Buddy Carruthers, Wide Receiver

by Jean C. Joachim

  Emmy rose to her feet, her hand to her mouth, gasping for air. “Buddy!” she hollered. “Get up!”

  The spectators remained quiet while a medic gently removed the receiver’s helmet then went to work. Emmy stared at his arms and legs, praying for a sign of life. She held her breath for what seemed like an eternity, until she saw him move. First his hand, a foot, and then he lifted his head an inch or two. The fans waited. The trainer supported Buddy as he tried to sit up. The medic signaled, and an electric cart raced across the field.

  The driver joined the trainer. With one supporting each shoulder, they half carried, half dragged the wide receiver to the vehicle. They propped him up into a sitting position. Buddy raised his hand a few inches as he was carted off the field to the cheers of the fans.

  Emmy pushed her way over the knees of seated spectators and through the dense crowd. She got to the archway just before he arrived. “Buddy!” she called out.

  The trainers stopped while he looked around, spied her, and offered his hand. She took it, lacing her fingers with his.

  “We need to take him inside for some tests, Miss Emerald.”

  She nodded, tears streaming down her face.

  “Maybe you can come in and see him in a little while. I’ll ask the doc,” the one nearest to her said.

  “Okay. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Emmy, baby,” Buddy murmured then closed his eyes.

  A guard approached her. “Maybe you’d better sit down, Miss Emerald. Would you like some water?”

  She nodded and fished in her pocket for some bills. She handed him a five and leaned back against the stands. Her knees were weak. The uniformed man returned quickly, placing the bottle in her hand.

  “Let me take you to your seat. We’ll come get you when you can see Mr. Carruthers.”

  “Oh, thank you so much.” Her gaze searched for his nametag. “Thank you, Albert.”

  “No problem, Miss Emerald. We take care of our own here. You’re Mr. Buddy’s girl. Gotta respect that.”

  His girl. Am I his girl? Of course I am. As the game continued, her memory returned to a sunny day when her tour bus had passed through Willow Falls.

  “Pull over,” Emmy said, rising from her comfy seat.

  Stash blocked her way. “It’s bad enough you had us take this stupid road. Now, you wanna stop?”

  The bus slowed. The driver took his orders from “Miss Emerald,” as he called her.

  “Yeah. In front of that barn.” Emmy grinned, pointing.

  “You call that a barn? It looks more like a group outhouse.”

  “Be quiet, Stash.”

  They pulled into a nearby driveway. The driver opened the door. “Here you go, Miss Emerald.”

  “Five minutes! You’ve got five minutes!”

  Emmy was on the ground heading for the building before Stash could utter another word. She tramped through the tall weeds, running her hand along the rough walls and peeling paint.

  It hadn’t changed. Her mind drifted back to college days at Kensington State. Back then, she had been “Emmy, Buddy’s girl.” When he didn’t have football practice, she and Buddy would steal away across lonesome roads to this secluded spot. She was never certain his wheezy, old car, which brought them there, would be able to take them back. Emmy always packed a picnic. They’d eat and share their dreams by the banks of Willow Creek.

  The first time it rained, they had taken shelter in the old building. Then, they made love, just like after the dance. She sighed at the memory of his tender touch.

  No one makes love like Buddy, she thought. One peek inside, and she spied their initials, still visible after five years, where Buddy had scratched them into the wooden wall. The barn had become their secret place to be alone.

  The swishing of someone pushing through dried brush ripped her attention from the happy memories. “What’s so great about this dump, anyway?” Stash asked, a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” she replied.

  His gaze rested on the initials. “It’s Buddy, isn’t it?”

  “Like I said. You wouldn’t understand.”

  The blowing of a whistle near her was loud enough to jar her back into the present. Emmy tried to concentrate on the rest of the game. The one thing she did see was four Kings’ linebackers jump on Horse Jackson. She figured they were exacting revenge. Even though they took a fifteen-yard penalty for unnecessary roughness, Buddy had been avenged.

