watched her sleep, hisses and tones coming from the machines.

I hated that she was here. She had to feel miserable and uncomfortable. I missed her, mainly. For days I hadn’t talked with
her. There was a fragile quality about her I’d never seen. I moved to her side and slipped my hand under hers, careful to
not touch the IV tube.

How could I ever explain how I’d missed what she meant to me? I wanted to cup her face in my hands and kiss her, but I had
no right. Maybe Bev cared for me too, but I wouldn’t steal a kiss while she was sleeping.

“Breakfast!”

I jumped and let go of Bev’s hand. So this was how they woke em up. I figured I was about to get booted, but the aide chirped
a good morning at me and started pushing buttons on the bed to make room for the tray. “You wanna get her sat up?”

“Excuse me?”

“Take her hand and put your other hand behind her head while I raise the head of the bed, ’kay?” I hesitated. “C’mon! Don’t
let her breakfast get cold.”

The aide mashed a button and smoothed out the sheets near Bev’s feet while I followed orders. Bev squinted, her eyes still
shut, and put her left hand down to help push herself up.

“Morning, Miz Raschke!” the aide said. “Breakfast time, honey!”

Bev looked at her, bleary eyed. “I can eat?” she whispered.

“I’ll keep the shades pulled and that light off till you’re ready, ma’am. Just tell hubby when you can stand some more light.”

I said, “Oh, it’s, I’m not the—ah …”

Bev slowly turned to look at me. “I can eat?” she said again.

“Call us if you need us,” the young woman said and was gone.

Bev’s chin dropped to her chest and she shut her eyes again.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here, Bev,” I said, lifting the cover off a pitifully small bowl of oatmeal. Next to it was one
piece of dry toast, cut in half.

She tried to turn her head to look at me again but all she could manage was to tilt toward me.

“Want me to help you?” I said.

“Time is it?” She sounded drunk.

“Seven.”

“Morning? No dinner last night.”

“You remember last night?” I said.

“Felt bad for you.”

“Bev, this is Friday morning, September 21.”

“No, it isn’t.”

I put her spoon in her hand and tried to curl her fingers around it.

“Rag doll,” she said. “No muscles.”

“May I feed you?”

“Oh, Mr. Sawyer, no—” She seemed to be coming around.

I put a finger under her chin and moved her face so she could look directly at me. “No more ‘Mr. Sawyer,’” I said.

She tried to smile. “No? Then what?”

“Whatever you want to call me.”

“Boss.”

“I don’t think that’ll work either, lady.”

“You called me lady yesterday at the office.”

“You weren’t at the office yesterday. Neither was I.”

“I was sick.”

“That was days ago. I don’t remember calling you anything.”

“‘You okay, lady?’ you said.”

“Did I?”

“Um-hm.” She sighed. “Bite.”

I took the spoon and scooped a small bit of oatmeal, touched the bottom of the spoon to my lips to make sure it wasn’t too
hot, and held it to Bev’s mouth. “Wait,” she said, laughing weakly. “What’d you do?”

“Checked the temperature. It’s okay. You want me to wipe off the germs? You think I got cooties?”

She shook her head, looking weary enough to fall back to sleep. “That’s how you kiss somebody with bad breath.”

“What?”

“You kiss something else and touch their lips with it.”

“I was just making sure it wouldn’t burn you. Now, c’mon, open up.”

“You don’t wanna kiss me?”

There was nothing I’d rather do, but I had no idea if she’d even remember this.

“Don’t,” she said, “cause I need mouthwash first.”

“Beverly!”

“You’re embarrassed?” she said. “How’m
I
gonna feel?”