by Tim Green
Harrison looked up into her eyes and saw they were glassy, and her fuzzy top lip trembled ever so slightly. “Every time?”
“Yes, and even though you’ve been very unlucky, you have to believe me that there are many foster parents out there who are wonderful people who care very deeply for their children. This time, I promise that you’re going to be with two very special people.”
“How do you know?”
“She’s my daughter.”
“Who?”
“The place you’re going. My daughter’s. She’s very nice.”
“Like you?”
“Yes.” She sniffed and let out a breath, then smiled and nodded. “And her husband is a very good man. They don’t have any children of their own. I told them all about you, Harrison, and they’d like to help.”
“Is it a farm?”
Mrs. Godfrey kept smiling. She sniffed again and looked off into the sky. “No, it’s not a farm. He’s a teacher and she’s a lawyer.”
“What does he teach?”
“English, and he’s a football coach.”
“Football?” Harrison felt a flame of excitement burst to life in his chest. “Do you think they’d let me play?”
“Well, Harrison, I know for a fact that he’d love it if you did.”
Chapter Eight
RON KELLY PICKED HARRISON up at the bus station. He had a farmer’s hands, rough and strong, but from working with weights and wood, not cows and tractors. His grip could crush stones, but his smile warmed Harrison’s heart because it had just as much warmth as the smile he’d grown used to seeing on Mrs. Godfrey’s face. He also didn’t mind when Mr. Kelly asked Harrison to call him “Coach” because that’s what he said all the students called him, whether they played football or not.
Mrs. Godfrey’s daughter was waiting for them at home, a big gray house with white shutters and a bright-red front door. Coach’s wife had long red hair. She wore thin glasses, but they couldn’t hide her pretty green eyes, and her resemblance to Mrs. Godfrey was obvious when she smiled. Mrs. Kelly was a lawyer and Harrison could see why. Words flowed from her mouth like a song. Coach spoke more like a barking dog, and Harrison wondered how it was the two of them could get along so well, but they seemed to.
They showed Harrison his room and it was nice. While he studied it, Harrison caught Mrs. Kelly looking at his eye. He wanted to cover it because a thing so ugly didn’t seem to fit in such a room. There were curtains on the windows. The bed sheets were crisp and white and the clothes in the closet were clean and ironed, without tears or stains. Beside the dresser stood a case of shelves bursting with books.
Harrison forgot about his eye at the sight of the books. Mrs. Kelly used a long finger to break one loose and she held it up for him so that he could see a serious young man’s face on the cover, a sword in his belt, and his hand gripping a ship’s rope as he looked out over the waves. On the distant shore, a rainbow rose from the land, arcing across the sky and promising good things to come.
“Have you ever read Louis L’Amour?” Mrs. Kelly asked.
Harrison shook his head, not wanting to tell her he’d never read a book, period.
“I think you’ll like this.” She handed him the book. “My brothers loved The Sacketts. It’s a family that comes to America when it was a new land.”
“I was a Hardy Boys guy,” said Coach with a grunt from the doorway.
Harrison shifted his feet. He hadn’t heard of them, either.
“Are you hungry?” Mrs. Kelly asked.
Harrison nodded.
He followed them downstairs. They all sat at the table, where Mrs. Kelly had lunch already laid out—sandwich meat, cheese, bread, and salad. Harrison watched, mystified as they bowed their heads and Coach uttered a prayer. Harrison’s first two families said lots of prayers, but it had been many years since he’d heard them and the prayers hadn’t done anything to make them nicer people. His face felt hot when Coach looked up and saw him gawking. Coach just smiled and passed the bread.
Harrison put together a turkey sandwich and doused it with ketchup.
“We hope you’ll feel welcome, Harrison,” Mrs. Kelly said, “and that you like your room.”
“I do.”
“You’re a big kid,” Coach said. “My mother-in-law said you might want to play some football?”
Mrs. Kelly rattled her butter knife against the plate. “Really, Ron? Football? Harrison hasn’t been sitting for more than five minutes and you’re already going there?”
