He and his mother came to the open foyer and people spread out, moving faster now.
From the corner of his eye, Logan could see that in spite of her quick escape Sarah was going to meet up with him after all.
If he slowed his steps just a fraction...
“I’ve got to give something to Angie Flikkema,” his mother said, stopping and pulling an envelope out of her purse. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
And when she left, Sarah’s aunts were heading toward them, Sarah in their wake. Dot had her head turned toward Tilly, who was digging through her purse. As they swept past, neither of them saw him.
Sarah, however, lagging a few steps behind, had him with a vigilant eye.
Her wariness gave him a curious reluctance to confront her, but by the time his second thoughts had caught up with the situation, she was directly in front of him.
“Hello again.”
Her only reply was a curt nod and a clipped “Hi.”
Great conversation starter. “How is your father doing?” He fell into step with her.
She didn’t reply, winding her scarf around her neck with jerky movements, but he waited, letting the bubble of silence between them grow.
“I’m surprised you want to know,” she said, coming to a stop and glaring up at him. “Especially when...”
He frowned at her anger, as unexpected as it was uncharacteristic. “What do you mean?”
Sarah pressed her lips together, then shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”
But it did. “You were going to say something else.”
She sucked in a quick breath. “He didn’t want you there. You were making him upset.” Her words popped out of her mouth like single-syllable darts.
Her animosity resurrected the niggling sense of remorse that his conversation with Frank might have had something to do with the man’s collapse. Except that it had been Frank who had initiated the conversation. “And what was I supposed to have done? Left you alone with a man who was stumbling on the street?”
“He wanted you gone,” Sarah said in a choked voice. “He wouldn’t even look at me.”
Was that hurt in her voice?
Then Sarah looked up at him, her eyes snapping with anger and he realized he had read her wrong again. Their last words before her departure had been ones of anger, as well. They had argued about her father, as well.
Six years, and nothing had changed. Nothing
at all.
As for her father? Well, Frank Westerveld had other actions to answer for.
* * *
As Sarah watched Logan leave, the bitterness that had held her in its hungry grip loosened its jaws. And once again, she felt as if everything she had said had come out all wrong, twisted in the space between thinking and saying. Sarah pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging away a low-level headache that threatened to take over.
She had driven across the country on the strength of a rare request by her father, to see what he had to say. Yet, when she finally connected with him, the last intelligible words he had uttered were directed toward Logan. And she, Sarah Westerveld, dutiful daughter, had been sidelined once again.
She thought she had grown up and away from her life here.
Obviously not.
She counted to fifteen, took a calming breath, then walked toward the door. She needed to get out, get into her car and drive her frustration away.
“Sarah. Hey, Sarah,” Uncle Morris, her father’s brother, called out. She waited a beat, then turned to face her uncle, drawn away from her tottering emotions by the obligation of family.
“Are you going to the hospital? Do you need a ride?” Her uncle wiped his hand over his balding head, shiny with perspiration from his exertion.
“No. I’ve got my own car, I’ll drive myself.”
“Good...good.” He tugged on his crooked tie and straightened his suit coat. Sarah sensed a lecture coming. “I noticed you were talking to Logan Carleton.”
“He was talking to me,” Sarah corrected, preparing to defend her actions.
“Well, it’s good to see him and Donna here.” Uncle Morris’s words surprised her. Then he slipped his arm around Sarah’s shoulder, just as he used to when, as the principal of her high school, he would meet her in the hallway. “Dan tells me you are going to be sticking around for a while. To help take care of your father.”
“Well, as much care as I can give him.”
“That wouldn’t take up all of your time, I’m sure.”
“Probably not.”
“I imagine you read about Mr. DeHaan’s heart attack?”
“Yes. That’s too bad. Does he still coach?” Sarah asked, wondering about her uncle’s leap in topics.
“He coaches the boys team now. Or did.”
“So you’ll need a new coach.”
Morris nodded, looking at Sarah with an expectant look. “Would you be interested?”
So this was where he was headed. “I don’t know anything about coaching a basketball team,” she protested. “Especially not a boys’ team.”
“Sarah, you were a star basketball player when you played here. I’ve been following your career in college basketball. I know how well you’ve done there. I won’t find anyone of your caliber locally. The team we’ve got is one of the best ones we’ve had in years. They have a real shot at the provincial title. It’s not going to happen if I don’t get a good coach for these boys. You could do the job.”
“Uncle Morris, coaching and playing are two different disciplines and they require two different approaches.”
“They’re a real good team and you know what that can do for some of these boys,” he said, as if she hadn’t voiced her protest. “Getting to the provincials could be their ticket to an education. A chance to expand their horizons.”
Sarah knew exactly what basketball could do. It was thanks to her own scholarship her second year of college that she had been able to put herself through school without depending on her father’s help anymore. And the thought of being involved in a game she loved and had poured so much energy and emotion into did tantalize her. She tested the picture, trying it on for size, and for the first time since she came to Riverbend, she felt a trickle of excitement. “I might be interested.”
