by Debra Dixon
“I know an accident when I see one and that was no accident.” Tag reached down and helped extricate Greg from under what was left of the table. “You all right, son?”
“Yes, sir, but, Coach...” Greg hung his head in that way he had when somebody played a trick on him. “Coach, you can’t bench Luke. He’s the best receiver we got. I’m all right. Um... I don’t think he meant to hurt me.”
“There... You see? Even the retard knows I didn’t do it on purpose.” The swagger had returned to Luke’s voice.
“For calling Greg ‘retard’, you get another week on the bench. You’ve just taken yourself off the team for the game against Bigelow. One more time and you’re off the team for good. Am I clear about that?”
Realization started to dawn on him and his face morphed from smart-aleck to contrite...almost. “Coach, he’s right. I’m the best—”
“Best or worst makes no difference to me. I made it clear from the beginning that everybody on this team deserves respect. Even the team manager.”
Tag stood there for a moment, watching. I knew this cut way into his game plan, but I couldn’t let something like this happen without consequences. “Coach is right, Luke. Hit the showers.”
“Y’all will be sorry when we lose.” He looked directly at me, a malevolence I’d never seen in his eyes piercing me. “You think it was bad when you first came here? Just wait until people hear what you done now.”
He turned and stalked off the field. I glanced at the men standing by the fence—fathers, mostly—half-expecting them to start raising hell. Not one of them said a word.
I turned to look at the team. Their jaws hung open in astonishment. “Okay, boys. Let’s reconfigure those offensive plays. We’re not going to have Luke, so we need to put Tater in.”
Tag took the ball immediately and began to discuss the new play he’d come up with earlier. Turns out, with that particular play, Luke’s absence might not make much of a difference.
When I was sure Luke had time to clear out of the locker room, I dismissed the players. Some of them were helping build floats and would take a quick shower and then come back to stuff tissue paper into chicken wire or whatever the cheerleaders had planned.
Tag watched me carefully as I strode into my office and slammed the door. He waited until the boys were leaving before he knocked lightly.
“Come in,” I called.
“Um... I’m getting ready to head home. You want to stop by for some supper? I don’t know what Maggie has planned, but—”
I gazed at him, realizing that he was looking for an invitation to sit and discuss what had happened. I’m not sure I was ready to talk about it, but I guess I owed him some sort of explanation. “Hang on, Tag. Have a seat for a minute.”
He obliged and drew up a folding chair, spinning it neatly in front of him until it faced backwards and sitting down with his hands folded over the chair back. “What’s on your mind, Coach?”
“We’ve been friends a long time. I guess it’s time we talked about this.”
His brows knitted together and a serious demeanor overcame his usually cheerful smile. “Okay. So talk.”
“Years ago, long before I met you...” I swallowed hard. This confession wasn’t going to be easy and I knew it. I’d never spoken about this with anyone and had felt guilty for the past thirty-five years because of it. “Look, I hate to mess up our friendship telling you this, but it’s been eating away at me for years. I need to tell somebody. I’d rather it be you than somebody else.”
“So talk. I’m not somebody who’s going to—”
“I know, I know.” I swallowed hard again, wishing I had a drink. Something alcoholic...anything alcoholic. “I haven’t had a drink in thirty five years.”
“Congratulations. Is...is that it?”
“No, I wish it was as simple as that.” I glanced at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above me. “Look, Tag. I’m not proud of this, God, I wish it had never happened.”
“Coach, I’ve known you since I was eighteen years old. I’ve never known a more honorable man. It can’t be that bad.”
“Yeah. It can.” Memories flooded over me, that horrible night. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the vision that swam before me. It was useless. Better tell him and get it over with. “I killed a boy.”
“What?” His eyes opened wide, the horror visible in his face.
“Not literally. But my actions contributed to his death.” The words began to tumble forth. “He was retarded. Cecil Atworth. He hung around the campus all the time, particularly around the practice field where we were playing. We teased him all the time. Unmercifully.”
I couldn’t help it. A tear slid down my cheek. I glanced at Tag. He was still there, listening attentively. That he hadn’t jumped up and bolted out the door was something I considered a good sign. “I was probably one of the worst. I was cocky. I was perfect, or so I thought. Star football player. Good looking. Popular with girls. Hell, life was handed to me on a platter. I was too stupid to realize it at the time. I was a bonafide smart-ass.”
“Coach, look, I—”
“Let me say this, son. And if you’re going to look for excuses for me, don’t. I don’t deserve it.” I sucked in air and leveled a gaze at him. Tag was a good man. I was lucky to have him as a friend. “That Saturday night, we won...big. We were on top of the world. Had a few too many drinks after the game, celebrating with fans who wanted to buy us drinks. We beat Alabama by twenty-four points. As we left the bar, Cecil came up to me grinning his foolish grin. God, what a dopey look he had on his face. Maybe he’d had a couple of drinks, too. I don’t know. I was leaving with Mimi Francis, the head cheerleader. Cecil clamored all over me, clapping me on the back and trying to hug me. I shoved him. He fell backwards into the dirt. A couple of other guys who’d come out with me were laughing and carrying on, making fun of him. When he tried to get up they shoved him back down.
