by Janet Walker
Chapter Thirty-Three
INTERFERENCE
Three evenings later, Tracy Sullivan trudged into her aunt’s house after basketball practice, leg and back muscles screaming with discomfort. As soon as she stepped inside, she saw Aunt Madge. Looming. Standing in the middle of the den floor, hand on hip, attractive in her impeccably applied Mary Kay makeup, eggshell-blue dress, silken pantyhose, and stylish sling-back heels. But her forehead was creased with displeasure. The woman glanced at her watch and looked questioningly at the girl. “It’s seven-fifteen. I thought practice was over at six-fifteen.”
“Oh,” said Tracy. “Um, Miz Grace kept us late.”
“Why?”
“Um…” Tracy looked perplexed. “I dunno. She just did.”
Madge stared a moment. Looked as if she wanted to say more.
“Sorry,” Tracy offered meekly.
Madge sighed. “Your uncle and I have eaten already. I left your plate on the stove.”
Tracy brightened at the mention of food. She was always ravenous after practice.
“You probably won’t have time to change clothes and eat before the meeting.”
Tracy carefully kept her face free from expression, but inside she brightened even more at the prospect of not going to the Kingdom Hall.
“I guess I’ll have to go without you tonight,” Madge said reluctantly. “But I don’t expect to do that again,” she warned.
“Yes, ma’am,” Tracy responded. Inside, she screamed, Yes!
Madge became thoughtful. “I don’t know, Tracy. If basketball is going to keep you out this late, I don’t know if I want you to be a part of it.”
Tracy’s brows shot upward in alarm. “No!” she denied. “Practice don’t supposed to last this late. These girls named Toni and Dent say Miz Grace don’t usually keep them late. Today was just different.” She held her breath as she waited for the effect of her words.
“Well,” said Madge, “if she kept you once, she’ll do it again. But the next time, if it’s a meeting night, you tell her you can’t stay late. Period. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tracy said, nodding obediently.
Her aunt turned away and left the den, heading down the hallway to her bedroom. Tracy headed for the kitchen.
“Wash your hands! And not in my kitchen sink!”
Tracy wheeled around and headed for the bathroom located in the central hallway. Moments later, with clean hands, she entered the kitchen, eager and trembling with hunger. On the stove was a plate of food covered with plastic wrap. Through it, she saw broccoli spears, an ear of corn, seasoned potatoes, and a cut of dark meat that she knew must be steak. She picked up the plate, slid one of the tepid broccoli spears out from under the plastic and popped it in her mouth, and in her heart thanked her aunt. After sticking the plate in the microwave oven, she poured a glass of iced tea and thirstily drained the glass. She was pouring more tea when her uncle came to the patio door from outside and slid it open, grinning widely. His voice boomed in the kitchen.
“Hey! Come on out and talk to me!” he invited.
Tracy smiled. She wasn’t sure, but she thought Uncle Ed liked her not just because he was supposed to, not just because she was his wife’s niece, but because she was her. It was a new experience for her, being in a house with a man who treated her the way Cliff Huxtable treated Denise on The Cosby Show—well, almost, because Uncle Ed was serious most of the time, not playful, like Cliff. At any rate, she marveled that he didn’t smoke or drink or use drugs or beat his wife, and had put Aunt Madge in a house so pretty and big they didn’t even have to create space for Tracy to move in. There were three bedrooms, and the house had a large yard that Uncle Ed loved to work in, raking leaves and putting them into bags. Tracy thought his lawn always looked like they lived in an office. She stepped out onto the patio, pleased but thinking about the food in the microwave and hoping her uncle didn’t want to talk long.
On the patio, a push lawnmower lay on its side atop a spread of newspapers. Edward Porter was using a wrench to tighten the bolt that held the blade against the undercarriage.
“Madge upset about you missing the meeting?”
“Yes, sir.”
Ed chuckled once. “She’ll get over it. How’s basketball?”
“It’s ah’right.”
He glanced at her. “How you feel?”
“Tired. Sore!”
Ed laughed. Tracy smiled. She liked it when Uncle Ed laughed.
