by Sally John
Britte and Gina laughed at Barb’s teen confessions. The afternoon was another good memory to store in the bedroom. Her mom’s stories. Gina, her soon-to-be sister-in-law, participating like a family member. Herself, at the beginning of a winning season. And the feared dress, not too fancyschmantzy after all. The wedding—well, that felt uncomfortable. It was supposed to have been a small, close-knit affair. Ethan fit, but Mr. Kingsley? Next thing she knew, her brother would be inviting the General for Christmas dinner.
“Close one, Miss O.”
Britte looked up from her seat on the bottom row of the bleachers. Mr. Kingsley stood not far away, just inside the open gym doors. “You’re telling me,” she said.
The game had ended some time ago. She had struggled through her postgame talk with the girls in the locker room... Accepted the undeserving kudos from parents with all the grace she could muster… Noted from a distance Brady’s assessment, a subtle rocking motion of his hand rather than a thumbs-up…
“You kept the fans on the edge of their seats.”
“We should have beaten that team by more than one point. It shouldn’t have been such an uphill battle.”
He shrugged.
She reached down and closed the notebook lying between her feet on the hardwood floor. “Something’s not clicking yet.”
“Are you ready to go?”
She shoved the notebook into her soft black leather attaché bag and saw the film cassette in a side pocket. Cassie’s dad taped the games for her. Eager to review the game, she would do that herself, probably yet tonight. Should they watch it together at practice tomorrow? Could the girls put a finger on the missing ingredient? Anne, uncharacteristically preoccupied, had offered no insight—
“Miss O?”
She looked up. “Excuse me?” His black down-filled jacket was unzipped, revealing a dark green V-neck sweater over a white shirt and red tie. Christmas season appropriate, yes, but school colors? Hardly.
“The custodian has gone home.”
“Already?”
“It’s 10:45. If you’re ready, I’ll turn out the lights.”
“Ten—?” She glanced up at the clock. “Hmm. Imagine that. Amazing how time flies when you’re having fun.” She began gathering the clipboards and scorebooks strewn about on the bleachers. “I can take care of the lights and make sure the doors are locked.”
“That’s my responsibility.”
Well, it wasn’t. All of the teachers were capable of turning off lights and locking doors.
“And you shouldn’t leave alone this time of night.”
She zipped shut her bag, stood, and did a slow 360-degree turn. Where was her coat? “You must be confusing Valley Oaks with Chicago.”
“City is not the point. A gentleman never allows a lady to walk unescorted in a dubious situation, such as a dark, empty parking lot. Are you looking for this?”
She faced him. Her long wool coat was folded across his arm.
He lifted the coat and held it open for her.
“Chivalry is not yet dead, I see.”
A brief smile crossed his face. “It’s not dead if you’re willing to accept it.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” She walked over and accepted his help with putting on her coat. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll get the lights.”
While he doused the gym lights and closed up, she strolled across the dimly lit area referred to as the commons. It was the center of the school building, a large open area where tables were set up at lunch time. Like the hub of a square wheel, it had “spokes” of four hallways branching different directions. The gym bordered one side, the front doors and glassed-in office another. She reached the back doors leading to the staff parking lot and waited.
As she had concluded before, General Kingsley was an enigma. She wouldn’t have imagined him possessing gentlemanly notions. But, now that she thought about it, those notions didn’t require emotional commitment, only rote obedience to a set of rules. Either that, or he was just plain chauvinistic and disguising it with courtesy.
He strode toward her, zipping up his jacket.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” she said. “I lost track of time.”
“No problem. I was working.” He pushed open the door. “You first, if you don’t find that too offensive.”
She sailed past him. “Not at all. I don’t mind accepting your chauvinistic—I mean, chivalrous—overtures.”
He chuckled, his breath frosting the night air. “Now that was intentional. I can tell you’re not quite sure which it is.”
“The jury is still out.”
