Finally, Cal softly entered the room.
He commenced with the generic small talk as he settled down next to her bed. Cal held her hand, ignoring the tubes criss-crossing into her arm. She squeezed his hand, tilting her head and just staring at him and smiling.
“I’m so sorry, Kelly,” he finally stammered.
“Sorry for what?”
“Sorry that I put you in this situation. Sorry that you’re lying in a hospital bed and I’m not. Sorry that—”
“Sssshhhh,” Kelly said as she cut him off and jammed her index finger to his lips. “Guilt be gone. I’m alive and I’m with you now. Let’s just enjoy this moment, however awkward I may appear right now.”
The corners of Cal’s mouth turned upward slightly into a grin. This was the Kelly he loved, a woman who was intent on revelling in a moment of just being together. It was a moment he didn’t want to end either. Ever.
“OK, Kelly. But before I just sit here and enjoy being next to you, I have a couple of questions for you.”
“Cal, the intestigative reporter. His work is never done,” Kelly said, chiding him.
“I’m serious, Kelly.”
“Serious about what?”
“Serious about my two questions.”
“OK, shoot.”
Cal took Kelly’s hand and looked at it. He wanted to gently caress it but decided maneuvering around such a jumbled mess of tubes and wires would only make the moment awkward.
Then he mustered up his nerve and continued.
“So, my first question is how would you feel about moving east?”
Kelly shot him a look of disbelief, mouth agape.
Before she could utter another word, Cal continued.
“My second question is how would you feel about marrying me?”
~~~
To get a sneak peek at the next book in the Cal Murphy Thriller series "Dead in the Water", keep reading ...
CHAPTER 1
TRE’VELL BAKER CLIMBED OUT of Dominique Dixon’s rusted out Civic and popped the hatchback. He grabbed his football gear and backpack before thanking his friend for the ride.
“Same time, same place Monday?” Dixon asked.
Baker nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Baker never missed it. Saint-Parran High’s most sought-after recruits in nearly two decades rode home together after every practice. It was a rare Friday night without a football game as Saint-Parran prepared for the upcoming Louisiana high school state playoffs.
Baker sat down and continued his routine, awaiting the arrival of his youngest brother’s school bus. Within five minutes, the bus appeared and began applying its squeaky brakes. The door flung open and Jarvis hopped off. He smiled at his big brother before racing to him for a hug.
“Hey, little man,” Baker said. “How was school today?”
“It was great,” Jarvis responded.
“How come?”
“Fourth down and the game was tied,” Jarvis began his tale. “We needed a touchdown. Mr. Bixby said it was time to come in, so we only had one more play. Who do you think they threw the ball to?”
“Do you even need to ask?”
“Randall threw the ball into the end zone and I dove and caught it to win the game.”
Baker looked down at his little brother, whose face beamed with pride as he waited for a compliment.
“You’re going to be better than me one day,” Baker said, rubbing his brother’s head.
With a half-mile walk ahead of them, Baker helped Jarvis shed his backpack and added it to his own burden. The cypress trees cast a thick canopy over the dirt road, a canopy that was already thinning as fall neared its annual secession to Old Man Winter. Sunlight danced between the shadows while Jarvis shared more excitement of a day in first grade. Playground conquests and compliments from the teacher highlighted their daily walks—and today was no different.
It wouldn’t be long before Baker would leave Saint-Parran, and Nikko, his thirteen-year-old brother, would assume the role of caring for their youngest sibling. Baker felt time marching toward him without any way to dodge it, no matter how deft he was at escaping.
When it came to eluding would-be tacklers, Baker held a special knack. At 6 feet 4 inches tall, and 235 pounds, Baker presented a healthy-sized target for quarterbacks. Though his size alone wasn’t what made him one of the most prized recruits in the entire state of Louisiana. No, it was his speed and agility that did that. His forty-yard dash time of 4.4 seconds blistered most of his competition. When Baker’s team was on offense, the plan was simple: get Baker the ball. His whirling moves coupled with his speed and size made him nearly impossible to defend. And it was for such talent that he would be leaving Saint-Parran, hopefully bringing his entire family with him.
