Sunrise (17 page)

Tip-off for Cole’s first basketball game as a Peewee Cougar was at five o’clock sharp Friday evening nine days before Christmas. Many of the Baxter family and all the Flanigans were present for the event, and Ashley couldn’t have been more proud. She stood and clapped, her hands raised in the air. “Let’s go, Coley! Come on, Cougars!”

Next to her Landon was on his feet too. “You can do it, buddy.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Remember what we talked about!”

The brief talk had taken place half an hour before they left for the game. Landon stooped down so he was face-to-face with Cole. “You love basketball, right?”

“Yes.” Cole had his game face on, serious eyes, his brow lowered in conqueror mode. “I love it like crazy.”

“Okay then.” Landon stood and messed up Cole’s hair with his fingers. “Go out and play like you love it. Don’t be afraid, and remember that anytime God gives you a gift, you need to use it to the best of your ability. So when you get out there . . . play for Jesus.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Duly advised, Cole pumped his fist in the air, took a running leap, and banged his chest against Landon’s. “Chest thumps! That’s how they do it in the pros before a game, Daddy.”

Ashley could’ve dropped to her knees and melted into a puddle. Every time Cole called Landon
Dadd
y
, the sound took her breath away. How many years had she and Cole lived alone, wondering if a daddy would ever be part of their lives? But now they lived like those days had never happened . . . in all ways but one.

Never for a single day would Ashley forget how blessed she was, how much God had gifted her with the reality of Landon Blake in her life.

Now, as Cole took the court, he looked back at Landon and pumped his fist again. His grin told them that he remembered his daddy’s message to play like he loved the game and play for Jesus. Ashley turned to her dad and Dayne and Katy, who were sitting directly behind her. She lowered her voice so the other parents couldn’t hear her. “He’s
starting
.” She pointed at Cole taking his place at the middle of the floor. Then she tugged on Landon’s sleeve. “I knew he had a gift.”

Ashley waved at Kari, Ryan, and their two kids at the far end of the bleachers. Kari wasn’t feeling well again. They wanted to be near the exit in case they had to leave. Kari noticed her and smiled, and Ashley mouthed, “Cole’s starting!”

She looked out at the court and then at Landon. “Can’t you just see Cole suiting up for the Hoosiers? I mean, look at him, Landon. Look at the way he’s holding the ball. He’s a natural out there. It’s a gift, seriously.”

“Ashley, the game just started.” Landon gave her a comical look that said she was being ridiculous. “Any kid who can walk straight has a gift for basketball. This is Indiana, home of the Hoosiers.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “We might want to give it a game or two before we alert the media.”

Ashley laughed, but even as she did, Cole stole the ball, dribbled down the court, and made a layup. “See!” She jumped up and down on the bench and raised her hands in the air. She cheered and clapped. “Way to go, Coley! That’s my boy!”

Ashley looked around. Everyone else was sitting on the bleachers. She gulped and quickly took her spot beside Landon.

“Remember, Coach Troy told us to cheer for the
team
.” He gave her a friendly reminder–type smile and nodded at the bench. “All those little boys haven’t even gotten on the floor yet.”

“True.” She slumped down a little and analyzed herself. She hadn’t expected to feel this way about watching Cole play.

In the row beneath her were Jenny and Jim Flanigan with Cody Coleman and the rest of their kids.

The players moved up and down the court attempting something vaguely like an offense but rarely scoring. Ricky Flanigan was in the starting group with Cole, and this time as the other team took the ball down the court, Ricky sliced in, stole the ball, and passed it to Cole.

“Go, Coley!” Ashley was on her feet again.

Landon took hold of her sleeve and gave it a gentle tug.

She sat back down, and as she did, Cole took a wrong step and fell to the floor. The ball bounced off the heel of his new shoes and rolled out of bounds.

“Sub out, Coach!” A loud voice from somewhere behind them boomed across the gym. “Give the boys on the bench a chance!”