Coach shrugged and scowled at his wife, but not in a mean way. “He’s a big boy and you know I need all the help I can get. Have you ever played before, Harrison?”
“No, but I like to watch it, and I think I could.”
Jennifer flashed Coach a look, sharp as a knife. “Would you like some salad, Harrison?”
“Is it okay if I don’t?” he asked, the green food looking like something he’d give to the cows.
“Of course.”
“And I would like to play football, Mr.—I mean, Coach.”
Coach grinned and slapped a hand on the table, jarring the silverware. “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow after school I’ll get you geared up and you can get started. No sense wasting time. You’ll need ten practices before you can play in a game, but that means you can play in next week’s game. This is great. You’ll like the team.”
Mrs. Kelly gave her husband an impatient look. “Coach has a lot riding on this season, Harrison, so you’ll have to forgive his overexcitement.”
“There’s no such thing as overexcitement when you’re talking about football,” said Coach.
Mrs. Kelly continued as if her husband wasn’t there. “The varsity coach is retiring after this season, and there are some people who’d like Coach to take over.”
“But not everyone.” Coach clenched and unclenched his jaw so that the muscles in his face did a dance.
“Not the head of the booster club,” Mrs. Kelly said in a voice as light as the butter she spread across her bread. “He thinks we should find someone outside the program.”
“I need to win the league,” Coach said. “Then he can’t say no.”
“But we lost the first two games,” Mrs. Kelly said.
“We should win this week,” Coach said. “I haven’t lost to East Manfield in ten years.”
“You’ve never started out oh-and-two and made the playoffs.” Mrs. Kelly bit into her slice of bread and sipped at a cup of tea. A dab of butter clung to her upper lip until she wiped it away with a napkin. “But winners never quit, and quitters never win.”
“How fast are you?” Coach asked.
Harrison blushed and shrugged. He didn’t know how to answer. As a little kid, he won all the races on the playground, and he was always good in gym class, but he’d never been allowed to play any sports. “Pretty fast, I think.”
“Pretty fast, and big for sure.” Coach seemed to speak to himself.
“He’ll need a physical,” Mrs. Kelly said.
Coach scratched the stubble on his head. “Maybe I could get Doc Smart to see him and give us a clean bill of health.”
Mrs. Kelly pointed quickly to her own eye and said, “What about . . .”
“Your mom said his eye is fine. It just looks bad,” Coach said.
Harrison knew from the mirror that what should be white in his eye was still bloodred, and that even though the swelling had been gone for several weeks now, the skin around his eyes was still marbled with purple and a sickly yellow.
“It’s Sunday, Ron.”
Coach waved a hand. “Doc won’t mind. He’s a friend. If Harrison wants to play, there’s no sense in making him wait.”
Mrs. Kelly sighed. “I guess you can ask.”
Chapter Nine
COACH DROVE AN OLD white pickup truck. Rust crept along the underside of the doors, and the tires looked dusty and smooth. Riding through town, Harrison couldn’t help admiring the neatly trimmed lawns and the old houses wearing c
oats of fresh paint. Doc Smart lived in a big house up a long driveway. A handful of kids played Frisbee on the lawn. They wore fancy clothes—shirts with collars, dresses, and shoes that reflected the sunlight. A pretty girl with a blond ponytail caught the Frisbee and stopped the game to watch Harrison follow Coach up the front steps and into the house. Harrison put a hand up to cover his discolored eye.
Doc Smart showed them into an office, where he poked and prodded Harrison.
“Let me take a look at that eye.” The doctor shone a penlight at it. “Can I ask what happened?”
“Hit by a belt buckle,” Harrison said.
Coach cleared his throat.
“It feels fine, though,” Harrison said. He didn’t want to wreck the whole deal before he even got started.
Doc Smart glanced at Coach and snapped off his light. “Well, it’s healed up nicely. Shouldn’t keep you from playing football.”
Doc took Harrison’s blood pressure and banged his knee with a rubber hammer, then signed some papers and told Coach that Harrison was ready for action. Doc followed them out onto the front porch and called to the ponytail girl. “Becky, I want you to meet Harrison. Harrison, this is my daughter, Becky. She’s in your grade.”
