by Jeff Holmes
Scott shook his head and laughed. “How many head wounds did you have, anyway?”
“Two or three. I can’t rightly remember anymore.”
“Well, get down and let me get dressed. I’ll come out and help you.”
It took the two of them until noon to hook everything up. Well, it took Scott that long.
“So you’ve basically just been waiting from some poor E-4 to live here to be your cheap labor, right?” Scott said from his perch on top of Amanda’s house.
“Not at all. Anyone E-8 or below would have done,” Jack said. “Spread those out a little more, would you?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Sir? Don’t call me sir! I work for a goddamn living, boy!”
Scott stared down at him for a moment with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, I used to work for a living. Now I just give orders.”
“That’s what I thought, old man!”
“Seriously, thanks for helping, son,” Jack said. “I’d have been at this all day.”
“No problem,” Scott said. “Why so early, though? We usually don’t put ours up until after Thanksgiving.”
“Well, Mama likes it that way,” he said. “At least she has for the last few years.”
Jack paused for a moment. He looked a little choked up, then collected himself.
“About eight years ago, our oldest boy, Mike, had leave about this time,” he said. “He shipped out to ’Nam right after Thanksgiving. He’d said something to Esther before he left about wishing the Christmas lights had been up before he left.
“A week after he got there, he was killed in action,” Jack continued. “They got him back before Christmas; he’s buried in Arlington.
“Esther never forgave herself,” he said. “Ever since, we put our lights up, our kids put theirs up before Thanksgiving. I think she thinks Mike can see them. It’s her way of making up for it, I guess. After we moved here and bought the houses, we decided we’d take care of decorating them, too. So, anyway, thanks again.”
Scott stood in awe of the man. “Sergeant Major, it was my honor. I think we might just go get a tree this weekend.”
“Esther would like that, son,” Jack said. “Oh, she’d like that just fine.”
Scott helped Jack load his tools in his old pick-up, then headed back to the house to prepare to work out. At least three days a week, he loaded a bag of old footballs his dad had liberated from the high school, his orange Voit kick-off tee, his two-inch block and a tripod he fashioned out of PVC pipe to hold the ball on the block.
He tossed everything into the back of the Sarge and drove over to Memorial. Once there, he entered through the southeast gate, walked down the track, hefted the ball bag into the front row of the seats and began his stretches.
Both as a wrestler and a kicker, Scott had learned the importance of stretching. His routine took a good 20 minutes. Then he stood next to the stone wall in front of the seats and did 100 leg swings with his right leg. He was surprisingly limber for 6-3 and 175 pounds.
Then jog an 800, run an 800, and finally out on the field.
He devised a pretty good routine. First, kick-offs. He’d tee up a ball on the defensive 40. Then, step off six strides at about a 45-degree angle to the ball. Then, the run-up and kick and a dead run down field to retrieve the ball. Ten kicks, so long as they made it inside the 10, followed by a sprint to the ball and a brisk jog back to the tee.
It was then on to extra points. Twelve balls in a bag. Twelve kicks, provided they all went through (and they pretty much all did).
Next was field goals. First, six from each hash mark at 20 yards, then back to 25 yards; four down the middle, four from each hash mark. Then 30, 35, 40, 45, 50, 55, and finally 60. Counting the extra points, 120 kicks. The goal each time was to make 75 percent, or 90 kicks.
On this chilly November afternoon, he was on. He made his first 70 before shanking one from 40 yards on the left hash mark. He came back and hit his last one from 40, then hit 11 of 12 from 45.
His first kick from 50 was low and short. “Fuck. What was that?” he said out loud.
He went back to look at where his plant foot landed, when he heard a familiar voice.
“It wasn’t your plant. You hit the ball too high and came out of your tuck too fast. Stay down on the ball.”
Roni was walking across the track toward him. She was wearing a pair of mechanic’s coveralls with her ski jacket over them. She had her mittens on with one of Scott’s old Royals’ caps on her head.
