Last Chance Hero (18 page)

Andy pulled a package of sausage from the refrigerator and began making patties. “Well, as close as you're likely to get, anyway.”

Later, after dinner, and after Andy had cleaned the kitchen, he wandered into the living room and flipped on the TV before settling into his chair. His scrambled eggs and sausage sat like a fist in his stomach. All his life, his dad had found some excuse or another to go off by himself, and when he did, the man who returned was a different man completely—swaggering, obnoxious, and downright mean. Tonight, as soon as his dad had taken his last bite of scrambled egg, he leaned back in his chair, stretched, and said he might as well go get himself settled in. Since then, only silence had come from behind the closed door. Was he drinking? Andy told himself he couldn't care less one way or the other. If he wasn't, that was fine, he could stay a little longer; if he was drinking, he was gone tonight. Simple as that. But the old sick feeling in his stomach said it wasn't quite so simple. So did the slight trembling in his hands. When does your dad stop being your dad? And how long does it take to stop being the kid who loves and fears and hates him all at the same time?

“Son?”

Andy jumped.

“Son, I have a couple things I need to say, and I'd like to get 'em said before I go to bed.”

“Okay.” Andy looked closely at his dad. He seemed okay so far.

“First of all, I want to say I'm sorry about what I said about that magazine in the barbershop. You just surprised me coming up behind me like that, waving that tire iron all around, and I guess I got a little ticked off. There was an article about you in there, but it wasn't ugly like I made it sound. It was just about how you were going back to coach your old team, and the Glory Days, and so forth. I just want you to know that.”

“Thanks. I appreciate you telling me that.”

“And the other thing, well, I had no need to call your mom an old bat. She's a good woman, and I'm glad to hear she's happy. She deserves a little happiness. That's all I wanted to say. G'night, now. I'm going to turn in.” He gave a half wave of his hand and ambled back where he came from.

For a moment, Andy sat frozen in his chair as a wave of rage began in his middle and spread through his body to his fingers, causing them to grip the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white. Who did his dad think he was? Turning up after how many years? Thirteen? And waltzing in here like nothing had happened, calling him son? Conceding that his mother was a good woman and deserved happiness like he wasn't the cause of all her pain? And acting like just because he wasn't drinking anymore—if he actually
wasn't
drinking anymore—everything was just fine and all should be forgiven?
Well, life
doesn't work that way, Dad.

Andy jumped up; there was no way he could sit still. His hands closed and the desire to crash his fist into something was almost overwhelming. One look at his living room wall with its still-rough patches convinced him that couldn't be an option. This room had seen far too much punching; there would be no more.

Grabbing a windbreaker off a hook, Andy opened the door and set off running across the porch, down the front steps, and down the road. The moon hadn't come up yet, and the road was so dark he
couldn't see his feet rise and fall. But he could hear their rhythmic pounding, and he had run this road a thousand times and knew every rut and curve. Finally, up ahead, he saw the gentle glow of porch lights and his feet touched pavement. Still he ran, even faster now that asphalt was under his feet instead of rough dirt.

“Andy? Is that you?”

Andy realized he had been aware all along that he was approaching Jess's house, and hearing her voice came as no surprise, even though other than the two of them, the street was deserted.

“Are you out running in the dark? Why don't you have a light or some reflective gear on, or something? People won't be able to see you.”

Andy stood bent over, hands on his knees, trying to pull air into his starving lungs. With one arm, and because he had no air to speak with anyway, he gestured toward the empty street.

“Well, I guess you're right. It's not exactly a freeway out here tonight, is it? Come on, you need to walk to cool down. I'll walk with you. Let me run in and grab my jacket. I just came out to drop a birthday card to my mom in my mailbox.”

He had already started walking when she came back, but it didn't take more than a few quick steps for her to catch up. Matching her steps to his, she walked with him in silence down to the end of the block and back. Finally, as they approached her house again, she spoke.

“You were really moving when I saw you coming. Either something really was after you, like Les always says, or you were trying to work something out. I'm guessing option two. Am I right?”

He didn't look at her but pulled another deep breath into his lungs. “It has not been a good day.”

“I'm sorry about that, especially since I think I know why it was so bad.” She stopped at the walk that led through her front yard
to her porch. “Why don't you come on in, and I'll make us some cocoa, or tea, or coffee if that's what you want. We can talk. We probably need to talk, don't you think?”

Andy hesitated. He wasn't at all sure he was ready to talk to Jess, but if he didn't go in, he'd just have to go home again where his dad was, or maybe just keep on running, and truthfully, he didn't think he could do that.

“Come on.” She held out her hand. “I've got a nice fire going, and I make the best cocoa. I think you want to yell at me, and I need to tell you why I think I did the right thing. We can have a fine old time.”

She was little more than a shadow standing there at the end of her walk with the dim glow coming from the porch backlighting her hair, but he could see that she was smiling for all the world as if they had just had a little tiff that a cup of cocoa could set straight. Maybe he did need to talk to her tonight, after all. He'd start by telling her about his dad and see where that led. Pretending not to see the hand she offered and shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked beside her to her front door.

