The only surprising thing about this parents’ meeting was how quickly it had been organized. Sarah knew something was afoot when she saw a group of people clustered around Trix Setterfeld in one corner of the gym after the game on Saturday.
Sarah knew all the parents by name and had spoken to many of them after practices and games. But the only person in the group who would meet her eye was the tall man standing against the wall at the back of the room. Logan Carleton.
“All last year Mr. DeHaan kept saying that this team was going to be the best team he’s ever seen,” Pete said. “By this time last year, the boys had won twice as many games as they lost. This year, it’s the other way around.”
“How do you suppose replacing Sarah as a coach will resolve that?” Morris added a faint laugh, as if he thought the idea not even worth getting serious about. He crossed his arms, as he rested one hip on the metal teacher’s desk. “This isn’t the NBA. It’s just high school basketball.”
Trix Setterfeld stood up, her arms crossed over her corduroy blazer. “Morris, this is not just high school basketball. This represents an opportunity for our boys to get in front of scouts from colleges.” Her gaze slid to Sarah then she focused on Morris. “Some of us can’t afford to pay the full cost of our boys’ education.”
And there it was again. The fabulously wealthy Westerveld family just didn’t understand the plight of the common Riverbend resident.
“Sarah, do you have anything to say about this?” Morris asked.
Sarah had lots to say, but knew that she had to tread a fine line between diplomacy and hard facts. She was very aware of Logan standing in the back of the room, watching.
She knew he had spearheaded this movement and, though it made her clench her teeth in anger, it also hurt that he seemed to have no qualms about taking the coaching position away from her. She should never have let him know what it meant to her. She had given him an edge that he could use.
“You parents are wrong about these boys,” she said, looking around the room, gauging the effect of her little drama statement. Concerned frowns. Agitated whispers.
She nodded, acknowledging their protest. “This is not a good team, this is a great team. They have tremendous potential—”
“So why are they losing?” Beth interrupted her.
“Short answer? Leadership.”
“Is that why you pulled Billy Carleton?” Pete called out. “’Cause my boy said that’s why they lost. ’Cause you pulled Billy.”
Sarah glanced at Logan, who had straightened and was watching her with those intensely dark eyes. She looked away, took a breath and continued. “The boys have been depending on their captain, on Billy, too much. If Billy is off his game, then the team falters. And Billy...well, he’s been letting them down. I’ve been addressing this problem by getting the boys to play without him. I want the team to develop their many individual talents and skills.”
“But Billy has always been their leader....”
“Which is precisely why this is a problem. Yes it’s important to have a strong leader as captain, but it’s even more important to play as a team. As a unit, utilizing individual strengths. Being able to cover for a player when they’re down on their game, when they’re injured or unable to play.” Sarah stopped herself right there. She had an entire spiel memorized and had gone over it and over it while doing drills with the boys this week, while jogging in the treadmill at home, while watching the plays on her father’s television. But every time she’d recited it, her anger and frustration had taken over as it did now.
“But couldn’t Berube get more out of those boys?” Trix spoke up. “Derek says that it’s hard to respect a woman coach.”
“That’s odd, since Derek doesn’t seem to have that problem once he’s at practice,” Sarah shot back.
“Couldn’t we just try this Berube guy for a while? I mean things couldn’t get much worse.”
Oh yes they could, thought Sarah. Switching coaches midstream seldom worked, even in professional sports. She glanced at her uncle Morris for support, but he seemed to be keeping a low profile. Of course, as her uncle, what could he say that wouldn’t seem biased?
The parents murmured among themselves, planning, talking. Each glance sent her way, each a frown, and Sarah felt the one thing that gave her even a glimmer of happiness being taken away from her.
It shouldn’t matter. It was just a volunteer position.
But basketball had always been her catharsis. Had always given her a focus. Basketball was the one thing she did better than Marilee, better than anyone else she knew. It was the one place in her life where she felt in control.
Now, more than ever, she needed this. Needed the way it sucked up her time. Coaching gave her a built-in excuse to stay away from the hospital and her father and his unwelcome proclamations of forgiveness.
“And if we get Mr. Berube to come and coach, how do we know the boys will respect him?” Logan’s deep voice carried through the room, over top of the murmuring voices.
Trix Setterfeld looked back, her frown clearly showing what she thought of his intrusion.
“I think Sarah has a rapport with these boys,” Logan continued, “and if you look at the stats, you’ll see the boys are moving up each game.”
Sarah hardly dared look at him, hardly dared believe that Logan, who had been so adamant that she couldn’t do the job, was suddenly confident of her skills. And no one could accuse him of patronage.
“But they’re still losing.”
Logan shrugged, walking to the front of the room, and came to stand beside Sarah. “It’s still early enough in the season, the boys could probably absorb another loss.”
Well, maybe not completely confident of her skills. The boys wouldn’t lose their next game, of that Sarah was certain.
“And I don’t know if Mr. Berube has enough skill and experience to coach this team,” Logan continued.