  Her mind wandered, unable to concentrate.

  “Probably got a concussion,” the woman sitting next to her said.

  Emmy’s eyes widened. “Think so?”

  “Yep. Happens a lot in football.”

  She didn’t know anything about concussions, and it frightened her. She whipped out her fancy phone and researched the treatment. Before the game ended, Emmy managed to absorb enough basic information to understand what Buddy needed, how to gauge his symptoms, and what she could do to help.

  The team trotted off the field. The Kings had squeaked out a win by three points over the Bobcats. Emmy cheered and waved to Buddy’s teammates as they headed for the locker room. She chewed her lip, waiting to get word about her beloved.

  Finally, the coach appeared. “Miss Emerald?”

  “That’s me.”

  He smiled. “You can see Buddy now. He’s had a concussion, so he needs to be kept quiet.”

  “I know. I read all about it on the Internet. No exercise, no television, no reading, nothing to tax the brain.”

  “That’s right. You’re good.”

  The coach put his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the locker room. Emmy halted at the doorway. He steered her to the left, into a room that came before the place where the players got naked, soaked taxed muscles, and showered.

  “It’s okay. No one’s changing in here.”

  She let out a breath as she followed him into the small space with half a dozen chairs lined up and a white board behind a podium. Buddy sat in one of the seats. He looked worn out. Her heart thumped faster.

  “What are you doing here?” He looked up at her. There were dark circles under his eyes and an angry-looking bruise on his chin.

  She touched his face gingerly, afraid to hurt him. “I came to tell you off, but after you got hurt…well, I changed my mind.”

  “Let’s not talk here.”

  “I love you, Buddy. Can I go home with you and take care of you for a few days?”

  He smiled at her and reached for her hand. She closed her fingers around his. He lifted it to his lips. “Sure.”

  “She can ride with us. How soon can you leave, Miss Emerald?” the coach asked.

  “Please call me Emmy. All I have to do is return the rental car, then I’m free to go. My bags are packed and in the trunk.”

  “I’ll have our trainer follow you there in a cab then return you to the airport. I hope you can keep this lug quiet on the flight.”

  “I will.”

  * * * *

  While the plane was held up, waiting for Emmy, Buddy stretched out on a makeshift bed in the back of the 737. He sipped apple juice through a straw and wolfed down some cheese sticks and a roll, brought by the stewardess. When he finished, the attractive young woman removed the tray. With a full belly, he laced his fingers behind his head, lay back, and closed his eyes. His mind was foggy about the present moment, but clear as a bright blue sky about the past. He thought back to when he had met Emmy. It was in college, early in the morning on a warm day.

  Buddy often took an early morning swim before football practice. Since the pool in the gymnasium building didn’t open until seven, he’d sneak out to a small, local lake at six. He’d shed his clothes and soundlessly lower himself down the ladder, stark naked, into the cool water.

  While his buddies were sleeping off the alcohol from the night before, Buddy was doing his “fish exercises,” as he called the Australian Crawl. His father had taught him
to swim when he had turned six. In high school, he had competed on the swim team, until it clashed with football.

  His mom had advised him it would be much easier to get a free ride to college with a football scholarship than a swim team one. So, Buddy chose football, but he still loved the water.

  The campus was quiet as Buddy cut through the pond’s surface with a smooth, expert stroke. Then, a few strains from a guitar stopped him short. He glanced at the small dock and spotted a pretty, young woman sitting cross-legged, next to a tree, strumming. He switched to the breaststroke, approaching her perch soundlessly, like a shark closing in on its prey.

  She played the folk song “500 Miles” and sang softly, keeping her gaze on the strings.

  When she was done, his voice broke the quiet. “Nice. Where’d you learn to play?” Propped up on his elbows on the ladder, he checked her out, his gaze sweeping over her T-shirt and shorts. Nice body.

  She looked up. “Lessons. I’m a music major.”

