The ball was back between his hands. Spinning slowly.
“Right now, through his own self-sabotage, Brian’s physiological needs are not being completely met,” Valerie said honestly. “Until those needs are met, nothing else matters. Life lessons of the kind to which you’re referring, simply pass him by. If we can’t get him to eat, we can’t get him to a place where those lessons will make any difference. Practicing with the team is not enough incentive to get him to eat. But I really believe that being on the team would.”
He spun the ball. Bounced it a couple of times. Opened his mouth to speak.
“You have to understand,” Valerie interrupted. “For months we’ve been looking for something, anything, that’s important enough to Brian to coax him to eat. We’ve finally found something he’s passionate about, and your decision is standing between us and Brian’s cure.”
“Basketball doesn’t even matter at the moment,” Valerie concluded with the rush of adrenaline she used to get when, as a defense attorney, she knew she’d won over the jury.
Catching the ball between his palms, Kirk Chandler held it there.
“The game matters, though,” he said softly, but she heard the determination behind his words. “The game of life, if you’ll pardon the cliché. And Brian’s playing it. Winning isn’t everything, Ms. Simms. Getting him to eat will mean less if he’s bribed to do it. He has to eat because he makes the decision, because of something he wants to achieve. With the first, you’re giving control of his life, his eating, to others. With the second, the control rests with him.”
Eyes narrowed, Valerie wondered if Kirk Chandler had been a lawyer in his previous life. It was sure as hell obvious he’d been more than a crossing guard, lunchroom monitor, playground cop or basketball coach. She’d lost very few cases during her years in court, but occasionally an opposing attorney would outmaneuver her, as Kirk Chandler had just done.
“If he loses one more pound, I’m going to get letters from Brian’s doctor and counselor, bring them to Mr. McDonald and have him put my son on that team.” Steve McDonald, now the principal at Menlo Ranch, had been the boys’ second-grade teacher.
“Then you’d better make sure he comes to practice,” Chandler said, apparently not the least bit moved by her threat.
Valerie had more to say but the boys exploded out of the locker room and zoomed across to her.
“Ready, Mom?” Brian asked.
“Yep!” An arm around each of them, she turned with her little family to leave.
“See you tomorrow, guys,” Chandler called out.
“Yeah, see ya, Coach,” the boys chorused in perfect unison.
They were out in the Mercedes before Valerie realized she’d just lost what might prove to be one of the most important cases of her life. Somehow, without her having consciously agreed, Brian was going to be practicing with the team.
Confused as to how that had happened, Valerie was the one who didn’t have much of an appetite that night.
AT FIVE IN THE MORNING on Halloween Friday, Kirk was at his desk, having already sent out enough faxes to keep his line tied up for almost an hour. Paperwork had been signed, sealed and delivered for the Gandoyne/Aster merger on Tuesday of that week, a three-day negotiation from open to close. The rest—well, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing.
He’d told Troy that Gandoyne would be his only deal. Yes, he could have Chandler Acquisitions up and running again at little more than a moment’s notice. Yes, his reputation was still garnering him business opportunities on a daily basis. But he was finished. Had a new life. New goals and priorities.
And he’d gotten up that morning to fax refusals on all of the numerous requests he’d received that week from investors and business CEOs all over the country, begging him to facilitate difficult acquisitions.
It should have taken fifteen minutes. Two succinct lines. Thanks. But no thanks.
There was no reason to actually look at the proposals or to be mulling over solutions to million-dollar problems. That was a part of himself he could no longer acknowledge.
Which was why there were thirty-five refusals on the out tray of his fax machine.
By six, his second cup of coffee half-empty on his desk, Kirk was on the phone to the East Coast. Just this one deal. It would take ten minutes of his life. And make an old man millions.
And by six-thirty, dressed and ready to bolt out the door, he was waiting for the return call so he could give his list of orders. Just this one deal, and he’d be done.
“Chandler.”
“Coach?”
He’d only given his home number to one boy—and never expected him to use it.
“Abraham, what’s up?”
“I’m not going to be at practice today.”
Hand in the front pocket of his jeans, Kirk switched gears instantly, slowing his mind enough to be aware the boy’s emotional needs.
“I told you if you want that spot on the team you have to be at every practice until the scrimmage game next week.”
He wanted the boy on the team. Maybe more than Abraham wanted to be there. But Kirk didn’t give anyone anything for free. The consequences of doing that were too damaging.
“I know.”
“So you’re calling to tell me you don’t want to be on the team.” What the hell was going on? Abraham wouldn’t be calling if that was the case. He just wouldn’t have shown up.
“No.”
“Then what?”
Silence.
Used to being able to pick up a phone and find out anything he needed to know, Kirk was in new territory. Territory he didn’t like. How could he help this kid if he didn’t know the rules—the lay of the land?
Abraham still wasn’t saying anything. But he wasn’t hanging up. Instinctively Kirk remained silent. And waited.
“I have a…job…I gotta do. I arranged it so I can do most of it over the weekend, but they wouldn’t let me outta there this afternoon.”
A job? At twelve?