But the likelihood of his mother and brothers joining him seemed slim in the wake of recent events.
A few short weeks ago, Baker and Dixon had taken an official recruiting trip to Bryant University. The young university in northern Alabama had taken the college football world by storm. Less than twenty years ago, the nephew of legendary Alabama coach Bear Bryant, Andrew Bryant, founded Bryant University. As a youngster, Andrew wanted to play for Alabama more than anything in the world—like the majority of the boys who grow up in the state—and made it his mission in life to do so. When his uncle didn’t offer him a scholarship, Andrew enrolled and walked on. After just one practice, Bear Bryant cut his nephew. Instead of growing bitter, Andrew decided to get even. By the time he was forty, he had amassed a fortune so sizeable that he landed at number twenty on Forbes’ list of “Richest People in America.” While he contributed plenty of money to charity, what Andrew really wanted was to spend his money to create a university, one with a football team that would upset the balance of power in the football-crazed state of Alabama. Huntsville emerged as the best city in which to start such an institution. The university was state of the art and had garnered plenty of academic acclaim in a short period of time. The athletic facilities dazzled and the coaches sold the opportunity to build something great—and maybe even win a championship. Dixon fell for the pitch. Baker did, too, but not without some extra coaxing.
Openly spurning Louisiana State for a school in nearby Alabama had done little to endear Saint-Parran’s dynamic duo to the locals. Once they graduated, their hometown support was sure to all but disappear. But Baker didn’t care—and neither did Dixon.
Every day in practice, the two fiercely competed against each other. Dixon, a defensive back, made Baker’s life miserable. Dixon defended each pass thrown to Baker as if it were the last play of the Super Bowl. They fed off each other. Pitting two of the best players in the state against each other only served to spur them on. They loved the competition—yet they wanted nothing more than to play together at the next level. And they wanted to go somewhere that made them happy, not stay in a town they would rather forget and leave behind.
It wasn’t that Saint-Parran was full of bad people—in fact, it was barely full of people at all. If it weren’t for some of the best fishing in Louisiana, Saint-Parran would likely never exist. It would simply be known as the area near Devil’s Fork Bayou. But good fishing attracted plenty of retired snowbirds and wealthy men in search of a trophy fish or a gator hide.
Baker ended up in Saint-Parran after his parents moved the family there from New Orleans. Why his mother never returned baffled Baker. His father left them when Baker was five, leaving his mother, Lanette, pregnant and penniless. His mother had a couple of live-in boyfriends that resulted in the additions of Tashawn, who was now eleven, and Jarvis, to the family. To make ends meet, Lanette grabbed every shift she could at Lagniappe Café off Highway 1 where what little action in Saint-Parran occurred. It was a dingy dive but patronized by mostly generous tippers, who kept Lanette and her family fed and clothed. For several years, Baker begged his mother to leave and search for employment elsewhere, but she refused. Her hope of a real life, one that didn’t mean scraping by, had al
l but vanished.
But Baker saw a way out for his mother when college coaches began parading through their three-bedroom slat-board house that sat just several feet from the edge of the creeping waters of Devil’s Fork Bayou. Baker dreamed of playing professionally one day, but he knew better than to bank on it. He saw opportunity in front him—a chance to help his mother and brothers escape an endless cycle of poverty—and he seized it. Whenever a coach entered his home, Baker asked the questions. He showed mild interest in how coaches intended to use him in their offense or in what academic offerings the school had. However, his real measuring stick for choosing a school came down to who wanted him more—as in, who wanted to give him the most.
