Anything for Her Children. Darlene Gardner
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“Yeah, it’s true.” Grady fought against taking offense at his cousin’s tone. If not for Tony, Grady would still be driving an eighteen-wheeler instead of coaching basketball and teaching high school students. “I caught him cheating.”
“Cheating?” Tony’s thick black eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “In PE?”
“Not in PE. I teach a nutrition and exercise class, too.”
“Isn’t that an elective?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Grady said tightly. “Cheating’s cheating.”
“But…” Tony’s voice trailed off, though not before Grady guessed he was thinking about the regrettable circumstances that had led Grady to Springhill High.
“Suspending Bryan Charleton wasn’t smart,” Tony said in a hushed tone.
Grady straightened his spine. “I don’t agree.”
“Listen, R.G.” Tony placed a hand on his shoulder and used the nickname nobody but family called him. Grady’s full name was Robert Grady Quinlan. “Next time something like this comes up, run it by me before you do anything.”
Grady had to unclench his jaw to respond. “You asked me to coach this team, remember? You said I was the best man for the job.”
Tony had approached Grady in a panic after Fuzz Cartwright, who’d coached at Springhill for more than two decades, collapsed during a holiday tournament game. Tony claimed Dan Cahill, the first-year assistant, didn’t have enough experience to lead the team. Grady initially refused, telling Tony he couldn’t support himself on a high school coach’s stipend. Tony’s second offer included a teaching job at Springhill High taking over Cartwright’s health and PE classes.
Sick of driving a truck and missing coaching so much it was almost a physical ache, Grady relented and moved to western Pennsylvania. But now he remembered the real reason he’d been reluctant to return to coaching: the ripple effects of the scandal. Even his cousin was second-guessing him.
“You are the best man to coach this team,” Tony said.
“Then let me do my job.” Grady moved away, his cousin’s hand dropping from his shoulder, the sensation of isolation even more acute as he continued to the locker room.
Silence and the smell of dried sweat greeted him, followed by the clank of a metal locker closing. Grady turned a corner around a bank of lockers and spotted Bryan Charleton with one foot on a bench, lacing up his size-fifteen Nike basketball shoes. He was already dressed in the black-and-gold Springhill colors, the snarling Cougar on the left leg of his shorts seeming to mock Grady.
“What are you doing in uniform?” Grady asked.
Bryan had strong regular features, close-cropped brown hair and dark, soulful eyes that gave off the impression it would take a lot to rattle him. “Getting ready for the game.”
“You’re suspended. You’re not playing in the game.”
Bryan straightened to his full height. Six foot five with a lean, muscular build and the wingspan of a pterodactyl, the boy had been born to play basketball.
“Aw, Coach, you don’t really mean that,” the kid said in his soft, unhurried voice. “We’re playing a tough team. Everybody knows I’ve got to play if we’re gonna win.”
Grady couldn’t dispute that. It was still early in his junior year, and Bryan was already attracting interest from college coaches, making it likely that scholarship offers were on the horizon. The undisputed star of the team, Bryan had already led Springhill to an 11-0 record. Many believed he was good enough to propel the team to a state championship.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Bryan.”
“But, Coach, why have me sit out the game? You made your point. I learned my lesson.”
It would have been so easy for Grady to give in. To his cousin Tony. To the Springhill fans who clamored to see the team’s star on the court. To the players who wanted to win. And to Bryan, whose passion for the game had never been in question.
But giving in wouldn’t help Bryan, who needed above all to learn there were consequences for his actions. It would be like handing the boy a free pass to do whatever he pleased, no matter how wrong.
“Change out of that uniform and go home, Bryan,” Grady ordered. “I don’t even want you on the bench tonight.”
“What? You’re not serious.”
“I’m dead serious.” Grady looked directly into the boy’s shock-filled eyes, hardening his resolve so he wasn’t tempted to change his mind. “Here’s another lesson you can learn. Defy me again and you’re off the team.”
Grady didn’t wait for Bryan’s reaction. He walked out of the locker room and into the fray, questioning why he’d let his love of the game prevail over his common sense, propelling him to take this coaching job. Because once again the atmosphere in the stuffy gym was as chilly as the January night.
It was going to be, he thought, a very long basketball season.
K ERI C ASSIDY RUSHED TO the foot of the stairs in the cramped ranch house she shared with her two teenagers, wishing she didn’t feel as though she’d never catch up.
She was always hurrying. To her job in the advertising department of the town’s newspaper. To the grocery store. The bank. The high school. The gym. The doctor’s office.
Today was no exception. She and Rose barely had time to eat the egg rolls and shrimp fried rice she’d picked up on the way home before it was time to get ready for Bryan’s basketball game.
She wondered if other single mothers couldn’t quite get all aspects of their lives running smoothly or if her age and relative inexperience put her at a distinct disadvantage. At twenty-five, she felt more like a kid herself than a mother.
She cupped her hands over her mouth and called, “Rosie, hurry up or we’ll be late for your brother’s game.”
“But I can’t find my black boot,” Rose yelled back. The distress weighing down the fourteen-year-old’s syllables sounded as real as if she’d lost something really important. Like her homework.
“Wear your brown shoes, then,” Keri shouted.
“I can’t wear brown with black,” Rose exclaimed, sounding horrified.
Keri ran lightly up the stairs and down the narrow hall. She longed to believe it was a healthy sign that Rose strived to look good.
Keri rounded the corner to Rose’s bedroom. Clothes, books and piles of paper littered every surface, as though a strong wind had swept through the room, which was pretty much the way Rose’s room always looked.
Rose stood at her closet door, wearing a black top, chunky necklace and belted, low-waisted blue jeans on her tall, thin body. Her long golden-brown hair was brushed to a shine and streamed down her back. She’d obviously taken pains with her appearance, but her shoulders were slightly hunched, her body language giving away her lack of confidence. The same as always.
The girl glanced at Keri, her large brown eyes mirroring her distress. “I don’t know where it is.”
Rose knelt somewhat awkwardly in front of her closet and haphazardly rummaged through it, her jeans drawing up to reveal the difference between her two legs.
The left one was covered with smooth plastic instead of skin.
“Did you try under the bed?” Keri asked.
Rose got to her feet, moved to the bed, then carefully lowered herself before continuing the search. The prosthesis slowed her down even though it had been three years since a car accident had claimed her leg—and her mother.
Keri swallowed the sadness that always rose inside her when she thought of Maddy Charleton.