“There you go, speaking your honest mind again.”
She smiled to herself as they walked across the small parking lot. “Where’s your car?”
“I usually walk. My condo’s only a few blocks beyond the football field.”
They reached her Jeep. “Do you want a lift?” She opened a back door and dropped her bag on the seat.
“No, thanks.”
“By the way, thank you for not offering a coaching opinion on tonight’s game.”
“You didn’t ask for one.”
“That doesn’t stop most men.”
“Pity how rapidly chivalry is dying out. See you tomorrow, Miss O.” He walked away, toward the side street that paralleled the back field.
Britte couldn’t resist. “It certainly is dying out,” she called. “You didn’t open the car door for me!”
He looked back at her. “Thought I’d quit while I was ahead.”
She murmured, “Chicken,” and climbed into the car. While the engine warmed up, she shivered. At the least he could have offered to warm up the car while she waited inside. She laughed at the thought.
He was the first principal to walk her to the car. The first anybody to do so purposely like that. Her mother would adore him. Britte hadn’t ever met anyone quite like him, stoic and effective and concerned about dark parking lots in Valley Oaks. And he didn’t falsely flatter her about the game. Which made him…an honest gentleman or a chauvinistic boor?
A few moments later she drove alongside him and braked. He halted as she rolled down the passenger window. “Mr. Kingsley. I also appreciate you not saying, ‘Good job, Coach.’”
In the dim of a street light, she thought she saw him grinning. “Just trying to be honest. Following your example, Miss O.”
Ten
Alec sat alone in the family room, staring at the TV but not hearing the 11 o’clock news. He still wore dress slacks and a tie. After working late, he’d gone straight to the high school for the fund-raising taco supper followed by Drew’s game. At home he had read the mail, written checks, and tried again to rework the budget. It wasn’t happening.
Instead of going upstairs, he sat down in the family room, hoping to neutralize his mind with the news in order to be able to sleep. It wasn’t happening.
The past two days, morale at work was at an all-time low. Unpopular decisions had been made by upper management. There was nothing to be done except hang in there, give his all as usual, and convince himself that it was okay not to receive an increase in pay. Believing that was not happening.
Anne walked in, sat on the couch, and snuggled against him. He muted the television and put his arm around her. “Hey, mister. How’s it going?”
“She sweetly asked the head grouch.”
“I really want to know.”
“Don’t you remember what curiosity did to the cat?”
“Alexander.” Anne didn’t easily reach exasperation, but her tone suggested she was nearly there. “I keep thinking this despondency will pass.”
“That’s a 50-cent word.”
Her sigh was audible. “What I meant was, this snarling attitude of yours is getting old.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re not much fun these days.”
“The checkbook isn’t either. The ends are not coming together. My car needs tires this month. The van needs some work. I really thin
k we should buy that used car so Drew has his own wheels. It’s getting too complicated sharing a car and getting him where he needs to be. He can take care of his own schedule and maybe help with the girls. We promised the kids the Grand Canyon tour next summer. That package deal costs less now than it will next year. I was planning on the promotion or at least the bonus to carry us through.”
“What you’re saying is that you’ve already spent the money in your mind.”
“Not just. Here, take a look.” He reached for the printout he’d laid on the coffee table.
“You know I can never make heads or tails out of numbers.”
“I need you to understand this, Anne.” He heard the aggravation in his voice and eased off. “I’ll explain it.” He showed her the figures: the increases in real estate taxes and insurance, the black-and-white of fixed expenses nearly equaling the income.
They discussed ways to cut back, but in the end she said, “Should I get a job?”
He took a deep breath. “I think it would make a difference.”
Her forehead was wrinkled. She wasn’t convinced.
“We’ll pray about it.” He nuzzled her hair. “It wouldn’t have to be anything major. Maybe something temporary, just to get us over this hump.” He tried to encourage her with thoughts of change and adventure, of how shaking up the status quo could be a healthy, stretching experience.