What kind of parent had a kid working at twelve? And for so many hours that he’d be working all weekend to have his afternoons free…
“Where you working?”
“An old folks’ place.”
“Doing what?”
“Nothin’ much.”
“They pay you to do nothing?”
“I read, okay?” Abraham’s tone was only a notch below nasty.
“You read to the old folks who can no longer read for themselves.”
“Yeah.”
“And they pay you for that?”
“Yeah…sure. I mean, well, no.”
Kirk grinned. Abraham was a good kid. He volunteered at an old folks’ home. And he couldn’t tell a lie.
“Okay, buddy, just this once you can miss. But no more, got that?”
“Yeah, Coach, I got it.”
“You make it to next week’s scrimmage and you’re on the team.”
“’Kay.”
“See ya soon.”
“Yeah, my mom’s coming. I gotta go—”
Kirk’s grin faded as he hung up the phone. Abraham’s tough-guy facade had dropped completely when he’d realized his mother was near, his voice taking on an unsettling edge that Kirk wasn’t going to forget—or ignore.
An edge of fear.
BLAKE’S STOMACH HURT again. He was dressed and just waiting in the locker room, waiting for Coach to call them for warm-ups. Their first scrimmage game, and his mom was going to be there. What if he screwed up? Would she hate that?
She was already worried sick about Brian.
For that matter, so was Blake. He glanced over to where his brother was pulling on game socks and shoes. Because it was just an unofficial scrimmage game and no one was suiting up, Coach was going to let Brian play if someone got hurt. Brian hadn’t had lunch again that day.
Blake wasn’t telling Mom, though. Just like he wasn’t telling her how much his stomach hurt. He was the oldest. The man, now. He could handle it a
ll.
As long as Brian quit being so stupid and started eating… He could handle everything as long as nothing happened to Brian.
Mom was worried about that. A lot.
Blake shoved his new uniform shirt into the bottom of his backpack. As far away from Brian as he could put it. There was no way he was going to wear it over his T-shirt like the rest of the guys.
Not when Brian didn’t have one to wear.
“You’re going to get to play, Bry,” he said now as his brother ambled over.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Brian seemed cool, but Blake could tell how hard it was on him being here with the team but not part of the team. His brother wanted this bad. Worse than he did. And he wanted it pretty bad.
“You shoulda ate today.”
“I didn’t feel so good. I’ll stuff myself with pizza tonight.”
Brian wasn’t looking so good, either. Every day Blake tried to figure out if his brother was slower than him, slower than he’d been the day before.
“But when you don’t eat all day, it doesn’t take much to stuff you.”
Brian stared up at him and Blake knew what he was going to say even before he said it. “You won’t tell Mom, will you?”
“No.” Blake elbowed his twin. “’Course not.”
“’Cause she for sure won’t let me practice with the team if you do.”
“I know.”
And Blake wouldn’t be able to play, either, not that playing mattered as much as his brother getting over this dumb eating thing. Mostly he wasn’t going to tell because he knew how much winning a place on the basketball team meant to Brian. It was because of their dad, because he’d bought them their hoop and they’d secretly thought that as soon as they were good enough, he’d come out and play a game with them.
Their dad had been a basketball star in high school. And in college, too, before law school.
Blake just didn’t care as much as Brian if they made their dad proud. Not anymore. He didn’t figure Dad was an angel watching over them the way his twin did. As far as he could figure, Dad wasn’t anywhere near any angels.
Not that he’d tell Brian that.
He knew some things Brian didn’t know. Things Mom didn’t realize he knew.
Someday, when Brian got better, he’d be able to tell him. He hoped it would be soon. He didn’t feel right knowing something Bry didn’t.
“Okay, guys, take off the shirts and get ready to get out there and burn the rubber off those shoes.” Coach had come in with his new assistant. A math teacher Blake didn’t know but who seemed pretty cool.
The guys all took off their basketball jerseys, shoving around and messing with each other. Even though they weren’t allowed to play in them yet, they’d gotten their uniforms that day and everyone was pretty psyched.
Except maybe him and Brian.
Abe Billings got one. And Brian didn’t.
Blake wasn’t going to tell Mom that, either.
VALERIE ENJOYED basketball. It was a whole lot more exciting to watch than Thomas’s other favorite sport—golf. Even when the basketball was being played by a bunch of junior-high boys who spent as much time tripping over each other as they did shooting baskets.
She sat there alone in her dove-gray suit, separated from the smattering of other parents because she’d come in late. As she watched, she recognized a couple of good, creative plays amidst the havoc. Coach Chandler had been correct in his assessment that his group of boys could win some games this year.
Blake stole the ball a couple of times. Missed all but one attempted shot, although he could always be relied on to get the ball down court.
Abraham Billings hadn’t even shown up for tryouts but played the entire scrimmage.
Brian was never put in the game.
Valerie wasn’t going to be one of those moms she detested. The stereotypical stage mom, always pressing for her kids to get the most chances. She’d made Brian get on the scale before school that morning. He hadn’t gained, but he hadn’t lost, either. She’d said she’d go along with Chandler’s plan, provided Brian didn’t lose weight. So she would.