“You get back this far and you get going too fast. Slow down and do it right. I’ll go down and shag.”
In the weeks and months since Scott had really started working out, Roni had become an expert on kicking. Every Saturday and Sunday she watched college and pro games on TV and studied the kickers. She had become Scott’s coach.
After watching him since September, she knew his every move, every mannerism. She could detect the smallest change, the smallest abnormality. If he made the kick with the broken routine, she’d correct it after he finished. If he missed, she was all over him.
He made his last two from straight-on 50, then two of four from the left hash and three of four from the right.
Scott made his first kick from 55. His second was dead-on, but short, as was the third.
“Go back and take a couple of leg swings. Get out of your head and kick the ball.”
He set up the ball on the block with the tripod, then went back and took the leg swings. His eyes locked on the ball. Right leg step, left leg step and plant, right leg through, whup! Head down through the follow-through; he heard Roni before his head even came up.
“Yeah baby, right down the fucking middle!”
He was three for four right hash, two for four left hash, then moved back to hit five of 12 from 60.
“What’s the number?” Roni asked.
“Actually, it was 104 of 120,” Scott said. “We’ll dazzle the NAIA!”
“Not bad, Footer,” she said as she walked the rest of the way to him with the ball bag. She kissed him. “But I’ll take a few more short misses for more deep consistency. C’mon home; I’ll give you a rub down. And, I had an idea.”
“Sex?”
“Photography.”
****
CHAPTER 25
In the middle of the living room, Scott stripped off his purple K-State hoodie, wool long john top and long-sleeved t-shirt, then his sweat pants and wool long johns, leaving on his gym shorts. He threw the big blue blanket on the floor and lay down.
Roni had taken off the coveralls and her jeans and was down to pink Bobby Brooks and a baggy UNC football sweatshirt. She sat straddling Scott’s butt and pulled out a bottle of pink baby lotion that had been heating up in a sink of hot water. She dribbled lotion into her hands and started working it into his shoulders.
“Mmmm…God you have good hands, McIntyre. Golden fucking hands.”
“This is my second favorite part of workouts.”
“Second?”
“First is jumping your shit about staying down on the ball, Footer.”
“Long as I get the rubdown, I’m good with that. So what was your idea?”
“Well…you know what you said last night about it being too bad Maggie was already busy for the wedding?”
“Yeah.”
“What if she wasn’t?”
“Wasn’t what?”
“Busy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What if I asked Maggie to be our photographer instead of our matron of honor?”
Scott turned his head around enough so he could see Roni’s face.
“You’re serious.”
“Look, she’s as good as anyone we know. When they came out last month, she just ripped Clarkson’s when we were looking at their pictures. She kept telling me how she’d have done this differently or that differently. She had all these ideas. Footer, she’s a natural.”
“Roni, that’s your call. Although it leaves us a br
idesmaid short.”
“Amanda. I’ll move Brooke to maid of honor. Then Amy, Kimmy, Mollie and Mandy. Rick can still be best man, then go Kevin, Donnie, Andy and Mark. That solves our problem and Amy’s problem. We already have Todd and Carl and my cousin Tim as ushers.”
Scott shook his head as Roni’s hands moved down his back. “Cowgirl, if that’s what you want, who am I to argue?”
Roni leaned over and kissed him. “I’m going to call her.”
She started to jump up, but Scott grabbed her ankle. “Uh…AFTER my rubdown.”
Roni climbed back on top of him. “Big baby. Fine.”
“Oh, and by the way, we’re buying a Christmas tree Saturday. And so are Amanda and Todd.”
Maggie jumped at the chance to be the photographer. After she enrolled in a photo class as a freshman at UNC, she was hooked and really wanted to make it a career. When Roni called her that afternoon after Scott’s rubdown, she was off-the-wall excited.
