Hometown Legend (20 page)

The kids were inspired and played one of the most complete football games I’d seen in ages. Snoot was connecting on his kickoffs,
his punts, his field goals, and his extra points. He even caught a few passes and made a couple of tackles. Brian threw well,
the Shermanater was a terror on defense, and Elvis—well, Elvis was something else. He’d given us glimpses before of what he
was capable of, but I don’t think any of us had ever seen anything like what he did that night. Any time he had the ball he
was a holy terror, juking, dancing, stutter-stepping, eluding tack-lers when he had to, lowering a shoulder into em otherwise.
And that speed! “Man among boys” is a cliché, but that’s what he looked like.

And this time, the other team was good. We got em back on their heels early, didn’t let em score till late in the second quarter,
and led em all the way. We won 40-6, so the ride home was fun.

We rolled into Athens City about midnight and Coach told the guys to take Saturday off. They already had Sunday off, so they
went away whooping and hollering. Just before I left I saw Coach on the phone and he held up a finger to ask me to wait a
minute. When he hung up, he asked if I’d ride with him to the rehab center. “Tonight?” I said, looking at my watch. He nodded.
I called to make sure Rachel was in and safe and said sure.

On the way to Fairhope, Coach finally admitted he had taken my advice and left Helena alone for several days. When he’d called
to check on her that night, the woman at the desk had said she’d like to talk to him in person. She was an older woman who
introduced herself as Mrs. Knuth. She sat with us in soft chairs away from the desk but close enough to get to the phone.

“Now, Mr. Schuler,” she said, “we have volunteers who come most every day to visit people who otherwise don’t get visitors.
They often come after their own workdays, so part of my job is to assign them, keep track of who’s here, and document when
they leave.

“Now you didn’t discuss with me any strategy with your wife, but we all know her situation and that you had been a regular
visitor. You were so predictable that we never assigned any volunteers to her.”

“She probably would have been awful to em anyway,” Coach said.

Mrs. Knuth nodded. “When first you missed a day, then another, I thought you might be away on business. But I follow the papers.
I know your profession and I know you’ve been working your team out since last you saw your wife. I assumed you had either
become discouraged by her response to you or you had decided on some new course of action.”

I could tell Coach was about to tell her she was exactly right, but Mrs. Knuth waved him off. “You need not report to me,”
she said. “But I feel obligated to report to you. You see, your wife has made some progress. She had a very rough time of
it early and, as you know, tried to escape a couple of times. And you remember we once caught her on the pay phone trying
to order alcohol from a liquor store. As if they would have delivered it here.

“But as she dried out, her counseling and group therapy began to concentrate on her mental rather than alcohol-related issues.
Often times those are difficult to separate until the patient has been sober for some weeks. Well, Mr. Schuler, her very silence
in group therapy has been encouraging. At first she was so agitated and complained so vigorously that she was removed from
the sessions during the first few minutes each day, though she was brought back the next day for another try every time.

“When she was finally silent and sat there, staring or listening—no one was quite sure which—well, we took that as a sign
of progress.”

“I would too,” Coach said, looking to me for agreement. I had nothing to compare it to, but I nodded anyway.

“Sir,” Mrs. Knuth said, “I must tell you what happened at the beginning of my shift some weeks ago. I thought your wife might
have told you, but I realize now that she did not. It was a quiet evening and the only visitors were volunteers. I was reading
but keeping an eye on the corridor, because when one of the patients heads my way, I must be sure to trip a lock on the front
door that keeps them in. I saw your wife coming my way in her robe and slippers, but she looked as if she had combed her hair
and seemed to be walking, while very slowly, with some dignity.

“She greeted me pleasantly and then leaned idly on the counter. I said, ‘Is there anything I can do for you, Miz Schuler?’
and she said, ‘So you know my name.’ I said, ‘Of course I do, ma’am.’ And she said, ‘You know I’m Coach Schuler’s wife.’”

Coach recoiled as if he’d been punched. “She said that?”