She sat there while the excruciating minutes passed, with alternating cheers and groans from the small crowd, and she didn’t even think about what she’d like to say to the coach on Brian’s behalf. She detached herself. And cheered. Analyzed. Noted.
Carla Billings, a mother who claimed to be present at every single function in which her son was involved, never showed her lovely face.
Which was too bad. Abraham was a darn good player, showing far more promise than any of the other boys on the court. Whenever she wasn’t watching Blake, Valerie’s attention was drawn to the agile young man with big brown eyes that ignored her this afternoon but had pleaded with her in another place and time. In her heart he was one of her kids, too, and she was pleased to see him doing so well.
But that didn’t make it any easier to sit there and watch her son being rejected.
She didn’t seek out the coach after the game. She stayed right in her seat, at the far corner of the court, away from the parents who chatted with Coach Chandler—and each other—while they waited for their sons to emerge from the locker room. As a working mom, she didn’t know many of the other mothers who volunteered in the classrooms and had been watching every practice of whatever variety since first grade.
She knew where Chandler was every second, though. Could hear his voice. Could almost feel his presence. And she knew exactly when, finished with the other parents, he headed her way.
Wearing jeans, he’d rolled the sleeves of his red plaid flannel shirt up to his elbows. His hair was short and professional-looking as always. He walked as though he’d just stepped out of a corporate board-room. Or was about to enter one.
“I’m glad you could make it.”
Her gaze briefly skimmed his. “I would’ve been here sooner, but I had a case that ran longer than we expected,” she said, hands under her elbows as she looked over at the locker-room door.
“Brian didn’t play.”
“I noticed.”
“He isn’t ready.”
She could have asked him ready by what standards, but she wasn’t going to debate that again. Not as long as Brian was maintaining his weight. She wasn’t after special favors for her boys. Her concern was and always had been Brian’s health.
And she knew the standards they were abiding by, anyway. The only ones that appeared to matter. His.
“It looks like you’ve done a great job with the kids,” she said. She glanced at him briefly and then back at the locker-room door.
Where were her boys? She wanted to get away from their coach. He was disturbing her equilibrium with messages that didn’t add up.
The man was a complete enigma. Charismatic, iron-willed, intelligent, obstinate, compassionate, coldhearted, confident. And a crossing guard making little more than minimum wage. Even with what the school paid him to work as a lunchroom supervisor and playground monitor, his wages had to be pretty low.
“There’s no longer an empty spot on the team.”
Her gaze flew to his. He’d said Brian wasn’t ready.
“Did you notice the kid playing center?”
Abraham. Valerie nodded.
“He took the final slot today.”
Valerie wondered how that was going to work with the community service hours she’d ordered as a condition of Abraham’s probation. And made a mental note to have Leah file the paper to allow basketball practice to substitute for the boy’s time at the nursing home.
And then her heart started to pound with a mixture of anger, indignation, sadness and fear.
“So now Brian’s told that even his best effort wasn’t good enough.”
How the hell was she going to counter that?
“He’s still welcome to practice with the team.”
“Why would he want to do that?”
“Why don’t you ask him,” Chandler said, motioning with one shoulder t
oward the locker room. Her sons had just walked through the door. “He asked if he could.”
“So he already knows.”
“The rest of the boys got their uniforms today.”
“What’s the point of torturing him, Mr. Chandler? You’re telling me there’s no longer a possibility of his making the team.”
“If he practices, and someone drops out or gets hurt, he could move up. Assuming he’s ready.”
Valerie’s heart sank. Such a nebulous promise was worse than no promise at all because it would be enough to keep Brian coming back—slowly killing himself for something he had little chance of obtaining.
“You’ve told him that, I presume?”
“When he asked me.”
The boys were almost upon them.
“I can see you aren’t convinced and, for Brian’s sake, I’d like the chance to convince you before you haul him out of here and don’t let him come back,” Chandler was saying, speaking faster than she’d ever heard him. “Can we meet someplace later this evening? Just long enough to discuss this.”
Before the boys could get within hearing distance, she quickly agreed to see him at a coffee shop not far from the school at nine that evening. But only because it mattered so much. And because he was right about one thing—the way she was feeling, she couldn’t bear to allow Brian to come back here, where he’d done his best and still not been good enough. And yet, pulling the boys out now, when basketball was all they talked about, when Blake was diligently applying himself and Brian hadn’t lost any weight in over a week… She couldn’t do that, either.
CHAPTER SIX
“I WASN’T SURE you’d be here.”
Kirk Chandler met Valerie in the parking lot of The Coffee House at nine o’clock that night. It was a place he came often, later in the evening, when the quiet at home got too loud.
“I said I would.”
“I expected you to use not wanting to leave the boys alone as an excuse.”
She shook her head. “They’re almost teenagers, old enough to baby-sit, as they informed me last summer. I don’t ever go far when they’re alone. And we have an alarm system. Plus I always carry my cell phone.”
For the Children Page 6