“I was so pumped to be your matron, but this is even better,” she told Roni. “Are you sure you guys trust me?”
“Of course we trust you, Mags,” Scott said into the other extension. “We wouldn’t have asked if we hadn’t.”
“Oh my God, I have so many ideas! Roni, I’ll make some notes and call you later tonight,” Maggie said, nearly bubbling over. “Love you guys!”
“Love you too,” Scott and Roni answered together.
Scott came down the bedroom steps in his robe with a towel over his shoulder. “She’s not pumped or anything, is she?”
“She’s going to be good, Footer. Really good,” she said pulling off her sweatshirt. “Let’s a get shower; I’m up for pizza. Valentino’s maybe?”
“Yep, let’s roll,” he said as they headed off to the bathroom.
They had barely made it back in the house at 7:30 when the phone rang.
“Hi Mags,” Roni said. “I’m going to take it upstairs. Hang on!”
She tossed the phone to Scott. “This might take a while.”
“I’ll be here,” he said, putting the receiver to his ear. “So, you’re not excited or anything, huh?”
“Shit, Footer! This is great,” Maggie said. “I am so pumped.”
Scott heard a click. “Got it baby!”
“OK, you guys have fun!”
Rockford Files was ending and Quincy M.E. was coming on by the time Roni came back downstairs. She had a steno notebook with a pen sticking out of it.
“OK,” Roni said. “Let’s go over the schedule again. You’re last day before leave is the 23rd, right?”
“Yeah, so we can either leave at 4:00 or wait and get up Christmas Eve morning.”
“No, I want to get back. If we leave by 4:00, we’ll be home by midnight, won’t we?”
“We should. What’s the hurry?”
“There’s a lot we need to get done. Maggie wants to do a walk-through at the church and the ballroom Saturday. Andy and Mollie are flying in Monday night and Todd and Amanda are flying out Tuesday and I am so nervous.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve pretty much been married for the last few months, honey. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
Scott looked at Roni and suddenly realized -- by way of the icy look she suddenly gave him --that was probably in the Top 5 of the dumbest things he has said in a while.
“You. Are. An. IDIOT! This is NOT about being ‘married’ you dumbass,” Roni seethed. “This is about the biggest night, the biggest event of our lives so far. It’s not about shacking-up you stupid shit; it’s about our WEDDING! Now; do you want to try that again?”
At this point, Scott was terrified to move his mouth, because whatever he said next could either determine which piece of furniture he slept on tonight, or even the future location of his testicles.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about, because you have planned this all sooooo well and I have the utmost confidence that everything will go perfectly because you are in charge. Honey,” Scott said, in kind of a robotic way.
“Are we going to need to have this conversation again?”
“Um….nope. Not...not at all.”
“Good. Don’t forget it.”
****
CHAPTER 26
Scott’s alarm jangled. He looked over at the clock, which read 2:00 PM. It was December 23rd. It was time to go home and get married. He threw on some sweats and bopped down the stairs.
“Coffee?” he asked Roni as he came into the living room.
“It’s ready,” she said, barely looking up from her meeting at the dining room table. Amanda and Esther were sitting at the table and as has been the case for weeks, wedding notes scattered all around them.
“Don’t worry about the kitties,” Esther told Roni. “We’ll be over twice a day to check on them. They’ll be fine.”
“And I’ll be over when Todd and I get back,” Amanda said.
“And I’ll make sure the mail is brought in,” Esther added.
“You ready, love?” Amanda asked Roni.
“I think so,” Roni sighed. “I want to get through this, but I’m so excited for it, too. We’re only going to do this once in our lives, right Footer?”
“Once. Right, honey,” he replied, trying to sound unconvinced.
“Don’t push it, Footer,” she said, smiling at him.
“I’m heading east,” Amanda said.
She hugged Esther, then hugged Scott. “Get her there safe, Footer. And you have a good trip, too.”