Baker knew it was wrong. The National Collegiate Athletic Association—the NCAA —forbade such “gifts.” Tuition with room and board was enough. At most schools, such a scholarship package was equivalent to two hundred thousand dollars—a seemingly fair trade for playing football for four or five seasons. But Baker knew the scholarships meant nothing and he’d heard from others that it wasn’t the only thing schools would offer him, whether it was against the rules or not. So with a wink, Baker always asked the coaches what else they could do for him. Most coaches gave some standard line about keeping him safe and helping prepare him for the real world. Baker always scoffed at such comments. He lived in the real world and he’d always stayed safe. Those promises didn’t interest him—and most coaches sensed it right away.
The Bryant University coaches were different. They knew exactly what he was asking about—and they laid out a nice package. Lanette would have a new home, a car, and a job at the university bookstore as a manager. They praised her ability as a waitress and how she handled a grumpy customer while they were dining at her café. They noted that her customer service skills were why they thought she would make a great manager. The idea of caring for his mom in this way sold Baker on attending Bryant University.
In the weeks after they announced a verbal commitment to Bryant University, Baker grew uneasy over how the coaches broke the rules with such flippancy. All it would take is one disgruntled player to turn on them before the NCAA launched an investigation and discovered the type of impropriety that would result in heavy sanctions to the football program. Maybe the NCAA would take away scholarships, strip victories, or ban the game from playing in bowl games or worse—receive the dreaded death penalty that shut down the program. Nevertheless, Baker decided to take an official visit there with Dixon to assuage his fears. The reward would be worth it if the risk didn’t seem too detrimental to his future career and potential earnings should he make it to the NFL.
Despite their friendship, Baker kept the full extent of Bryant’s offer to himself. He didn’t want jealousy to come between he and Dixon when the real joy of this opportunity was getting to play football together in college. Dixon’s loose lips already shared that Bryant coaches promised him a car and a sizeable stipend under the table each week. There was also a summer internship at a car dealership that paid above average and included a flexible schedule. They both understood that deal—a healthy paycheck whether or not you showed up for work. Dixon saw a way to better his future; Baker wanted a better future for his entire family.
Yet during their recruiting visit, Baker saw something, something terrible. He wasn’t supposed to see it, but it was the kind of thing he couldn’t un-see or un-know. Baker was goofing around on his smart phone—one given to him a few months earlier by a Bryant University booster—and happened to record a video of it. Nobody knew he knew, except Dixon. On the way home, Baker showed the video to Dixon. Its contents scared Dixon so much that he suggested that maybe they should look elsewhere. Baker felt conflicted, knowing that such a decision meant his family may not get all they were dreaming of—and neither would Dixon. But Baker had to draw the line somewhere, and Bryant University had obliterated the line. For Baker, Bryant had committed the unpardonable sin.
The weight of Baker’s decision rested heavily upon him. It was almost all he thought about since he and Dixon reneged on their commitment to play at Bryant. Where would he go? What would happen to his family? Could his brothers make it out of the bayou with their heads still screwed on straight? There were no answers, only wild speculation that kept Baker up at night and left him unfocused during the day.
That’s why the adventures of a first grader were a welcome break for Baker. Jarvis was young but he could spin some yarn, making a mundane trip across the monkey bars seem as exciting as Vasco da Gamma circumnavigating Africa.
“Did you talk to any girls today?” Baker asked.
“Ewww. No way,” Jarvis said. “One of them tried to talk to me, but I told her I’d rather kiss a dead fish.”
Baker laughed. “Speakin’ of fish, you wanna do some fishin’ before mom gets home?”
Jarvis nodded with exuberance. He darted ahead to the dilapidated shed that held all the family’s fishing gear.
Baker knew he’d miss fishing in the bayou. It was a sanctuary of sorts, a level playing field for everyone casting their bait into the dark waters and hoping to pull out a tale-worthy fish. There were no expectations on Baker here. No touchdowns to score, no coaches to impress, no dreams hanging in the balance. Just a kid and his rod and some bait. Compared to fishing, everything else in Baker’s life seemed complicated.