Becky held out her hand and Harrison shook it, surprised by her solid grip, even though his hand swallowed hers whole. He also liked the way she didn’t stare at his red eye. It was as if she didn’t notice, even though he knew she must have.
“Harrison is Coach Kelly’s . . .”
“Harrison is joining our family.” Coach put a hand on Harrison’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
Harrison felt his face burn. Becky looked at him in confusion. Coach steered Harrison down the steps toward the truck. Harrison saw the other kids on the lawn watching him like a zoo animal. He climbed into the truck beside Coach. As they backed down the driveway, Becky stepped down off the porch. She caught Harrison’s eye and then did something that he’d never forget.
Chapter Ten
WITH ALL THE OTHER kids watching, Becky waved to Harrison and spoke in a voice that all the kids could hear. “I’ll see you in school, Harrison.”
Her smile filled Harrison’s heart with sunshine and honey, and his own hand popped up on its own to wave back at her.
“That’s a pretty little girl.” Coach nodded his head toward the doctor’s daughter.
Harrison looked down at his feet and scuffed a gum wrapper across the floor mat.
“Don’t you think?” Coach backed the truck out into the street.
“I don’t know.” Harrison studied the wrapper. His ears burned at the sound of Coach’s soft laughter.
Coach settled down and asked Harrison if he wanted to go fishing. Harrison said that he had never been but that he’d be happy to try. They returned home to get their gear, and while Mrs. Kelly packed a basket with sandwiches and lemonade, Harrison studied some framed photographs on a table in the living room. In one, Mrs. Kelly wore a wedding dress and Coach had on a tuxedo. In another, Mrs. Kelly hugged Coach on the sideline of a football field and Coach held up a trophy. Another caught Harrison’s eye and he picked it up.
It was Coach, but he wore an Army uniform. In one hand he held a gun, but his other arm he’d slung around a second soldier. They smiled like brothers at a reunion. The other soldier had a small beard that was as black as his eyes, reminding Harrison of a movie poster he’d once seen for a story about the devil.
When Mrs. Kelly appeared behind him, Harrison returned the picture to its place.
“Coach was in the war?” he asked.
Mrs. Kelly handed Harrison the picnic basket. “The Gulf War. It was the first war in Iraq, a lot of years ago.”
“That’s his friend?”
“A very good friend,” she said, looking sadly at the picture. “Major Bauer.”
“Did he die?” Harrison kept his voice low.
Mrs. Kelly seemed to think about it. “No, he was hurt very badly, but he’s far from dead. You’ll meet him sometime.”
Harrison could tell there was something special about the major that Mrs. Kelly wasn’t telling him, but they both heard Coach call him from the garage, and she put a hand on Harrison’s back and steered him toward the door. Coach laid two poles in the back of the truck, dusted his hands, and they set out for the lake. Coach had a boat with an outboard motor pulled up among some grass and trees on a rocky shore. When Coach asked Harrison to help him drag the boat into the water, Harrison grabbed hold of the handle in front and hauled it across the rocky beach and into the water before Coach could put down his basket and fishing gear.
Coach stared at him, and Harrison wondered if he’d done something wrong.
“With the motor, that boat weighs about four hundred pounds,” Coach said.
Harrison looked at the boat and shrugged.
“Okay, great. Let’s load it up.” Coach set the gear and basket into the bottom of the boat. Harrison got in and Coach launched them into the deeper water and hopped aboard. The engine sputtered, then hummed. Coach steered for a point of rocks a ways away and dropped anchor at a spot where Harrison could see the stony bottom.
Coach handed Harrison a fishing rod before focusing on his own rig, fussing with the reel, breaking open a big plastic box, and tying a small metal fish lure dangling hooks onto the end of the line. Coach looked up and blinked at Harrison, nudging the box his way before he looked back down.
Coach looked up again. “I’m sorry. You said you never went fishing, and here I am giving you the tackle box. It’s just second nature for me, that’s all. You never even saw anyone fishing?”