“Great, I can arrange for you to come later on next week.”
Her uncle’s earnest gaze made her smile. Uncle Morris was a curious combination of Uncle Dan’s gentleness and her father’s hard-nosed intensity. If he wanted her to coach the basketball team, he wasn’t going to stop until she said yes.
But the old Sarah, who would have agreed immediately, was buried under six years of independent decision making and away from her father’s influence.
“I said might,” she reprimanded gently, surprised at her own temerity. “Give me some time to think about it.”
Uncle Morris looked momentarily taken aback, as if surprised at this new attribute of his niece, but then he smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “I don’t want to pressure you, but the season starts in a couple of weeks. The boys’ coach would have started practices and tryouts already. I want to make sure these very talented boys can get started as soon as possible.”
No pressure at all, thought Sarah. “I’ll let you know.”
She said goodbye and, as she was leaving, her cousin Dodie appeared and grabbed her by the arm. “You’re coming to our place for lunch before you go to the hospital. Mom told me to make sure I drag you, pull you, whatever it takes.” Dodie gave Sarah’s arm a tug as if to underline her threat.
“It won’t take dragging,” Sarah said. “I love your mom’s cooking.” It would be no hardship to spend some time at Uncle Dan and Aunt Tilly’s beautiful home.
“I noticed Logan talking to you. What did he want? What did he say?
” Dodie demanded as they walked toward the door of the church.
Sarah dismissed her questions and all six foot two of Logan with an abrupt wave of her hand. She did not want to talk. She still had to process the moment herself.
Chapter Four
She was prettier. Older. And in the six years since he had seen her, she’d gained an edge she didn’t have when they were dating.
Logan ran water over his grimy hands, wishing he could as easily remove Sarah from his mind.
When he had first seen her on the sidewalk in town, he thought he had imagined her. But when she spoke, she sounded as distant as she had the last time they had talked.
He hated hearing that tone and he hated that it could still elicit such a strong reaction. Sarah Westerveld had dropped out of his life and moved on. He had moved on. He had other Westervelds to deal with.
His hands stopped their ceaseless lathering as his mind flitted back to that truncated conversation in front of the coffee shop. He knew he should have been more diplomatic. He probably should have walked away instead of showing his hand by telling Frank to his face that he was going to buy Crane’s contract with Frank’s business. Whether Frank liked it or not.
Sarah’s veiled accusation that he had caused her father’s stroke still stung—partly because he felt guilty about it himself, but mostly because it came from her.
He shook the water from his hands. Enough. He had enough things on his mind right now. Sarah was just a blip on the radar. And she would be gone in a matter of days.
“Are you coming?” his mother called out from the kitchen.
He shook his head, dried his hands off on the towel, closed his mind to the memories, then joined his mother and brother just as Donna spooned some potatoes on her plate and handed the bowl to his younger brother, Billy.
Logan breathed deeply. When his father came back from that last day in court, acquitted but broken, his mother had put the Bible away and they had never again prayed before meals.
But after his father died, emptiness had overtaken Logan’s life. And when he found out that Frank Westerveld had stopped going to church, Logan started attending again. Occasionally his mother and Billy would come along; more recently, Donna had been attending more regularly. He’d slowly been making room for faith and God, though he wasn’t sure how to put it all together in his life.
“So we found out who our new basketball coach is going to be,” Billy said as he pulled the plate of hamburger patties toward him.
“And let me guess, you’re not impressed.” Logan gave his mother a quick wink. Billy hadn’t been impressed with the previous coach, either. Logan guessed that even Kareem Abdul-Jabbar would not have completely met with Billy’s approval.
“At least Mr. DeHaan was a guy.”
Logan frowned. “What you mean?”
“You heard me. Our new coach is a female. A woman. A lady. What am I supposed to call a woman coach?”
“‘Coach’ would probably work,” Donna said.
Logan felt a trickle of premonition. “Sarah Westerveld?”
Billy shot him an irritated look. “Yeah. It is. How do you know?”
Logan put his fork down. “When did you find this out?”
“At tryouts today. Mr. Westerveld came to the gym to introduce her. His niece.” Billy rolled his eyes. “Can you say nepotism?”
“I’m surprised you can, the way you’ve been studying.” Donna turned to Logan. “Can they do that? Can that Morris Westerveld just give his niece the job?”
“I don’t know how much say parents have in the process,” Logan said, trying to process this new and unwelcome piece of information. He thought Sarah was going to be leaving.
“The guys aren’t happy about a woman coach,” Billy grumbled.
“Can’t say I’m so happy about it, either,” Logan said. Basketball was Billy’s potential ticket out of Riverbend, a way to leave all its petty politics and dirty little secrets. Billy stood a good chance of getting a scholarship, but, in order for that to happen, his team needed to stand out. Needed to win.