“What’s happening, Logan?” Trix glanced from him to Sarah as if trying to find a connection between the two. “A few weeks ago you were actively campaigning to get rid of Miss Westerveld. What made you change your mind?”
“Billy has been, as she said, dogging it on the court.” He shrugged. “I see that now, and I think she has a strategy to address it. Let’s see how it plays out.”
Sarah could hardly believe what she was hearing. Logan defending her in a public forum. From the corner of her eye she caught him glance her way, but she didn’t dare make eye contact. She was too aware of the question in Uncle Morris’s eyes as he watched her, Logan standing beside her, the two of them aligned against the parents.
Some more murmuring among the parents followed Logan’s suggestion. Sarah tried to gauge the tone of the looks, their words. Logan didn’t join them but instead stayed beside her, his hands pushed in the pockets of his coat.
She knew she was making the situation bigger than she should. Whether she coached or not wasn’t earth-shattering. But now she needed some purpose, some reason for staying here. And in spite of the grief she got from some of the boys, she knew she was getting somewhere with them.
After a few more moments of what seemed to be intense discussion, Pete got up. He scratched his head but avoided looking at Sarah. “We gotta think of our kids. I hope we have some say.” He glanced at Morris. “And since we didn’t have any say in Sarah taking on the position. So I want to give Mr. Berube a kick at the can. They’re our kids and it’s their opportunity we might be tossing out.”
Sarah didn’t even know she was holding her breath until it rushed out of her.
“Don’t do this, Pete,” Logan said. “Give her another chance.”
She waited for one of the other parents to side with Logan, but the uncomfortable silence in the room excluded her.
Morris swung his foot back and forth, his arms folded ov
er his chest as he looked at the parent group. “You realize that coaching the team is a voluntary position, but also that we need to choose based on skill and knowledge. I’m not aware of what Mr. Berube knows or how much experience he has.”
“He’s at least coached before,” Beth said. “That’s more than Sarah has done.”
Morris sighed and ran his hand over his thinning hair. “I’m not so sure about this. I don’t like it.”
“We don’t like seeing our boys lose,” Trix said.
Her uncle Morris was caught in a difficult position and Sarah felt sorry for him. There was an easier way. She took a breath and made a decision.
“I’m sensing I’m not going to have a lot of support from you as parents,” Sarah said quietly. “And without that, my effectiveness as a coach is pretty much nil.”
Sarah slipped her bag over her shoulder and stood. “I’ll quit.”
Chapter Eleven
As the heavy door fell closed behind her, her knees felt suddenly rubbery. Sarah leaned against the lockers lining the hallway, staring at the gleaming floor. What had she just done?
Made a decision. Made a choice.
The door creaked open again, and Sarah jumped.
Logan joined her in the hallway.
“Hey there,” he said, coming to stand in front of her. “I really thought they would give you another chance.”
“They care about their boys.” She clutched the strap of her backpack, clinging to it with both hands as if for support. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.” She gave him a careful smile. “I appreciated that.”
Logan shifted closer then, to her surprise, he laid his hand on her shoulder. “When I watched you in the gym the other night, you were tearing around that floor like it was yours. Like you owned it. I remember watching you play the same way. I’m pretty sure that this Berube guy doesn’t play with the same passion—wouldn’t be able to instill that same passion in those boys.”
Sarah smiled at his assessment and affirmation.
“So, now that you have all this time on your hands,” he said, “I was wondering if you might... come on that sleigh ride I promised you the other day.”
Sarah looked up at him, surprised at the invitation.
He was looking at her, a faint smile teasing the corner of his mouth. The tension that seemed to personify their previous encounters had shifted with his defense of her.
“Was that a promise?” she asked. “I thought you were just being polite.”
Had she really injected that flirty tone in her voice? Added a teasing smile?
“Yeah. It was.”
Then his hand came up and touched her hair, so lightly she might have imagined it. Her heart thrummed with expectation even as one practical part of her mind warned to keep her distance.
Maybe it was the location, their old school, maybe it was the timing—she was feeling vulnerable and he was here. Maybe it was all the kisses they had shared in the past, the many times she had reached for the phone to call him, the unfulfilled anticipations of young love. Maybe it was all that, that made her lean toward him...
The door beside them swung open.
Sarah jumped back and Logan moved aside.
“...here’s hoping things turn around,” she heard as Pete stepped out of the room, followed by the rest of the parents.
Pete paused when he saw Sarah and Logan, then he ducked his head, as if ashamed to meet her eyes, and the rest of the people filed past them, suddenly quiet.
Morris followed them out and, as he glanced from Logan to Sarah, she felt as if she had plunged backward in time.
“You going to be okay, Sarah?” Morris asked, his tone gentle and understanding. “You don’t have to quit.”
Sarah laughed lightly. “Yes. I do. If the parents don’t support me, I lose my effectiveness with the team.” She gave her uncle what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I just lost a well-paying job.”