“Kevin certainly shook up the status quo.”
Alec pulled her close. The issue of their friends’ separation often hung between them like a fine mist, dampening their spirits. “That’s different.”
She buried her head in his shoulder. “I miss sitting beside you at the games.”
“I miss you, too.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Alec, Kevin has a girlfriend.”
He sighed wearily. “I suspected as much. You don’t just walk out on a good-looking, hardworking, fun-loving wife.”
“But if Val’s so wonderful, why would he be attracted to someone else in the first place?”
“It happens. Some guys just want out of the day-to-day rat race. They think a different woman will save them from it.” He squeezed her. “You’re stuck with me, though, sweetheart. I like everything about our life.”
“Except the checkbook.”
Anne sat on the edge of the chair, across a wide expanse of a desk. A middle-aged, blonde-streaked, short-haired, perky little woman named Jody sat across from her talking animatedly into the telephone.
Anne was in Rockville, at a temporary staffing office.
Alec had said some things that gave her second thoughts about that old stay-at-home commitment. Overtly, he hadn’t pushed her to get a job, but the figures he showed her indicated that the family needed more from her than taking care of the house and volunteering right and left.
She glanced around the office. It was small but bright, full of cute knickknacks, photographs, and floral lithographs, as if this were the woman’s home. Maybe it was.
Last night she and Alec had talked further. If she worked, he said, they could afford to buy her new, different clothes. It would be good for her to be out in the world, learn what was going on outside of Valley Oaks and the kids’ version of reality. Alec’s rambling touched a chord. Was something wrong with her wardrobe? Was her conversation too boring, centered as it so often was around their family?
Maybe it was the Val-Kevin issue that influenced her reaction. The fact that Kevin was seeing another woman— cheating on her most precious of friends—had put her on edge.
Before their talks, before her friends split, Anne had been comfortable with herself. Now she wondered if Alec still found her attractive. She didn’t ask him, but the seeds of doubt had been planted.
“Anne.” Jody turned to her now. “Tell me about yourself. What’s your experience?”
“I’m a mom.”
Jody smiled, encouraging. “And?”
“I don’t type. I don’t know computers. I coach basketball and work as a sales clerk at the Valley Oaks Pharmacy. I know the alphabet. I know how to clean, cook, drive, and condense five schedules into one.” She smiled back.
“And what did you do before you had children? Did you go to school?”
“I went to junior college for two years. Then I quit to get married and put my husband through grad school.”
“Doing?”
“I worked in an office, doing general clerk-related duties. Seventeen years ago. Computers weren’t common.”
Jody laughed. “What did you study in school?”
Anne’s mind’s eye returned to memories long buried. “Art. I studied art.”
She was sure the woman had no order to place someone who, in another lifetime, interpreted the world with a paintbrush and oils.
Eleven
The locker room door swooshed shut behind Britte, muting the riotous whoops of 11 girls riding high on a solid Saturday afternoon win. She walked down the hallway, grinning and slipping into her black blazer. The answer to Wednesday night’s missing ingredient was coming together.
As she glanced ahead to where the hall opened into the commons area, her steps slowed and her grin faded into a half smile. Separate from the crowd lingering near the concession stand, Jordan Hughes’ parents waited. The back of her neck tingled. She knew this dad was ready to pounce.
“Lord,” she breathed, “help.”
“Coach!” Gordon Hughes called from a distance, not leaving things to chance. It was his way of publicly announcing that he had first dibs on Coach that afternoon. “Good game.”
She smiled at him and his smiling wife. When she reached them, she didn’t stop completely, but edged her way into the commons. She wasn’t about to be cornered in the hall where the teams would soon be filing out.
They stuck beside her. “Britte, we need to talk.” Mr. Hughes’ voice took on a familiar quality, as if they were friends who lunched together. He was a tall man in his 40s, with large facial features, hands, and feet. In the seven years she had known him, he was always neatly groomed, his brown hair brushed back off of a high forehead. Strutting peacock came to mind, especially next to his attractive but demure wife.