  “I’m a phys. ed. major.”

  Her sharp green eyes, like two glowing jewels, drew his attention. She made a derisive snort. “Figures. You’re a jock, right?”

  “Football.”

  She put the instrument aside and stood up.

  “Don’t leave. Play some more.”

  “Why?”

  “I like it.” He started to climb out of the water, but stopped when he remembered he was naked. “Can you throw me my clothes?”

  She did and turned around. Buddy scrambled up the ladder and pulled his cut-offs on in a flash.

  “I’m Buddy Carruthers.” He put out his hand.

  But she didn’t offer hers. “Emmy Meacham.”

  “One of those snobs? Too good for an athlete?” His eyes narrowed, and his jaw stiffened.

  Her gaze dropped. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just that athletes are out for only one thing.”

  “Oh?” He cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t even know me, and you think I only want to sleep with you?”

  “Don’t you?” She stared back at him, her eyes drawing him in.

  “You’re beautiful. What guy wouldn’t?”

  “I thought so.” She turned, but Buddy grabbed her by the elbow.

  “Hey. Wait a minute. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to get to know you.”

  “I’m working to pay for school. I don’t have time for heartbreaking Romeos.”

  “I’d never break your heart.”

  “Wanna bet?” She placed her hands on her hips.

  “Give me a chance.”

  “Why should I?” Her mouth puckered up into a pout that he found irresistibly kissable.

  Buddy brushed her lips with his quickly then wound her arm through his. “Tell me your life story over breakfast.” He steered them toward the student union.

  The wide receiver sighed when his recollection was interrupted by the stewardess. “Can I get you something else, Mr. Carruthers?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks.” Can you dial me back to that day in the student union? If I could do it again, Emmy, you’d be at my side forever.

  The coach appeared next to his bed. The man asked him one or two questions then advised him what he could and couldn’t do on the trip home. “I’ll give you a brochure when we get back Buddy. It spells out how to take care of a concussion.”

  “I’ve got Emmy taking care of me. That’s all I need.”

  Coach smiled and patted his player on the shoulder. “Take it easy. Rest now. Sleep is good. Emerald will be here soon.”

  The wide receiver grinned and shut his eyes again.

  * * * *

  Emmy shuffled through papers in her bag until she found the itinerary Paula always put together for their trips. She punched the address of the car rental place into the GPS, signaled to the car behind her, and pulled onto the road. She chewed her lip as she thought about the move she was about to make.

  What am I doing? Buddy’s not committed to me. How can I be committed to anyone but Stash? I’ve tried this before, but when you leave, they forget you. They screw around. You become just a memory.

  Her cell rang. Emmy pushed “speaker.”

  “Where the hell are you?” Stash’s voice sounded tinny.

  “I’m taking the car back then I’m going to Connecticut for a couple of days.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Long story, Stash.”

  “And I bet it starts with Buddy Carruthers, doesn’t it?”

  Internal heat burned her face. “What difference does it make?”

  “If he’s fucking up your career, I’ll kill him.”

  “He’s hurt!”

  “Really? And nurse Emerald is gonna fix him up? Like you know shit about that stuff.”

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “I know enough. You don’t need a degree to follow doctor’s orders.”

  “He’s using you.”

  “He didn’t ask me. I volunteered.” She stopped at a traffic light then turned left.

  “I thought you were going to kiss him off. Come back to me?”

  “That was the plan. Things changed.” She checked in the rearview. The trainer was right behind her.

  “Really?”

  “I don’t have to explain anything to you. I’m an adult and can do what I want.”

  “And sleep with who you please, right?”

  “Don’t go there.”

  “You used to be my girl.” His tone softened.

  “We’re still connected. Buddy was before you.”

  “I thought you left him in the dust.”

  “So did I. I never thought I’d see him again. You’re the one who booked me to sing at his game. What did you expect?”

  “It was good publicity, and I expected you were over that childhood crush.”

