by L A Cotton
“Keep me updated. I gotta head out. Got some twelfth graders to put through their paces.” I watched him storm into the hallway like an elephant. The crowds of students huddled at their lockers, parting to make way for him.
I was beginning to think that maybe the boys were onto something. Nev seemed as impressed with Keefer as they were. The fact that he knew him only suggested there was more to the boy who I'd once known.
~
“Dad, I’m home,” I called out to a quiet house.
“In here, sweetie.” His voice sound muffled, and I pushed open the door to the den. It was the third time that week that I’d found Dad among a pile of papers. “Dad, you’re starting to worry me. Is something going on?”
He sighed and stopped his relentless shuffling. “Me and your mom... well, we’re in some financial difficulty, honey. But you don’t need to worry. I’m handling it.”
Dread stirred in my stomach. We’d been here before, but Russ and I had been too little to really know what was going on. “How bad is it?”
His downcast eyes refused to meet mine, and I knew it wasn’t going to be good. “Well, you know, business isn’t doing so well at the minute, but your mother thinks money grows on damn trees. She’s spending more than we’ve got coming in. We might have to make some cutbacks here and there.” He scrubbed a hand over his worried face.
“Have you talked to Mom about it?”
“I’ve tried. But you know what she’s like. She has to keep her façade up for her high-flying friends.”
Dad sounded so defeated. Most people would be bitter or full of resentment for being married to someone like Cindy Macer. But not Dad. He’d stuck with Mom through the ups and downs, the good and the bad.
“I’d offer to intervene, but she talks to me less than she does you, Dad. Is there anything I can do?”
Dad approached me, pulling me into a hug. “Sweetie, I don’t want you or your brother worrying about this. The house is paid for, which is a good thing. I’ll juggle some things. We might have to make some cutbacks, but we’ll get through it. Okay?”
I nodded, swallowing back all the questions I wanted to ask. “Whatever you say, Dad. I have papers to grade so I’ll be in my room.”
I headed to my room armed with wine. I suspected Dad was downplaying the looming financial crisis. If Russ ever decided to come home, he could try to talk to Mom as he seemed to be the only one she ever had time for anymore.
Things hadn’t always been strained between the two of us, but once I grew into my looks and social butterfly status, Mom started resenting me. Her parents raised her to be seen and not heard. She didn’t really have a childhood; no winter formal, no prom, no first dates. It was sad, really, but still didn’t excuse the way she’d held it against me.
In ninth grade, Billy Turner had asked me to go to the movies. Mom was so excited—it was my first date. She took me to the mall to pick out a new dress and did my hair real pretty… And then fifteen minutes before Billy and his mom were due to collect me, she had ruined everything. I thought she was coming to tell me how pretty I looked. Instead, she came into my room, circled me, eyeing me from head to toe, and told me the pink cotton dress wasn’t the right color for me. She looked at me through disgusted eyes and said, ‘My God Sharn, you’re just so plain.’ The tears fell just as the doorbell rang, and my first date was ruined.
Over the next year, it was a similar pattern. Mom would find ways to put me down or draw attention to my flaws. By junior year, I’d had enough. Plenty of guys had shown interest in me, and I started flirt back. At first, it was just harmless fun. I’d date guys from school, kiss, fool around—nothing too heavy. But the more Mom criticized me, the more I turned to guys to feel good about myself. I lost my virginity during the fall of my junior year with a one-night stand… The first of many.
~
The raised voices downstairs grew louder and more fraught. After trying to ignore them for the last twenty minutes, I gave up, replacing the cap on my pen. I quietly opened the bedroom door. Mom was yelling at Dad, who was responding in an eerily calm voice. Tiptoeing down the stairs, I tried to remain incognito, moving closer to the den to hear their conversation.
“Cindy, please be reasonable.”
“Reasonable, Frank. You want reasonable. I’ve stayed in this marriage for thirty-two years. I’ve done everything for you and those two kids and now you’re telling me we’re broke. How am I supposed to keep up with Leila and Annie? I’m not selling the Audi.”