“She did, sir. Frankly I was afraid she was going to go into one of her rants about your son or say some of the things she
often says to you when you visit. But she just said, ‘You know he’s going to abandon me.’”

Buster’s eyes filled and he cupped his face in his hands. “Abandon her?”

“That’s what she said. We have to be careful how we interact with patients and not expect them to make sense, so I didn’t
want to annoy her, but I knew she had become more lucid lately, so I countered her. I said, ‘Well, frankly ma’am, if I were
your husband, I would have thought that would please you.’ She looked me full in the face and smiled faintly. She said, ‘The
only reason I mention it is that I’m wondering how one gets visitors.’

“I was shocked, of course, and I said, ‘You’d like visitors?’ She said, ‘I would. And I would behave.’ I’m telling you, Mr.
Schuler, it was the most encouraging thing we’ve heard from her since she’s been here.”

Buster was still fighting tears. “You assigned her some, I hope.”

“Of course. A middle-aged woman and a teenage girl were just coming out of someone else’s room, and I asked if they could
pay one more visit before they left. Your wife seemed quite pleased to walk them to her room. When they emerged half an hour
later, they reported that they had read Scripture to her, prayed with her, and that she had told them too that you were her
husband.”

Coach shook his head and asked if he could leave Helena a note. Mrs. Knuth produced a pad of paper, and he wrote, “My Darling,
I was here late after our away game and was sorry to miss you. I love you and will look forward to seeing you Sunday afternoon.
Love, Buster.”

“Mr. Schuler,” Mrs. Knuth said, “I can’t guarantee she will be any more hospitable than the last time you were here.”

“I understand. But it helps so much to know what you’ve told me.”

“You wouldn’t prefer to see her tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “I hope I’m giving her something to look forward to.”

• • •

I didn’t know how much I should tell Bev about what was going on at the office. I spared her the worst of it, knowing she
would find out everything when she finally came back to work.

The church was still praying for her, a course, and I’d rather been sitting with her Sunday than Buster Schuler, but what’re
ya gonna do? I was disappointed when Coach told me he wanted to go to the rehab center by himself that afternoon, but I understood.
The reason I wanted to go was probably the reason he didn’t want me there: he might make some progress with his wife. Good
thing I stayed home. Rachel asked Elvis over. He needed to get some laundry done and she was gonna help him with history.

I was trading off napping and watching football when he showed up, so when I stood to greet him I was lightheaded. This was
the first time I’d let a boy see Rachel in the house, and I didn’t know what to say. Well, I knew what I wanted to say, but
I just said, “Son.”

He said, “Coach.”

“When you finish your washing and studying, come watch the game.”

He smiled like that was the furthest thing from his mind. I was only being polite anyway.

It was hard to keep my eyes open, watching a blowout, hearing Rachel explain the washer and the dryer and that she was just
showing him, not doing it for him. Then, from the kitchen, I heard just their voices. Sounded mostly like history to me and
she did most of the talking. I imagined him just looking at her, trying to see if she’d gaze back. Wouldn’t surprise me to
know she was sweet on the kid. He was well behaved and good looking, but she had stuff to get settled with him. I wanted to
tell him that Coach had contacted authorities up in Indiana and that somebody was bound to shake up his old foster family,
but that wasn’t my place, and anyway, nothing had come of it yet.

When the ball game was over, I drifted off and didn’t wake up till Rachel cleared her throat and asked if it was okay if she
walked Elvis to the highway. He was standing there with a canvas bag over his shoulder. His laundry, I guess. “Usually the
boy walks the girl, right?” I said, knowing that sounded dumb.

“Daddy,” she said.

“Should I come looking for ya if you’re not back by school tomorrow?”

Elvis laughed, but Rachel didn’t. I waved em off. I knew she’d come directly back. I’d begun wondering where she was a lot,
but it was time to start letting go. I hadn’t quit being her dad, but if I couldn’t trust her by now, I never could. And I
did. In the worst way I wanted to believe that all the times she was gone in the evening, she was still doing church and school
stuff and not running off to see Elvis without telling me. I figured now that they were kinda out in the open and becoming
at least friends, she’d tell me if she was seeing him more regular.

