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.
29
Rachel 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?”
“Something. Anything. 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.”
Why was he being cruel? “That’s what I believe, Elvis,” she whispered. “I couldn’t go on otherwise.”
“And you’ve got this great dad who’s made everything all right.”
“He’s been more than I could have asked for. I’m sorry if you didn’t have the same.”
“Yeah, well, me too.”
They sat silently and Rachel avoided looking at him. Finally she said, “So, your parents. What—?”
“I gotta go,” Elvis said, standing. He picked up his books and reached for the bag. She moved awkwardly and let him take it. He hesitated. “I’ll see ya,” he said.
“Elvis,” she said, “I want to be your friend. I really do.”
He pursed his lips and nodded. But he walked away without looking back. As she hurried home, brushing away tears, Rachel realized she had told him the truth. She was not crying over him. She was crying for him.
30
I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing at how Coach wanted to talk about everything except what he knew I wanted to hear. I mean, the man had just seen his wife for the first time in days, and I was dying to know how it went. All he wanted to talk about was the new offense.
“Calvin,” he said, “I got to hand it to you, son. This passing game fits our boys and the fact that we got only fifteen of em. I believe we can win us some ball games.”
I nodded, expecting more. “Uh-huh.”
“We could win the conference, Sawyer, and I’m not just saying that. If we stay healthy and get some breaks—”
“Come on, Buster,” I said. “You sound like every coach ever interviewed. Keeping fifteen guys healthy the rest of the season will be enough of a miracle.”
“Not for me,” he said. “I’m here to win, win it all.”
“Good. But you didn’t drive over here to thank me for the new offense. How’s Helena?”
He shook his head. “I can’t figure her out.”
“Took you thirty years to see that modern football is about passing. So, what, she make you pay for not showing up for a while?”
“Got the cold shoulder. She says, ‘Thought you were never coming back.’ I said, ‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’ She said, ‘Go ahead, abandon me and blame it on me.’ I told her I’d do whatever she asked.” His voice got thick all of a sudden. “She said, ‘You won’t give up coaching football.’”
“She would ask you to do that?”
Coach nodded. “I told her I’d given it up for twelve years and I would give it up again if
that would make her happy.”
My eyes must’ve been bugging out. “Don’t tell me you’re quitting. You couldn’t be, coming over here and bragging me up about the new offense. You can’t break your contract after you threatened to sue the county if they breached. You said, ‘We could win the league.’ Tell me you’re not here to try to give me this team.”
“Cool your jets, Sawyer. You are without a doubt. I told her I’d quit if that made her happy and I meant it. I was scared to death she was gonna call me on it.”
“She didn’t pick up on it?”
“She said she wanted me to quit only because I wanted to, and I told her I didn’t want to. She said, ‘I want you to hurt as bad as I hurt.’ I’ve learned not to argue with her, Cal. I know better’n to start competing over who hurts the worst. I told her, ‘Helena, I’ll do whatever you want. Quit coaching. Quit coming to see you. Or keep coaching and keep coming to see you.’
“She looked disgusted like she couldn’t stand me, but she just said, ‘I know you’re going to do what you want to do anyway, so do what you want.’ I said, ‘Well, then, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ And she said, ‘Suit yourself.’
“On my way out I see Mrs. Knuth and she tells me that Helena actually showed her the note I had written her, not knowing that it was Mrs. Knuth who delivered it to her box. Mrs. Knuth said, ‘Isn’t that nice?’ and Helena told her, ‘He’s a fool.’ But you know what, Sawyer? She says Helena went back to her room and still had the note with her, slipped it into her pocket on her way down the hall.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” I said.
Coach nodded. “Coulda been worse.”
• • •
He was gone by the time Rachel got home, and it was a good thing. Something had happened and she was ready to talk. “I won’t be seeing Elvis much anymore,” she said. “He was just using me to get his laundry done and get help with his history.”
Hometown Legend Page 16