Anger flared through me. Mom was unbelievable.
“It doesn’t have to go that far, Cindy, but you have to be prepared to make some sacrifices. Don’t think I don’t know where you are most nights when you don’t come home.”
“What are you talking about, Frank? I told you I work overtime.”
Dad snorted. “Oh, come on. Haven’t we been through enough to not have to lie to one another.”
“I- I, fine. I wanted to talk to you about something anyway. I didn’t want to do this now. But might as well get it out in the open. I want a divorce, Frank.”
I gasped, clamping a hand over mouth, and my heart sank. After all these years, Mom was finally leaving Dad.
“I think you should leave.” The anger in Dad’s voice pierced the air.
“What? Frank, we need to discuss—”
“I SAID LEAVE. NOW!”
The boom of his voice made me jump. I’d never heard Dad this angry, and I retreated up the stairs. Just as I reached my room, the door of the den creaked, and I heard Mom leave. I didn’t know what to do, so I grabbed my phone off the dresser and texted Russ.
Me: You need to get home. Like now. Mom and Dad had a huge fight.
He replied immediately.
Russ: Out of town with the band. Sorry. How huge?
Just perfect. Our family was falling apart and my brother was out of town and hadn’t thought to tell anyone.
Me: Forget it. I’ll handle it. Like always.
I threw the phone onto the bed. It ricocheted twice before landing among my throw pillows. I wasn’t sure what to do next; go and try to talk to Dad or let things calm down. I heard Mom’s car pull out of the driveway, and tears pricked the back of my eyes. I might have been an adult, but witnessing your parents argue like that was something no child should have to hear.
~
I sucked on the straw in my margarita a little too strongly. After the argument between Mom and Dad, the week had gone from bad to downright shitty. I’d never witnessed Dad so angry. Things had been strained for a long time between the two of them, but I think he felt betrayed that Mom was just throwing in the towel after over thirty years of marriage. She hadn’t moved out but stayed out of the way all week. I was dreading the moment Dad found out the truth. It would crush him.
“Hey, Sharn, are you okay? I’ve been talking to you for the last five minutes, and you haven’t heard a word.” Mae looked at me incredulously.
“What- oh, sorry. I just have a lot going on at home.”
Friday night cocktails were kind of our ritual. She’d moan about Phil and try to talk me into going out with one of his uptight friends.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She looked at me with sympathetic eyes, framed by her thick black rimmed glasses. They shouldn’t have worked on her round face, but she totally pulled them off.
“Not really. I want to drink and forget. Cheers.” I chinked my class with hers, slurping down the remainder of the margarita. Mae was obsessed with living vicariously through my single life, but deep down she had a good heart.
“Okay. So, Phil asked me about setting you up with Joshua. I told him you were not interested. You’re not, right?”
“I said no, didn’t I?” I gritted out.
“No need to snap, Sharn. I was just making sure. Josh is a good guy.”
“I’m sure he is. I’m just not interested. I told you, I’m not interested in dating. Period.”
Her eyes widened. “What, like ever?”
/>
“Well, no, not ever. But right now I’m on a dating hiatus.” I sighed. “I’m just fed up of it all, you know? Fed up with not feeling that spark.”
“Not even with Garth?”
“Mae, he shaved his chest hair. All of it. Do you know how freaky that is? It was like cuddling up to a mannequin, it was so smooth. It’s unnatural. Total deal breaker.”
“Okay, what about Brad? He was hot and intelligent.”
“And he built an annex for his mother to live in at the end of his yard. Seriously, Mae, where do you find these guys?” I signaled to the bartender to pour us two more cocktails. “I’m beginning to think that perhaps being proactive isn’t the way to go. After Benson, I threw myself into dating and meeting guys but look where it got me. Nowhere. Perhaps, Benson was my person. And I couldn’t even get that right.” I stared into the sugar-rimmed glass, swallowing the tears threatening to fall.