Ashley stifled a gasp. Was the guy serious? She turned to Landon, astonished. “Did you hear him?”

“Yes.” Landon’s expression told her she might as well get used to it. “Welcome to third-grade sports.”

Anger welled inside Ashley. “How dare he say that?” she hissed in a frustrated whisper. “It was a direct attack on Cole.”

Landon whispered back at her, “Maybe his boy’s bound for the pros too.”

She slumped a little more and turned to face the court. Cole was fine, back up and trying to steal the ball from the Peewee Bulls. The boys passed the ball, celebrating a little with each actual catch. But when it came time for the closest Bulls player to throw the ball toward the basket, it fell about four feet shy.

A chorus of parents on the other side of the bleachers clapped. “Good try. . . . Way to work it around!”

Ashley watched them, learning. Yes, that was it. The encouragement should come in a general way. Nothing too personal. That way no one would feel left out.

Ricky had the ball, and Ashley spotted Jim Flanigan sliding to the edge of the bench, poised to stand. “Go Cougars! Take it all the way!” he shouted.

Landon leaned in. “Notice he didn’t mention Ricky’s name.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a quick, semisarcastic smile and kept her eyes on the Cougars.

Ricky passed to a little boy near the baseline, and for a moment it looked like he might shoot. A round of parents’ voices encouraged him to do so, but the child passed it over the top of the key, and one of the Bulls snatched it from the air.

“Go Bulls,” their parents yelled.

“The kids are tired, Coach. Make a switch already!” It was the grouchy guy from the top of the stands.

Ashley didn’t want to turn around and look at him. That would be too obvious.

About that time, as if he’d heard the dad complaining, Coach Troy called a huddle with the five boys still on the bench. Ashley was sitting close enough that she could hear. “Ready, guys?”

“Yes, Coach!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Yeah!”

The boys’ voices blended together, and Coach Troy sent them to the scorer’s table to check in. At the next loose ball, the ref blew his whistle, and the five Cougar players on the court took the bench, while the waiting group ran onto the floor. The ref helped the boys match up with the player they were defending, and the game was in action again.

The Bulls had the ball on the first possession after the substitution, and the five of them had barely set up in front of their net when the loud voice behind them kicked in again. “Be aggressive, Billy! Get in position.” The guy groaned. “Not like that. Front your man, Son. Do I have to come down there and show you?”

Ashley couldn’t resist. She peeked over her shoulder, and suddenly she figured it out. This was the man who had made a spectacle at one of the practices. The parents who stayed to watch had been standing along one side of the gym. Coach Troy was going over the offense—how one player would pass to another, while at the same time a player near the baseline would cut across, thus shifting the players and possibly creating an open shot.

But the man responsible for today’s outbursts didn’t like that offensive plan. He stormed halfway across the gym floor and waved his hand in disgust at Coach Troy. “This is Indiana, friend. You can’t teach a set offense in Indiana. They’ll run you out of town.”

Coach Troy had picked up the basketball, held it beneath his arms, and stared at the man. Ashley remembered thinking he was probably too shocked to speak.

“You heard me.” The man was tall and hefty. He looked mean, his face ruddy and angry. “It’s a running game here.” He brushed his hand toward the coach and slowly returned to his place. “If you can’t teach the transition game, you shouldn’t be here.”

Ashley couldn’t believe the man that day, and by the looks on the faces of the other parents, neither could they. But it wasn’t until after that practice that Ashley realized who was paying the price for the man’s intensity. As Ashley and Cole were on their way out, they passed the man. He had his son cornered in the first row of the bleachers.

“I don’t care what you say, Billy. You weren’t hustling.” He thumped himself on the chest. “I played four years of D-I college ball, but you won’t see a day at that level if you don’t work harder.” He must’ve been trying to stay unnoticed, because he kept glancing over his shoulder. The man apparently had no idea how loud he was; every parent who walked past after practice that day shook his head.