Billy was a gifted player and needed the right kind of coach to bring his talents out. Someone who would push him. Get him motivated.
There was no way Sarah Westerveld, the girl who couldn’t even stand up to her own dad, could do that.
“Is she going to be coaching the entire season?” Logan asked.
Billy’s only reply was a shrug.
Logan dug into his supper. He had to do something. It seemed the Westervelds would always cast a long shadow over the lives of his entire family. But he wasn’t going to sit back and let his brother lose his chance because of another Westerveld.
Not without a fight.
* * *
Déjà vu all over again, thought Logan as he lounged in the doorway of the high school gym, the heat produced by fifteen players filling all available space and passing out the door around him.
He used to stand in this same place and watch Sarah play. She had always relied more on strategy than aggression, which made any game she played more fun to watch.
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his worn jean jacket as his narrowed eyes followed the group of boys, sweat darkening their hair, T-shirts with the sleeves ripped off flapping around tall, rangy forms as they ran up and down the wooden floor. The thumping of the basketball kept time with the pounding of sneaker-clad feet. His brother, Billy, was carrying the ball. He pivoted, dipped and then launched himself into the air. It was as if he kept going up and up—and at the apex of his jump, he even had time to pause, eye the basket, aim and shoot with perfect execution. As he came down, heads pivoted to follow the ball.
A “clang” resounded through the gym as the ball bounced off the rim, followed by a mixed chorus of exaltation and disappointed anger. A miss. Billy caught his rebound in his large hands, then slammed the ball against the wall in a fit of frustrated anger.
Logan shook his head at the testosterone-laden display. Obviously a brother-to-brother chat about self-discipline was coming up.
The sharp bleat of a whistle broke into the moment, then a young woman’s voice called out to the boys to hit the showers.
And Logan’s narrowed eyes found a new focus.
Sarah kept her focus on the boys as they paused. Billy dribbled the ball a few more times, a show of defiance. The other boys glanced from Billy to Sarah, as if gauging whom they would follow.
Sarah kept the faint smile on her face, holding her clipboard close to her chest as she stared the boys down. One by one, they slunk off, leaving Billy behind.
Billy bounced the ball a few more times, then pushed it away with a look of disgust as he followed his teammates out of the gym.
The ball bounced across the gym, then rolled past Sarah.
“Billy, put this away, please,” she said, her voice pleasant, her pretty face angled to one side as she stopped it with her foot.
Just like the other boys had only moments ago, Logan looked from Billy to Sarah to see what would happen.
“You’re the last one to touch it, you put it away,” he said with a sneer. Then he sauntered out of the gym full of his own self-importance.
Logan shook his head at the familiar scene. Though he was disappointed in his brother’s behavior, it was nice to see someone else on the receiving end of his brother’s sass for a change. He certainly had put up with enough of it over the past few years.
Sarah’s sigh drifted past Logan as he pushed himself away from the doorway and walked toward her.
The movement caught her attention and she turned. She tucked a hank of hair behind her ear, a welcoming smile on her face that quickly faded. Her lips pressed together and she clutched the clipboard even closer.
A flicker of something indefinable crossed her features. “Logan Carl
eton. Stalking me again?”
“You played basketball the same way,” he said, stopping within a few feet of her.
“Pardon me?” Her frown deepened.
“You were never much with the defense, were you? You always liked to lead the attack.”
Sarah rocked back on her heels, still holding her clipboard like a shield. “Sounds to me like your strategy right about now,” she returned with a cynical half smile.
She surprised him. Cynicism was his specialty, not hers. In high school Sarah had always been a positive, upbeat girl with an open smile and pleasant demeanor. That attribute had drawn him to her.
“I’m not stalking you,” he said, returning to her original comment. “Just watching the practice.”
“Just like you used to.” Sarah pulled in a long, slow breath and released it quickly, as if pushing the past away, as well. “What can I do for you, Logan?” She bent over and scooped up the basketball with one hand, tossing it into the container beside her.
“I’ve actually come to talk to Morris but wanted to watch Billy’s practice.”
“What do you need to talk to my uncle about?” Sarah pulled the whistle from around her neck, still headed toward the bench.
Logan wondered what she would say if he told her the truth, then figured he may as well. She was going to find out sooner or later.
“I want to ask him to get someone else to coach the team.”
Sarah spun around, almost losing her clipboard in the process. “What did you say?”
“This team has a real good shot at the provincial title and I want to make sure that nothing stands in their way.”
“And you think I will?”
“I think these boys need a firm hand. They’re used to Mr. DeHaan. He took no nonsense from these boys. He knew exactly how to handle them. And they responded.”
“Unfortunately Mr. DeHaan is in the hospital right now.” Sarah tapped her clipboard against her chest, facing him down.
“That is unfortunate. But, as I said, these boys need guidance. They need someone tough. Someone who won’t back down.”
“And you think I will.”
A Family-Style Christmas and Yuletide Homecoming Page 21