“Hey, come on, you know Benson wasn’t your fault. That was all on him.” She patted my hand.
“Yeah, well, he was my world, and I wasn’t enough.”
Mae slid off the stool and grabbed my hand, pulling me up with her. I followed her through the crowd as she pulled me into the middle of the dance floor and started moving her slender body to the beat. I couldn’t help but smile. She knew exactly what I needed to forget and dancing was a great distraction.
~
My head hit the pillow before I even managed to undress. Mae had succeeded in persuading me to dance until my feet started to burn and I had to call it a night. But it was just what I needed—to forget all the crap going on in my life, even if only for a few hours. After all, when the sun rose it’d all be right there waiting for me.
I rolled onto my back and snuggled into the comforter. The room spun around me as I stared up at the ceiling, and my hazy eyes tracked the shadows dancing from one corner of the room to the window. I followed the pattern on the curtains down to the dresser and zeroed in on a wooden-framed picture. My heart ached as I squinted to make out the outline of me and Benson standing outside Ann Arbor Theater. It pained me to see the photo, but I couldn’t part with it. It was my one and only reminder.
I met Benson sophomore year at UMich. He was a junior. There had been instant chemistry between us—a spark. We started dating and things got serious pretty quick. He was my first serious boyfriend. Well, second if you counted the douche that broke my heart senior year, but I preferred to forget him. Kind and patient, Benson had a love for life that inspired me. We didn’t always see eye to eye—in fact, we fought, a lot, but making up was always the best.
Spring semester of my junior year, we started to plan our future. Home for him was West Virginia, but he didn’t want to leave me, so he started looking for jobs in Michigan. I would finish senior year and then we would make a life for ourselves, together. A week before he graduated, he took me out for dinner. I thought he was going to propose. Instead, he broke my heart… and ruined my life.
Chapter 4
~ Keefer ~
The week passed by in a blur. I was at juvie Thursday and Friday, had training Saturday, spent Sunday working out with Zac, and Monday I was holed up in the office with Coach. I couldn’t believe it was already time to head to GHS again.
“You got your shit together, son?” Coach’s voice boomed through the office.
“All sorted, Sir. I head out in ten,” I replied.
Sometimes working for Coach Jefferson was like being in military school. He was the Colonel, and everyone else was his lackeys, but I didn’t mind the structure and constant pep talks. It was just his way.
“Give ‘em hell, Smith.” The door banged, vibrating through the small office.
I pulled down my favorite Yankees cap and slung the equipment bag over my shoulder. The rest of the gear was already in my truck. I didn't intend on turning up late again, so I left with plenty of time to spare.
I hadn’t even parked yet when I noticed Sharn walking out of the door to the side of the building. My eyes lingered on her tiny frame, and my heart picked up double speed. She was wearing jeans that hugged her legs like a second skin and a fitted black shirt that showed off all of her curves. Her hair was swept up in one of those complicated styles girls like to wear. She looked hot. It was no wonder she had the boys eating out of the palm of her hand. I readjusted my dick, trying to think about anything other than Sharn's perfect body. Get a grip Smith, I silently cursed.
Before I knew what I was doing, I’d climbed out of the cab and called out to her. “Hey, Sharn, got a spare hand?”
She looked over, smiling. “Sure. Although, I don't think I'll be able to carry anything heavy.”
“You good to carry some bases and bats?” I strolled toward her, trying to shake off my nerves.
“I think I can manage.” She winked at me and something zipped through me. Was she flirting or just being friendly? I wasn't exactly a pro when it came to these things.
“So, I didn't know you coached?” she said as we headed toward the field. She walked slightly in front, giving me just the right view for checking her out. It was impossible not to look; she was perfect. Exactly the type of girl I’d go for if I had time for all that.
“Uh, yeah. I love ball. Been with Coach Jefferson since my last year of college.”
“Oh cool, where’d you go? I went Michigan.”