“Seriously? Not a word for thirteen years and then he just turns up?” Jess sat with her feet tucked under her, cradling her mug of cocoa in both hands.

In the fireplace, a piñon log crumbled to glowing coals, and Andy got up to add another log. “Yup. That's about it.”

“But why now?”

“I think he's just out of options and wants to come home. Despite the fact that he sold every inch of land we once had and did his level best to destroy the house, it's home. He grew up there, just like I did. Just like
his
father did.”

“But he said he only wants to stay for a little while, didn't he? Till he gets his feet on the ground?”

Andy gave a wry chuckle. “Did you ever hear the story about the camel who just wanted to get his nose in the tent? Before anyone knew it, the camel was in the tent and everyone else was outside. That's Dad. He's not going anywhere unless . . .” His voice trailed away.

“Unless what?”

“I told him if he started drinking again, he was gone. I meant it too.”

“What do you think the chances of that happening are?”

“To tell the truth, I haven't the slightest idea. I don't even know when he stopped drinking. Ten years ago? Tonight when I told him he couldn't stay if he was still drinking? I don't even know if, when I go home tonight, he'll be asleep or busy trying to set the house on fire. He doesn't look good, though. If I saw him on the street, I'd guess him to be about ten years older than I know him to be. He's had a rough life.”

The room fell silent except for the pop and crackle of the fire. Andy looked down into his cooling cocoa. After a long moment, he spoke.

“Gabe Quintana came in to see me today. That's some scar he's got.”

“It'll nearly disappear by the time all is said and done. He'll be able to make up all sorts of stories about how he got it.” She grinned at Andy, but he was staring into the fire and didn't see.

“Saying he got it playing football is a pretty good story in itself.”

“So he did tell you.”

“He did.” Andy still didn't look at her.

“Andy, you've got to see it's the best thing for Gabe. He has got so much potential, and football, right now, is just getting in the
way of him fulfilling that potential. Do you know he wants to be a doctor? He's certainly smart enough, but if you really want to be a doctor, you can't want anything more, or it's not going to happen. Believe me, I know.”

This time, Andy did look at her, and to tell the truth, she found herself wishing he wouldn't.

“Okay, for the moment, I'm not going into your just deciding to take over my job.”

Jess set her mug on the coffee table with a thump. “I never—”

Andy stopped her with a raised hand. “Let me finish. But there's something that you don't know, and Gabe does. Leaving the team in the middle of the season just because you change your mind is a character issue. It marks you as a quitter, someone who can't be depended on.”

“Gabe, someone who can't be depended on? That's crazy, and you know it. And the last thing anyone could ever call Gabe is a quitter. Sometimes things just come up. Surely the team can understand that. And if they can't, well, Gabe is going to have to learn that he can't let other people's opinions dictate what he does.”

“You still don't understand, do you? I said it's a character issue. It's not how the team will view Gabe, it's how he'll see himself, and no matter what else he does, a part of him will always believe he let the team down.”

Jess looked away for a long moment before turning back to Andy. “This is all just too preposterous. Football is a game, for pity's sake, not holy orders.”

Andy just looked at her in silence for a long moment while she wished she could snatch the words she had just spoken from the air. When he did speak, his voice was low and tightly controlled. “You're right. Football is just a game. But it's a game Gabe loves, and one he's good at. Maybe he's not scholarship material, but
so what? Does everything you do have to have some kind of material value? Can't you do something for the sheer joy it gives you? Look, you've said he should sit out this Friday's game, and maybe next week's as well. Okay. You're his doctor, and I respect that. But after that? That's between me and Gabe. Do you get that? It just doesn't concern you. There'll be a grand total of three games left when Gabe can play again. Are three games really going to make the difference between medical school and sweeping up after folks? Really?”

“Maybe not for most kids, but for Gabe? Who knows?” Jess wanted to shake Andy. Why couldn't he understand that this wasn't just about football? It was about Gabe and his future. “Do you know how thin he's stretched? He doesn't have five unscheduled minutes in a day. He's worried about letting his mom down; he's worried about letting you down. But what about Gabe? When does he get to think about what's good for him?”

“Are you even listening to me, or are you really that convinced that nobody but you knows anything?” Andy's voice was still low, but Jess had never heard it sound so cold. “There will be three games when Gabe comes back. Three. If he plays, he will prove to himself one more time that he can finish whatever he starts, even if it's hard. And that just might be more valuable to him in the long run than three weeks sitting in your office with his books while his team beats their brains out on the field.”

Jess felt heat flood through her body and reach her fingertips. Her hands trembled slightly as she glanced at her watch and stood up.

“It's getting late. I've got to make an early start, and I'm sure you do too. Besides, I know you want to get back to see how your dad is getting along.”

Andy sat where he was a moment looking up at her before he too got to his feet. He looked as if he had so much more to say,
but he just nodded as he leaned over and placed his mug next to Jess's on the coffee table. “Right. It's late. We can talk more later.”