“Just along the bridge on the Sawmill River, or on TV, I guess.”
“Okay, sure. Here, let me tie one of these babies off for you.” Coach took the pole Harrison held and expertly tied a curved golden fish onto the end of the line. The lure sparkled in the sunlight. “You just cast it toward those rocks and reel it in, like this.”
Coach flicked his wrist and the lure on the end of his pole sailed through the air, plunking down not far from the rocks jutting out of the water. Immediately he began winding the handle, reeling in the line as fast as he could. Coach wore sunglasses beneath the brim of his “Bulldogs Football” cap, but Harrison could tell his eyes were locked on the spot where the lure had gone in. Magically, the end of the long pole bent once, then three more times, as if someone were tugging on it. Coach yanked the pole, quickly and viciously.
“Got ’em.” A smile broke out on Coach’s face, and now he reeled steadily against the flailing pole.
Harrison saw a flash in the water, then the fish broke the surface, twisting violently in the air before it dove back down, bending the pole even more.
“A beauty,” Coach said. “How about that? First cast. Hand me that net, will you?”
Harrison held out the net. Several minutes later, when Coach had reeled the fish in and alongside the boat, he grabbed the net from Harrison without looking and expertly scooped the fish out of the water. “Supper.”
Coach unhooked his catch and held it up by pinching its lower lip between thumb and forefinger. As he raised it up for Harrison to see, Coach sucked air in through his teeth. “Look at that. Wow.”
Coach turned the fish so Harrison could see a set of diagonal gashes that ran up one side of the fish, ending at its tail. Its eye, like Harrison’s, was bloodred. Part of the back fin was also missing. “Propeller got him.”
Harrison wrinkled his forehead. “Are you gonna let him go?”
“Go?” Coach raised his eyebrows. “No, he can’t last long like this, but he’ll still eat good.”
Coach reached into his tackle box and looped a bigger metal hook up through where the fish’s bright-red gills strained for water to breathe and out its mouth. A dozen other big hooks dangled from the same chain. Coach called it a “stringer” and he attached it to a metal ring beside his seat before sliding the fish back into the water on its metal leash. Harrison peered over the side of the boat and wa
tched the fish thrashing for a few moments before it settled into a lazy waving motion with its shattered tail.
“You want to try?” Coach asked. “I can’t promise you’ll catch one that fast. Lucky cast.”
Harrison continued to stare at the fish. “I thought you let them go. That’s what they do on TV.”
“That’s a bass tournament, sure, but I like to eat what I catch. Trust me, this one’s better off on a plate. Didn’t you ever see The Lion King and that whole ‘circle of life’ thing?”
Harrison shook his head and refused the pole Coach held out to him. “I can’t.”
“Harrison, things die. You eat hamburgers, right?”
He nodded.
“Yeah, well, someone had to kill a cow for you to eat that burger. That’s how it goes, right?”
“But this one’s hurt.”
“Right, and hurt things don’t survive. That’s nature.”
Harrison shook his head again. “When something’s hurt, you’re supposed to help it.”
Coach looked around, but there was no one there to help him. “So we can catch healthy ones and keep them to eat? Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
“You got a lot going on in there, you know that?”
Harrison shrugged.
Coach huffed and pulled the stringer up out of the water. “You want to let this fish go?”
“I don’t want you to be mad,” Harrison said.
Coach’s face softened. “I’m not mad. I think I get it. You’re a good kid, Harrison, you know that?”
Harrison eyed Coach with suspicion. Then his throat tightened and his eyes got moist.
No one had ever called him that before.
Chapter Eleven
THE INJURED FISH WAGGED its tail and disappeared with a flash among the sunbeams reaching deep into the water. Harrison felt a smile creep onto his face.
They kept fishing. Harrison tangled the line a couple times and botched most of his casts, but Coach didn’t seem to mind. He was patient with Harrison, and after some time Harrison was able to cast pretty well. He never caught a fish, but Coach got three and laughed when Harrison nodded his approval to set them aside for dinner. None were as big as the injured one, but Coach said his wife would be happy.