I was trying to keep myself awake so I’d sleep that night and be able to get a full day’s work in Monday and still get some
time with Bev. So I put a schematic of the factory on the kitchen table and got out my geography class stuff too. I got my
lesson planned and started studying a section of the plant that had been busy during our heydays but now was just a place
for storage. I could find another place to store stuff if we got serious about retooling that area for another kind of manufacturing.
I wasn’t able to noodle it long, though, before Buster Schuler pulled up out front.

R
achel had draped a bulky sweater over her shoulders. Elvis strode along in a short-sleeved sweatshirt, toting his laundry
bag and a couple of books.

“Aren’t you cold?” she said.

“This is cold to you because you grew up here. In Indiana this would be like springtime.”

“Want me to carry something?” she said.

He handed her his books, pulling them back when she reached with both hands. “Left hand,” he said. “You’re strong enough,
aren’t you?”

The book spines just fit in her palm and she held them at her side. With his free hand he reached around her waist. She stopped
briefly and gave him a look, then wrapped both arms around the books.

He reached for her again, and when she hesitated he wrenched the books back. “It’s not like I need you to carry em,” he said.
“I just wanted to put my arm around you.”

“I’m still getting to know you, Elvis.”

“I’m not asking you to sleep with me.”

Rachel stopped and he turned to face her, scowling. “Not attractive,” she said.

In the fading light Rachel saw his face darken. “Sorry,” he said. “But, I mean, come on.”

“So that doesn’t mean anything to you?”

He shrugged. “It’s not like some kind of a commitment.”

“Then I don’t want to.”

He shook his head. “So now I’ve done something wrong? You don’t want to walk with me?”

“Not if you’re gonna get pushy.”

“Rachel! What century are you from? You don’t want to know what I did with my girlfriends in Indiana.”

“You got that right,” she said.

“I don’t mean
that
,” he said. “But this? This is junior high!”

“Then you won’t miss it.”

He sighed. “You’re kidding me, right? You think this is a big deal.”

“Bigger than
you
think, looks like.”

Elvis stared at his feet. “So I guess I’ll see you around.”

She squinted at him. “That’s it then? You got your laundry done and help with your homework, but you can walk the rest of
the way yourself?”

“Man!” he said. “What is it with you?”

Rachel stepped closer, knowing she was making him uncomfortable. “Make me out the prude if it makes you feel better,” she
said. “But don’t think I’m gonna run home and cry over you.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“That’s the point, Elvis. How would I know unless I get to know you?”

“Lots of girls
want
me to ask em out. I can tell.”

“There you go, big guy. Why waste your time on me when so many don’t even
care
if they know anything about you.”

That stopped him. “Well, wh—what do you want to know?”

“
Some
thing.
Any
thing. All I know is you can really play football, you grew up in a foster home, and that you came here to—”

“I didn’t grow up in a foster home.”

“You lied about that?”

“I had real parents until I was ten.”

Rachel stood waiting. “That’s what I mean. I’m listening.”

“That’s all. Got shipped to different foster families. Left when I was of age.” Elvis looked miserable, like he wished he
hadn’t even offered that much.

“Would you sit a minute,” she said. “Come on, right here.”

She took his laundry bag and laid it on the grass near a tree. She sat on one end and pointed at the other. He set his books
down and sat while she slipped her arms into her sweater and buttoned it up. “Tell me if you get cold,” she said.

“I don’t get cold,” he said.

“I told you about myself,” she said. “Didn’t I?”

He nodded. “About your mom dying, yeah.”

“So tell me about
your
parents.” He looked away and shook his head. “C’mon,” she said. “Friends tell friends stuff. Even stuff that hurts.”

“You didn’t,” he said.

“You don’t think it hurt to lose my mother? What kind of a person do you think I am?”

“You didn’t say it hurt. You don’t act like it hurt.”

Rachel could barely speak. “It still hurts,” she managed. “Of course it does.”

“You remember her like some queen, and you’re going to see her in heaven someday.”