“That dopey look turned into anger. He glared at us and swore to get even. He grabbed his rickety bicycle and pedaled off, heading across the street. He probably never saw the car coming. It was speeding. Cecil never had a chance.”
“And that’s it? Something you did when you’d had too much to drink, when you were a kid?”
“Tag, that kid is dead because of me.”
“No, not really, Fred. You may have started it, but the other boys finished it. Were they football players, too?”
“No. I didn’t know who they were.”
Tag sighed and shook his head. “That’s a tragedy. Were you charged?”
“Hell no. I was a star football player.”
“Yeah, but if there had been a direct link between you and Cecil’s death, you would have been charged for sure.”
“Maybe.”
“Look, Fred, I know you’ll never be able to forget it happened, but you need to stop beating yourself up about this. It happened twenty-five years ago.
“Time doesn’t alter what happened and it doesn’t... it’s never taken away the guilt.” I buried my face in my hands, unable to look at Tag’s earnest face any longer.
“Fred, this is about Greg, isn’t it? About Luke tripping him and making fun of him. It’s not about you, not anymore. I’ve seen what you’ve done over the years. I’ve seen the work you’ve put into Special Olympics. Everything happens for a reason. That tragic accident years ago changed you. It made you a better man, a better coach.”
I raised my head and stared at him, surprised that he hadn’t declared he never wanted to see me again. It was almost like I wanted him to. I wanted the punishment for what I’d done. He sat straighter and crossed his arms. “Now, are you coming to dinner or not?”
“You’re still inviting me? If Maggie knew, she’d—”
“She’d what? Put her arms around you and tell you to
forgive yourself? That’s exactly what she’d do. And Maggie’s smart about things like that.”
“What time?”
“Come now. We have some planning to do anyway. We can do that while she finishes supper.”
I swiped at a tear that trickled down my cheek. Imagine if my boys could see their intrepid coach with tears in his eyes. I’d never be able to discipline any of them again. “All right. Let me get my stuff.”
Tag went out to make sure the boys were gone and the locker room cleaned up. I followed almost immediately.
We walked out the door of the locker room and into the sunset. It was one of those beautiful moments, when the sun was sinking below the horizon and the sky blazed with colors. Somehow I felt lighter. Talking with Tag had been the right thing to do.
“Oh, Tag, Ida left some produce in your car. I meant to tell you earlier.”
“I saw you talking to her. She had a hard look on her face and I thought something was wrong.” He chuckled. “Just like her.”
“I’ll tell you about the rest of it at dinner.” I turned to walk toward my truck and spotted trouble. Willard Overbrook was standing by my truck, arms crossed like he was about to bust a gut.
Tag glanced at him and then back at me. “Need some help?”
I dragged in a deep breath and shook my head. “I can handle Willard.”
Tag nodded and strode away. I noticed that when he got to his fancy sports car, he reached in and pawed through the bag of produce Ida had dropped in. He was obviously delaying his departure until he could determine what was on Willard’s mind.
Can’t put it off any longer if I’m gonna make it to dinner, I thought, and headed toward Willard. “Hey, Willard. What can I do for you?”
He watched me approach, glanced at Tag and then back at me. “I got something to say. A score to settle, I reckon,” Willard said.
My first thought was to call for Tag, but something about Willard’s face stopped me. “What would that be?”
He spat tobacco across the next parking space and then faced me again. “This ain’t easy, Fred...er, Coach.”
“What’s that, Willard?” I tilted my head Tag’s way. “I’m having supper with Tag and Maggie and I don’t have much time.”
“It won’t take much time. I been meanin’ to talk to you ever since you got here. Now, I’m glad I didn’t.”
Anybody could see the conflict on his face. He looked like a tortured man. I knew the feeling. “Sometimes, it’s best just to say what you got to say and get it off your chest. Clear the air.”
To put Willard more at ease, I called to Tag. “We’re fine. Go on home to Maggie.”
“You sure?” Tag eyed Willard dubiously.
I waved him away. “I’ll be along directly.”
As Tag started his engine and drove out of the school parking lot, Willard stood straighter and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, they were glistening with tears. “Maybe I should come back.”
I reached out and gripped his arm, trying to reassure him. “Talk to me, Willard. What’s troubling you?”
“I was at Georgia when you were there. You were the big man on campus that senior year. We won the Alabama game.”
“That was a great win, all right. Tag and I were just talking about that...that game.”
“It’s what happened after the game I want to talk about.”
My palms got sweaty. Had Willard overheard the conversation? “Yeah? After the game.”
“Yeah. I saw you and your date leave and followed you out. I admit I was jealous. She was a looker, you were popular. You had everything, seemed like.” He took out a pouch and put a pinch of tobacco in his mouth. “I saw you push that boy.”
“Look, Willard, a lot of time has passed. I know I shouldn’t have done it. I wasn’t thinking right and I’d had too much to drink.”
“I guess. But I had more to drink than you did.” He squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment and then looked directly at me. “I kicked that boy. We did. My bully buddies and me.”