“I understand my role as groom is to serve the bride and show up on time when I’m supposed to.” Scott said, winking at Amanda.
“Roni! He really has learned his lines,” Amanda said, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “He’ll be fine!”
“I think chicken-cordon-bleu will be good for the reception. I am very much looking forward to it.”
“Shut it off, Footer. We have two more weeks for you to use your material,” Roni said.
Amanda and Roni shared a long hug. “I will see you in five days. Scott will be at Stapleton at 10:10 Tuesday morning to pick you up,” Roni said. “I’m so happy you’re in the wedding now.”
“Me too! I look really hot in a black evening gown.”
Esther left the table. “Well kids, I’m leaving, too. You know, you two remind me of Jack and me about 35 years ago. And I hope you two have as many years as and as much happiness as we’ve had. And we still have a lot of years to go.”
There had been a real debate about which vehicle to take home. Roni really wanted to take the Sky Bird, but with as much stuff as they were hauling home, and would be hauling back, both Scott and Ray had convinced her that Sarge made more sense.
For their honeymoon, they were granted a week in Keystone to go skiing.
Roni looked up and down her departure checklist. “Where the fuck is our ski gear?”
“In Wild Horse.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
Scott grabbed the steno pad and looked up and down the list. “Baby, everything on the list is in the back. We’re full. It’s 4:00. It’s time to go.”
Of course, she was emotional. “You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”
“I have always thought you were nuts, McIntyre.”
“You know, Footer, I really had wondered how these last few months would go. I really wondered if we’d drive each other crazy. But it worked. We’re about to leave our house as Scott Mitchell and Roni McIntyre and come back as husband and wife.”
“It has been a year since we spent that night together,” Scott said, taking her in his arms. “I didn’t know it that night, but where we are and where we’re headed doesn’t surprise me at all. We were always supposed to end up together; we just finally got around to it.”
She hugged him.
“Now,” Scott finished. “Let’s load up. I hear IHOP in Hays calling our name, and I am hungry.”
Roni was still asleep when Scott awoke Friday morning at the farm. It was nearly 9:00 when he re
ached the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Ray and Kat were in the study and Scott joined them, looking for the morning’s Denver Post.
“How’d you sleep, Scotty?” Kat asked as he sat down.
“Wonderful. I love that new mattress in her room. I think I was out 10 minutes after we hit the pillow.”
“Is Her Majesty still out?” Ray asked, passing Scott the sports page. “She looked exhausted.”
“Oh yes,” Scott said. “She’s spent about 16 hours a day on the wedding since Thanksgiving. I think she’s as mentally tired as she is physically tired.”
“Well, now she’s not going to get any choice about taking help,” Brooke said as she came into the room in a Colorado football sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. “Amy and Kimmy are on their way out and we’re meeting Maggie at the church at 11:00 for that photo walk-through.”
“Do I need to be there?” Scott asked.
“Nope. You need to get with your boys and get things organized,” Brooke said. She had really taken on the role of maid of honor with great zest.
“Well, Scott, did you ever think you’d see this day?” Ray asked.
“Planning our wedding?”
“No! The Broncos in the playoffs.”
He was right. On top of everything else going on, the Denver Broncos were playing their first-ever playoff game the next day, hosting the Steelers at Mile High. Scott had grown up with the orange and blue, and finally after 17 years of existence, they were in the post-season.
Just then, they all heard a familiar and frightening sound floating down the stairway that made Scott shudder.
“Scott Alan Mitchell! You seriously let me sleep until 9:30? AUUUUGH!”
“Her Majesty is up,” Scott said. “Brooke, she’s all yours.”
“Leave him alone, Roni, we have plenty of time, but you need to get in the shower…” Brooke’s voice trailed off as she went up the stairs.
“You can use our shower, son” Ray said with a laugh. “I’m guessing the other bathroom will be occupied for a while.”
“Then I can make a quick getaway.”
“Might be wise.”