“So you’ll have time on your hands.” He waited a beat. “Are you going to be visiting your dad tomorrow?” he asked.
“Maybe.” She should say more. Uncle Morris deserved more than that pithy reply. But other thoughts and feelings were shouting out for attention.
But Logan, who had brushed her tears away, who had, with just a few words, erased most of her reasons for cutting him out of her life—Logan, who had once held her heart, stood beside her. Waiting.
“I have something in the car for you,” her uncle said. “From your aunt.”
Sarah felt suddenly awkward, torn between family obligations and the promise of what might be. She turned to Logan, unsure of what to say.
“I’ll see you around,” Logan said, taking a step backward and giving her an out.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said, suddenly not caring about her uncle Morris or what he might think. “About that sleigh ride.”
Logan nodded, a wry smile teasing one corner of his mouth. “You do that.”
Then he turned and left.
* * *
Sarah sat in her car, the windows of the Carleton house throwing out oblique rectangles of golden light on the snow.
What was she doing here?
Collecting on a years’ old promise. Getting away from that empty house and the loneliness that echoed through it.
She’d avoided coming here by phoning Janie, but Janie was headed out to do some Christmas shopping for her girls. Sarah politely turned down the invitation to come along. The Westerveld relatives had eschewed buying gifts for some years now, preferring instead to simply get together for a nice dinner and pool together whatever money they might have spent and send it to the missionary family their church supported.
The only person on her gift list was her father, and at the moment she couldn’t wrap her head around buying him anything. So she worked her way down her unofficial visiting list, but her aunts were off to choir practice and Dodie had a hot date.
All obstacles for coming here had been neatly removed and here she was. Sitting in a car that was slowly getting colder, trying to work up the nerve to actually walk up to Logan’s house.
Sarah slowly got out of the car, the butterflies in her stomach growing more agitated with each step she took.
Was she being wise?
A sleigh ride with Logan? With a moon hanging fat and full in the sky above her?
The moment of awareness that had trembled between them had stayed with her every waking moment. She and Logan had a history, an unfinished history. Surely they had a right to finish that off properly before she moved on.
They could excise the old ghosts, laugh about it and go on with their lives, unencumbered by the burden of history and unfinished conversations.
Yes. That was a good idea. Finish this off. Closure.
She knocked sharply on the door, then clasped her hands in front of her, shivering a moment with a combination of cold and anticipation.
But Logan wasn’t the one to come to the door. Donna opened it, releasing once again the scents of home. She gave Sarah a cautious smile, then stood aside. “Logan is just finishing supper.”
“I’m sorry...I...” She glanced at her watch, double-checking the time. “He told me to come at seven-thirty.”
“That’s okay. He came home late. Come join us.”
Sarah waved away the invitation. “No. I don’t want to be a bother. I can just wait outside.”
“Mom made apple pie.” Logan came up behind his mother, smiling. “She would be insulted if you sat outside while we ate.”
“Please, do come in,” Donna said, gesturing toward the dining room. “I’d like you to join us.”
“Okay.” Sarah slowly removed her coat, savoring the smell of dinner. Ham, she thought, and maybe potatoes. An
d that same cinnamon smell interlaced through the comforting aromas of food prepared for a family.
She thought of the slice of cold pizza she had eaten while watching television. College food in her father’s house.
She followed Donna into the kitchen and was immediately enveloped by delicious warmth. She heard a snap and a pop and noticed the woodstove, a fire glowing through its glass doors.
“Have a seat.” Donna pulled out a chair for her. “I’ll get you a plate.”
“Hey, Miss Westerveld.” Billy threw her a quick glance, then dove back into the book he was reading while he ate.
“How is the basketball coach working out for you guys?” she asked
“He’s okay.” Billy kept his eyes on his book.
“You’ve got a pretty big game coming up this weekend.”
He only nodded.
“You playing?”
Another nod.
“You’ll have to excuse Billy,” Logan said, his voice holding a harsh note as he set a pie plate on the table. “He’s suffering from the pangs of Older Brother Lecture.”
Billy curled his lip at that very same older brother, then went back to his reading.
Sarah just nodded, hoping that was enough acknowledgment of what looked to be a controversial subject.
“I found out about Nelli and about the welding and about the plans he had made without talking to me,” Logan continued as he scooped out pieces of pie and set them on plates. “And we had a talk about hiding behind his playing and using his coach as an excuse for his poor behavior.”
Logan gave Sarah a look rife with apology as he handed her a piece of pie. “He’s not liking the repercussions.”
Billy just rolled his eyes, slapped his book shut and dropped it on the table. “May I be excused?” he asked his mother.
“Not yet,” Donna said. “We’re having dessert and then we’re going to have devotions. You can stay for that.”
A sigh, worthy of any teenage girl, blasted out from Billy as he slouched down in his chair, the picture of put-upon adolescence.
A Family-Style Christmas and Yuletide Homecoming Page 29