I was totally stunned at his revelation. “Are you kidding me? You were there? I didn’t even know you were at Georgia when I was.”
“Yeah. I was there. I’m not proud of what I done. Fact is, that night haunts me to this day.”
“Well, it’s something that’s not far out of my mind either.”
“But you weren’t the one who hurt him so bad he jumped on his bike and tried to get away. I’m responsible for that boy getting killed that night.” He looked down at his feet and I saw a tear slide down his cheek. “I was a freshman. When I realized what happened, I dropped out of school.”
“Willard, we were...we were just kids ourselves.”
“Don’t make no difference. Never should have happened. I was raised better than that.”
There was no disputing that. And I had no answers for him. I’d just said pretty much the same thing to Tag. “Look, Willard, let’s go—”
“I know you got to go, just let me finish.” He watched me a moment as if to see if I was going to run or leave anyway. “I’ve lived with that thirty-five years. I figure God got even with me, though. I’ve been paying for my actions for years now.”
“Paying for it? What do you mean?”
“Greg. Greg is my grandson. I figure God wanted to teach me a lesson, so he gave me a grandson that’s like that kid was. That Cecil kid.”
“Greg is your grandson? He’s a great kid. I made him team manager. Willard, for God’s sake, he’s not a punishment for something you did all those years ago!”
“Anyway, I saw and heard what you did today. I been watching to see how you treat him. I gotta say, I was expectin’ you to ignore him or make fun of him.”
“Make fun... Do you know how much time I spend with Special Olympics? I’m on the Georgia Board of Directors. I volunteer countless hours and contribute a ton of money and—”
“Yeah, I heard about that. But to be honest, that ain’t got nothing to do with how you treat somebody when the spotlight’s not on and the cameras ain’t rollin’.”
“Willard, if you’ve got a complaint about the way I’ve treated Greg, I need to hear it. I’ve gone out of my way to—”
“Nope. That’s what I’m telling you. When I heard Tag say he’d recommended you as coach, I lost it. I started a campaign to get rid of you before they ever hired you. I guess part of it was guilt on my part or I thought you might remember me and start something. I’m here to apologize because I misjudged you.”
I could only stare for a few seconds before my brain kicked in and I nodded. “Thanks, Willard, that means a lot.”
“And I really appreciate what you did for Greg today.” He stuck out his hand and I shook it. “But you don’t really have to bench Luke. I want us to win that game. Greg wants us to win that game.”
“You know, Willard, I want to win that game, too. But not at the expense of a good kid’s life or even his feelings. When I told the team that Greg was a part of the team, I meant it. I won’t tolerate Luke acting that way to anybody. He’s benched. The team will pull through this, but a lesson needs to be taught here. Everybody has value. We’re a team. Those boys might think it’s cool to pick on a helpless kid. I don’t, and it’s stopping today.”
Tears streamed down his face as he nodded. “Greg worships you. From the minute you first came, he kept telling me that you were a great coach. And when you made him team manager, well, that boy thinks you hung the moon. You got a friend for life. Two friends. Greg and me. If you’ll have me.”
I clasped his arm and nodded. “I’m honored to have friends like you and Greg. Thanks for telling me about this. It made both of us feel better. What we did all those years ago wasn’t right, but look at the differences we’ve been able to make in many people’s lives because of that nig
ht.”
His lips curled into a smile and he wiped his eyes on his flannel shirt sleeve. “I reckon I’ll see you in the mornin’ at breakfast then.”
“I ’spect so. I’d be pleased to share a cup of coffee with you anytime.”
Willard turned, headed over to his truck and climbed in. As the engine roared to life, he stuck his hand out the window and waved. I just stood there, amazed. I felt better than I had in years. Maybe it was sharing that episode with Tag, maybe talking to Willard. But whatever it was, I smiled and jumped into my truck with a light heart. My guilt for that night would never go away, but because of two very different men, it didn’t hurt so much anymore. Healing comes when we least expect it. And at times, from the strangest direction.
I popped a Tums in my mouth for that dratted heartburn and headed for Tag’s house, feeling more like a Creekite than I ever thought I would. Before I got out of the parking lot, this old Creekite was humming “Glory, Glory to Georgia.”
I felt like I’d come home.
PART FOUR
The Great Time Capsule Caper
Louise & Peggy, Friday morning
The assessor’s office was hidden in the far end of the basement and manned by Felicia Wren, who matched her name, small and brown, but definitely not shy.
“The dragon at the gate,” Peggy whispered as we walked up to the counter.
When I asked to look at the old plans for the football stadium, she peered at me over her thick bifocals. “Why?”
I was going into confrontation mode when Peggy edged in front of me, gave Mrs. Wren her sweetest smile and said, “I’m writing a monograph for the North Georgia Historical Society on ways the old football stadium reflected Mossy Creek culture and how the fire changed things. I need a copy of the site plot, please. I’ll pay for the copy.”
“Indeed you will. They’re way back there somewhere.” Felicia pointed toward the Mammoth Cave of deed boxes and file cabinets behind her.
“May we come look and save you the trouble?” I asked.