Ashley had stopped and stared at the man’s back. His tone was atrocious, and she considered going back and telling the coach. But it wasn’t her business. Besides, the man wasn’t
hitting
his son. Just hurting him with words. That much was clear as Billy nodded silently at the appropriate times, two trails of tears streaming down his little face.

Ashley wanted to grab the man and shake him. Before she left the building, she hesitated a few feet from the boy. “Good-bye, Billy.”

“Yeah, bye, Billy!” Cole grinned. He didn’t seem to understand what was going on, only that Billy didn’t look happy. “Good practice.”

Billy sniffed a few times. “You . . . you too.”

The man hesitated, probably waiting for them to leave. Finally he shot Ashley a look. “We need a minute here, okay?”

Ashley glared at the man and cast the boy a sad smile. “I liked your hustle tonight, Billy.”

“Th-th-thank you.” He looked like he felt so bad about letting his father down that he could barely make eye contact. And what about his speech? Did he stutter all the time or just when he was being yelled at?

The father had given Ashley a sardonic look. “Yeah, thanks. Why don’t you mind your own business?”

Ashley hadn’t been at another practice since, and until now she’d almost forgotten about Billy and his irate father. As it turned out, another boy—not Billy—won the rebound and dribbled the ball the length of the court for the layup.

But while the Cougars’ fans were celebrating another score, Billy’s dad shouted, “That should’ve been yours, Billy!” Then the man pounded down the bleachers and stormed to the far corner of the gym, near the Cougars’ basket. From there he paced along a short line, five feet in one direction, five in the other.

“Look at him!” Ashley turned and shared the horror of the moment with her dad and Dayne and Katy. “If he goes to his car, I’ll be scared. He’ll probably come back and shoot someone.”

“The ref should say something.” Her father was clearly bothered also. “Poor little guy.”

Billy looked terrified, and the players on the bench, including Cole and Ricky, were noticing the drama playing out between the boy and his father. Whereas Billy had been focused on the action, doing his best to keep up with his teammates, trying to appear aggressive, now he seemed entirely distracted by his father.

The Bulls missed, and the tallest boy on the Cougars caught the rebound. He immediately passed it to Billy, who started to dribble toward the Cougars’ net. In that moment, Billy looked very smooth. It was possible to see that maybe the father’s genes—if he had indeed played college basketball—had been passed on to his son.

“Yes, Billy. . . . That’s it!” His dad clapped loud and dramatically. As angry as he’d been before, he was jubilant now. His hands shot straight in the air. “Finally!”

But the closer Billy came to his father, the slower and more nervous he looked. As he neared the three-point line, he panicked and threw the ball directly into the hands of a Bulls player.

“What?” His father pressed his hands against the sides of his head. “Ugh! You’re killing me, Billy!”

Billy’s eyes were wide, and it looked like he was crying. Billy slowed while his teammates passed him on their way down to the Bulls’ side of the court. Then the poor child stopped and shrugged at his father. “Sorry, Dad,” he shouted. “I’m sorry.”

The man’s face was beet red now. He pointed at the opposite side of the court. “Don’t stand there! Get it back. Hurry!”

Everyone in the gym was watching, and at the next out of bounds, the ref blew his whistle. He tapped both his shoulders. “My time-out.”

Coach Troy used the moment to swap players, apparently trying to distract his boys from the drama that might explode across the court.

The ref walked purposefully toward Billy’s dad. When he was maybe a foot from the man, the ref said something none of them could hear.

“He’s my kid,” the father spat back. His response echoed through the quiet gym. “If he’s not hustling, it’s my job to get him into gear.”

The ref said something else and pointed to the door.

“You can’t kick me out!” Billy’s dad snarled. “It’s a public school.” His words were tough, but whatever the ref said must’ve hit home in some way because Billy’s dad made a brush-off gesture at the ref. Then he walked to the foyer and leaned against the brick wall near the drinking fountain. Far enough away so he couldn’t comment on the action but still in sight.