Britte halted on the fringe of the milling crowd. Mr. Kingsley stood across the way, talking with students. He wore a blue sweater today, a school color. Of course, he probably wore it for the boys game, which would begin in a couple of hours. “How about an early Monday morning appointment?” she said. “Seven? Six-forty-five? Or Tuesday evening would work.”
“No, I don’t need an appointment. It won’t take long.” He stepped nearer, leaving no room for doubt that he had recently eaten a hot dog with onions. “You changed your lineup.”
“Yes.”
“May I ask why?”
“Yes, you may ask why.” Her jaw muscles tightened as she stubbornly waited for him to ask why.
Lights glinted off his wire-rimmed glasses, and his smile flattened into a grim line.
She bit her tongue before suggesting he go ahead and ask why. Choose your battles, Britte. Answer the man’s question, even though he hasn’t asked it. “I thought it best for this particular opponent.”
“Jordan didn’t start.”
She blinked in reply.
“Liz caused seven turnovers.”
Britte glanced away. The principal caught her eye. He had moved into her diminished line of vision. She looked back up at Mr. Hughes. “I haven’t studied the stats yet.”
“Well, believe me, it was at least seven.”
“And your point is?”
He lowered his head and whispered, “Jordan wouldn’t have made those mistakes.”
Britte pressed her lips together. Jordan had been directly or indirectly responsible for nine turnovers in the last game, but that wasn’t the point either. “This is about playing time.” As most coaches did, she explained at the preseason parents’ meeting that she would only discuss with the girls themselves the subject of how much time they were
given out on the court.
He straightened again. “It certainly is not about playing time.”
“I do not discuss playing time with parents.”
“It’s about coaching.”
Britte’s entire face felt hot. She glanced away again. Other parents were watching, unease clearly written on some of their faces. “This really isn’t the time or the place, Mr. Hughes.”
“Britte.” He held out his hands, palms up. “I’m just trying to help. No offense, but you’re young.”
She knew for a fact the man had never played basketball in his life. “That’s true, I am young. And I’m doing my best. We won today, and it wasn’t a squeaker. Second half, the girls were finding a rhythm. It was an outside game, and Liz is an outside shooter.”
“All I’m saying is…” He droned on, emitting onion scents across her face.
Why was she having this conversation? Mr. Kingsley shifted completely into view now, behind Mr. Hughes’ shoulder. She certainly didn’t want him in on this, too! “Mr. Hughes,” she interrupted him. “I appreciate your help. I’ll think about it. Now I’ve got to talk to Coach Carlucci before he gets away.”
“I could come to practice—”
“Mr. Hughes.” She pasted on her best placating smile. “If you did that, every dad would want to help. You know what they say about too many cooks spoiling the soup. Excuse me.” Lightly touching his wife’s arm, Britte made a deliberate sidestep around her and walked away.
The crowd had thinned. The girls were trickling through the commons, calling out plans to meet at the Pizza Parlor. They had time to eat before coming back to the boys game, something they often did as a team. Several girls and parents invited her to join them.
“I’ll see,” she wavered.
Were Jordan’s parents going? Last year they seldom attended such group outings. The thought of sitting across a pizza from them disturbed her. She had to go home, sort this out. Talk to somebody.
Where was everyone? Brady hadn’t made it today. Ethan had, of course, but he didn’t offer much in the way of technical support. She scanned the commons. He was gone by now anyway. She needed Anne, but she had left immediately after the game, something to do with her family schedule. Anne knew how to run interference for her. She would have been right there with her, reminding Mr. Hughes in her kind but straightforward manner that they did not discuss playing time. Where was Tanner Carlucci? No way could he replace Anne, except perhaps on the bench. He had a good grasp of the game. If she could talk to him now—