By the time Baker reached the family’s run-down dock, Jarvis was already sitting on one of the rickety boards and baiting his hook. Baker checked his little brother’s attempt to secure a chicken liver on his hook before letting him toss it into the water. The chicken liver wasn’t going anywhere without a firm bite from a channel catfish lurking in the murky waters below.
Baker sat down and took a deep breath. He smiled and rubbed Jarvis on the head.
“You’re all right, you know that?” Baker said.
Jarvis nodded and smile, yet kept his gaze on the water, waiting for a strike from some unlucky catfish.
Baker looked up at the trees and the sky, which was quickly fading from bright blue to hues of light red. If not for the shrill chirps from the short-billed Dowitchers, the only audible sound would’ve been the faint current pushing the bayou’s waters along.
Baker looked at Jarvis with pride. He knew his little brother was special and was going to be the best athlete in the family one day. Yet he was unsure just how much of a chance Jarvis would have, stuck in the bayou his whole life. Just like the ecosystem surrounding him, life in the bayou was fragile. One bad hurricane or one failed fishing outfitter and Saint-Parran might join a list of growing ghost towns deep within Louisiana’s bayou. And then what? Could their mother adapt? Where would she go? How would she provide for her boys? He couldn’t help but feel guilty over his decision to spurn Bryant University as he looked at his baby brother. Maybe he could change his mind, restore his original commitment—if the offer still stood. But he just couldn’t. Baker couldn’t shake what he saw and it went against every fiber of his being. Bryant University was a dirty program with dirty coaches. And if the program’s indiscretions ever drew the watchful eye of the NCAA, Baker knew his mom and brothers would be on the first bus back to the bayou.
So much for a few peaceful moments fishing.
Baker snapped out of his funk when a splash in the water led to an excited yelp from Jarvis. Baker scrambled to his feet and steadied Jarvis’ rod as they fought a feisty catfish dancing beneath the water. Jarvis slowly reeled in the fish. Baker grabbed the net and scooped the fish with it. The catfish twitched and flopped on the deck as Jarvis stared wide-eyed at his catch.
“I think that’s the biggest one I’ve ever caught!” Jarvis said.
Baker smiled and gave Jarvis a one-armed hug. The catfish looked about eighteen inches long, but Baker was sure that by the time Jarvis arrived at school on Monday and began retelling his exploits, the fish would grow an additional eighteen inches.
For a brief moment, Baker forgot all about his troubles and the decisions bearing on him. Sheer joy
consumed his thoughts as he watched Jarvis dance delicately on the shaky dock. It was the last thing Baker thought about before a bullet exploded into the back of his head and sent him headlong into the bayou.
~~~
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
So many people have been such an encouragement to me in this journey of writing novels. If it weren’t for the valuable input of so many people mentioned below, this project would have never seen the light of day.
I must always start out by thanking my parents, who instilled in me the love for good stories and the art of good storytelling.
I also want to thank Aaron Patterson and Chris White, who have been great sounding boards in talking about story ideas and plots.
I appreciate the editorial assistance of Brooke Turbyfill and her keen eye in making this book better than it was.
And last but not least, I appreciate my wife, Janel, for giving me the time to help make this book a reality.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JACK PATTERSON is an award-winning writer living in southeastern Idaho. He first began his illustrious writing career as a sports journalist, recording his exploits on the soccer fields in England as a young boy. Then when his father told him that people would pay him to watch sports if he would write about what he saw, he went all in. He landed his first writing job at age 15 as a sports writer for a daily newspaper in Orangeburg, S.C. He later attended earned a degree in newspaper journalism from the University of Georgia, where he took a job covering high school sports for the award-winning Athens Banner-Herald and Daily News.
He later became the sports editor of The Valdosta Daily Times before working in the magazine world as an editor and freelance journalist. He has won numerous writing awards, including a national award for his investigative reporting on a sordid tale surrounding an NCAA investigation over the University of Georgia football program.
Better Off Dead (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 3) Page 16