“Hmm, I stayed in Gainesville, went to Santa Fe… community college.” I don't know why I hesitated to tell her that. I wasn't ashamed I chose a community college, but it seemed like it would matter to someone like her. A teacher.
“Oh, right. How come? You seem to know a thing of two about ball; surely you could've gotten a scholarship?” Her cheeks flushed as she realized she was prying.
“Long story.” It was. One I didn't want to tell.
“Oh, okay.” She dropped her eyes, hearing my message loud and clear. I felt a tiny prickle of guilt, but it was none of her business. I didn't need Sharn Macer judging me.
As we approached the field, some of the boys were already congregated, which was weird seeing as sixth period was still in session. “You guys, shouldn’t you still be in sixth period?”
Micah shook his head in the direction of the other four boys. “Umm, about that, Miss M. It was gym and we figured since we had to stay after school for baseball, we could skip.”
Hands on her hips and lips drawn into a thin line, Sharn glared at each and every one of them with disappointment radiating off her. “I’ll see you all first thing in my room tomorrow morning.”
“But Miss M, come on, we thought—”
“Micah, enough. First thing tomorrow.”
He slumped his shoulders in defeat. I had to give it to her—she was tiny, but she was scary as hell when she wanted to be.
“Right, seeing as you five thought you’d get here early, you can help set up. Micah and Jared, grab the bats and take them over there. Grab that bag of balls, too.” I pointed to the equipment bag lying on the grass. “Kenny, Marc, and Niall, grab whatever’s left and take it out centerfield.”
All hell broke loose as the boys tried to organize themselves. I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped my lips. “You’d think they’ve never played before.” I caught Sharn’s eye, and she smiled back at me. “I’m not sure they have. You heard what they said…Any excuse to skip PE. Especially Micah and Niall. It’s nothing new, but they know they shouldn’t do it.”
“Ahh, go easy on them,” I said, trying to stifle a laugh. “We all did it. Can’t you remember being in high school?” I regretted the words as soon as they passed my lips, and I watched Sharn’s cheeks flush. “Hmm…yeah, but it was a long time ago.”
“Come on, it wasn’t that long ago. You couldn’t have forgotten what it was like to be a teenager? Wanting to rebel, be your own person, grow up.”
“I remember.” She hesitated. “There’s lots I’d like to forget, too.” Her words were almost a whisper, but I heard them loud and clear. Sensing her unease, I changed the
topic. “So, a teacher, huh? How’s that working out for you?”
“It’s great, most days. If you’d have asked me in ninth grade what I wanted to be, I didn’t have a clue. But I love it. I like to think I’m making a difference, you know. To the kids’ lives.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
The rest of the boys filed onto the field, and I set up basic drills while they warmed up. Sharn had taken her seat on the bleachers again. I wanted to start with the fundamentals and go from there. Dividing the group into two smaller groups, I directed one over to start at the hitting station, giving them instructions to practice hitting soft tosses in pairs. And I took the other group to the fielding station.
“Right, we’re going to look at glove-hand positioning and do some throw and catch.” Nine vacant faces stared back at me. “Otis, do you know the correct glove position for catching the ball?” I motioned for him to step forward. He was smaller than most of the other boys and moved nervously to the front of the small group. I encouraged him to pick up a glove and show me how he would position his hand to be ready for the catch. “Which way should your palm face?”
His eyes never leaving the glove, his answer came out so quietly, I almost missed it. “Up, Sir.”
“Good job, Otis.”
His face broke into a grin.
“Pair up and practice some throwing and catching. You don’t need to stand too far apart; we’re just covering the basics, for now.”
“Otis, you’re with me.”
~
“Let’s go. Bring it in,” I shouted across the field.
We’d been at it over an hour, and most of the boys had stayed focused. I always ended all my sessions with a pep talk—a habit picked up from Coach.
“You’ve all worked hard today. A couple of you need to remember that this isn’t a joke. I’m here to teach you ball and make you all better players.”
“Coach… you do know that we already know how to play, right?” Snickers rang out across the huddle of boys.