“You should be sore: You got a good coach.”
Tracy nodded uncertainly but agreed with him. “She so serious about everything,” she complained.
Her uncle stopped his work and looked at her. “You don’t know who you’re playing for, do you?”
“Yes, sir. Miz Grace,” she said innocently.
“I’m not talking about that. The woman’s the best high-school coach in the country right now. And if you think about it, statistically she’s the best coach in the country, period! Even better than John Duras, who coaches her husband’s team.”
“For real?”
“That’s right. People are always trying to get her to talk to them, to find out how she does what she does, because she wins all her games. Nobody wins all their games, I don’t care how good a coach you are. Most of the time, the coach who has the most wins also has the most losses. Because in order to get the most wins, you have to play the most games. But the more games you play, the greater the odds are against you, and you increase your chances of losing. But in her case, it’s not that way. Now, granted, she didn’t do well her first season at that academy. Came there and tried too hard, I guess. But after that first season, she hasn’t lost a single game on the local, state, and regional level. And that’s unheard of in the sports world. Unheard of! People respect her for it—I think it’s a Guinness world record, too—but in my opinion she still doesn’t get the respect she deserves for what she’s done over there, probably because she’s a woman and that kind of thing. And probably because people are so focused on her husband. And then she’s private—you know, doesn’t like the media, never has. And so they paint her cold. Granted, she’s warmer now than when she was running, but she still doesn’t cater to the press. And if you don’t do that, they ignore you even if you do something great. And she’s great.” He paused, giving his niece a meaningful look.
“Yes, sir,” the girl said, and then felt the need to add more. “I mean, I know she’s a good coach. I…” A ball of emotions rolled somewhere inside Tracy, an urge to speak—to shout, even—about Miz Grace and how wonderful she thought the woman was. But she couldn’t find the words or the courage to express these emotions to her uncle. She could only say, “I like being on her team.”
He chuckled again, stood with a grunt, and lowered the mower onto the newspaper. He removed his gloves and placed a big warm hand on her shoulder. “Yeah, I know you do,” he said. “Come on.” He pushed open the patio door and they stepped into the kitchen.
The microwave oven was beeping. Tracy hurried over and removed her plate. She walked to the table and sat while her uncle went to the refrigerator and opened it. At that moment, Madge stepped around the archway that connected the kitchen with the living room. She was fully prepared for the Kingdom Hall now, carrying a black leather Bible with gilded pages, the hardback caramel-colored Witness songbook, and a cream-colored pocketbook. “Ed,” she said with mock sharpness, “don’t go in my refrigerator without washing your hands.”
Ed Porter stood, pitcher of iced tea in hand, and whined, “I’m just trying to get something to drink, Madge!” He looked at Tracy with an expression that said, See what I have to put up with?
Tracy quickly scanned her aunt’s expression—there was reproof and reprimand in the eyes and lips, but no anger. Tracy smiled and relaxed. They were not arguing but were teasing each other the way she had seen couples do on TV.
“You been working in that yard. No telling what you picked up!”
“Woman, I
wear gloves!” Ed protested. “Stop treating me like the yard man, now!”
They both glanced at Tracy, who realized with surprise that they were performing for her. She grinned, bowed her head over her plate, and blushed over their marital theatrics.
“And how come you dressed like it’s Sunday?” Her uncle’s voice.
Tracy looked at them again. Married people smiled at each other without smiling, she concluded.
“I have a talk,” Madge explained.
“Oh,” replied Ed with understanding.
“What’s that?” Tracy interrupted.
“A five-minute presentation,” Madge answered. “I give it on stage with another sister.”
“Oh,” said Tracy. She remembered seeing something like that when she visited the hall. At this thought, she bowed her head and became absorbed in eating again and hoped Aunt Madge wouldn’t change her mind and make Tracy go to the meeting tonight, after all.
“You, keep your dirty hands out of my kitchen, and you”—Tracy looked up—“do your homework when you’re finished eating.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tracy replied. She felt relief when her aunt walked out the door.