  “It wasn’t a childhood crush.” She pulled into the driveway of the rental office. “Look, Stash, I’ve gotta go. I’ll be in Chicago, as planned.”

  “You’d better be.”

  “Really? Or what?”

  “You’ll ruin your reputation if you don’t show. And I’ll drop you.”

  “Your loyalty takes my breath away.”

  “Shit! Just be here. On time. I’m done with this.” The phone went dead.

  Emmy’s pulse kicked up as she drove into the parking lot. She didn’t relish making Stash mad, as she had no idea what he’d do. He needs me. I’m his cash cow. Yet, a little spike of fear slid up her spine. New talent came along every day. Stash always had at least three or four sexy young women approach him, shoving CD’s in his hand, their eyes promising more than financial reward if he made them successful.

  She’d let out the breath she’d held when he returned the recordings and patted their rears before rejoining her. Then, Emmy would cling to his arm, and they’d have sex that night. Terrified of losing him, she’d nestle in his arms for a restless sleep filled with bad dreams.

  Fear never substituted for love. The idea of him disappearing to launch the career of some busty young woman filled her with dread. Emmy was young yet, but for how long? The travel and performing was grueling. She’d begun to hate it, but loved singing and writing songs.

  What would happen to me if Stash left? I’d die. I’d disappear. I’d become Emmy Meacham, and Emerald would exist no more. And yet, there was something oddly appealing about that idea.

  When she finished her transaction, Zach, the trainer, was holding open the door of the taxi. No more bad thoughts about Stash. I’ll be in Chicago on time. But first, Buddy.

  The door closed, and the vehicle headed back to the airfield and the bedside of Buddy Carruthers.

  Before they boarded, Zach held out a piece of paper. “Would you give me your autograph? My kids’ll kill me if I come home without it.”

  She smiled at him, got the children’s names, and wrote a brief note. Zach retrieved her large bags from the trunk and hauled them to the baggage section, which was open, awaiting this last load. As she wrapped her fingers around the flimsy railing, she wond
ered what she’d find.

  Will Buddy be happy to see me? Is he still angry? Can I help him? Her heart fluttered in a way it hadn’t for a long time, her hand felt empty because it wasn’t clutching his. Nerves kicked up as she entered the cabin.

  Her fears dissolved when she was surrounded by a warm round of applause and a few whistles. She’d come home.

  Chapter Eight

  Buddy lay in what looked like a modified hospital bed. He patted a seat next to him, and Emmy sat down.

  “Nice of you to arrange such fine entertainment for the flight,” Bullhorn said.

  “Your lucky day,” Buddy replied.

  The stewardess asked Emmy what she wanted to eat and drink. As the young woman mentioned a few dishes, the singer realized she was starving. She ordered a chicken club sandwich and water. “You can’t have alcohol,” she said to Buddy.

  “So? That shouldn’t stop you.”

  “Gotta stay sober to take care of you.” She chuckled.

  “She comin’ to stay with you?” Bullhorn asked, resting his elbows on his massive knees.

  Emmy nodded. “He needs someone to look after him for a few days.”

  “Does he know all the rules?” Griff Montgomery asked, from across the aisle.

  She smiled at the quarterback. “I looked it up on the Internet.”

  Buddy shifted on the bed. “What rules?”

  The coach covered his smirk with his hand and looked away.

  “What are they?” Buddy continued.

  Emmy counted off on her fingers. “No alcohol, no television, no video games, no reading, no cell phone, nothing to tax your brain. Or body. No working out, no running, no exercise, no physical activity at all.”

  “Geez. Nothing?”

  “No sex!” Griff burst out. The men laughed even as they blushed and looked away.

  “Wait a minute!” Buddy sat up.

  Emmy eased him back down with a gentle palm. “That’s right. No sex,” she agreed.

  “Crap! You’re joking?”

  “I wish I was.”

  “I can’t do anything at all? I’m a vegetable.”