by Tim Green
“What do you mean ‘off the field’?” Josh asked.
The wipers swiped the windshield, and Josh’s house appeared and disappeared, appeared and disappeared, as fresh raindrops spattered the image.
His father looked surprised. “Josh, a Division One coach? I could end up coaching in the Bigs one day if Colby wins a few titles. And you know how great it would be to suit up as a Yankee?”
Anger caught flame inside Josh. “I thought you always said that family is more important than anything.”
“I did.” His father gripped the wheel and turned his whole body toward Josh. “I do. This can help our family, Josh. It can help me and you. Your mom and sister too. Do you have any idea how much money major-league coaches make?”
“Probably a lot.” Josh moved to reach for the door handle.
“Definitely a lot.” His father took hold of Josh’s arm to prevent him from getting out. His hand swallowed Josh’s arm. It was a hand Josh had seen crush soup cans like tissue paper, and it got his attention now.
“Hey, what’s up with you?” his father asked.
Josh looked at his father’s dark eyes, tucked beneath the brim of the Titans baseball cap but still glinting in the light of the dashboard. Rain pattered on the roof and hood.
“Our family is broken, Dad. A college job won’t fix that.”
His father paused and loosened his grip. “Families come in a lot of different shapes and sizes, Josh. It doesn’t mean we’re not a family. Look at Benji. Look at Jaden.”
“Jaden’s mother died.” Josh knew he sounded mean, but he didn’t care.
“That’s not what I meant,” his father said.
“Can you see Mom moving to Florida?” Josh asked.
“Maybe. Why not? She loves the sun.”
Josh just shook his head.
His father put the car into park and shut off the engine.
“Come on,” he said, getting out of the car.
“Where are we going?” Josh got out too.
His father marched toward the side door that opened into the kitchen, tall and straight as if it wasn’t raining at all. He stopped with his fingers on the handle of the battered screen door. “Let’s ask her.”
“Ask who? Ask what?” Josh said.
“Your mother,” his father said. “Let’s ask her if she’ll move to Florida with us.”
The word “us” pierced Josh’s heart like an arrow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JOSH’S FATHER DUCKED HIS head as he marched in, tracking puddles across the kitchen floor. Josh followed and could hear the TV around the corner in the den. Still dripping, Josh hung his equipment bag from one of the coat hooks on the wall leading down into the basement, then shucked off his cleats.
“Laura?” his father’s voice boomed through the tiny house.
Josh’s mom didn’t appear, but his baby sister did. “Dada! Dada! Dada!”
She shrieked, trundled across the floor, and threw herself into their father’s arms. He scooped her up like a towel and flung her around. Their laughter filled the kitchen like a million bubbles, bright and clean and bursting with joy.
His father held her high and began dipping her head until they touched noses, their voices like music.
“I’m gonna get you!”
“Hee hee!”
“I’m gonna get you!”
“Hee hee!”
And so they went like the refrain from a song on the radio until Josh’s mother appeared in the doorway from the living room. His mom was tall, and she stood at her full height with her arms folded. The look on her face cast a shadow on the kitchen and all its festivities.
“Gary.” She gave him a severe nod and reached for a stack of papers on the countertop next to the toaster.
Josh’s dad gently set Josh’s sister down on the floor, where she began to fuss and whine, bouncing up and down, asking for more.
“Laura,” his father said. “We need to talk.”
“What are these?” She jabbed the papers at him like a knife fighter. “Do you mind telling me? Are we in trouble here?”
His father snatched them without more than a glance and stuffed them into his back pocket. “We’re fine. I’ve got it all covered.”
“You do? Look at the yellow one, Gary. It says something about foreclosure.” His mom put her hands on her hips.
His father waved a thick hand in the air, dismissing the papers. “Banks like to talk tough. I’ll handle them. I’ve got a plan. They always give you time when you’ve got a plan.”
Josh could see from his mom’s pinched face that she wasn’t finished. “And the electrician keeps calling. He wants to get paid.”
The severity of Josh’s mother’s voice froze little Laurel in her tracks, and she stumbled over to their mother, clinging to her legs and mewling like a kitten.
His father gritted his teeth, and Josh felt all his newborn hopes and dreams melting away.
“Guys.” Josh stepped between them. “Stop. Mom, Dad has some really great news. Right, Dad?”
His father’s face softened a bit, and he put a hand on Josh’s head. “Can we sit down?”
“Of course.” His mother was still stiff, but she scooped up Laurel and marched back through the small front room they called their living room even though it looked out onto the back lawn and into the even smaller room they called a den, home to the TV and a couch that some might call a love seat since three was a crowd. In the corner sat his father’s La-Z-Boy, its fake brown leather worn pale and nearly through on the arms and headrest. It had been an empty reminder of his father’s absence these past several months, but now his father took his throne as if he’d never left.
His father told the story of Crosby College, revealing details Josh hadn’t known. Jeff Enslinger, the school’s athletic director, had been talking to him for a month. His father said he’d visited Crosby during the Titans’ Sunshine Tournament in Tampa three weeks ago and seen the great work being done to the facilities. Josh replayed their three days in Tampa, wondering when in the world that had happened until he came up with an afternoon when Coach Moose had taken the team to Busch Gardens. Josh had been so excited, he barely noticed that his father had stayed behind.
His father stopped talking and looked pointedly at Josh before he continued. “It’s the best thing for Josh too. I can keep coaching him. Keep an eye on him anyway. People will want to do right by him if they know his dad is in charge of the college baseball program. That’s how it works, especially when we go Division One.”
Josh’s mother didn’t seem impressed by any of it, but Josh knew she’d been struggling lately. It wasn’t uncommon for him to hear her through the locked door of her bedroom crying.
“So,” Josh’s father continued, “I was thinking . . . maybe you could come down there too. We could all go. Leave this house. Get out of these crazy winters.”
Josh looked at his mom. Her eyes widened with surprise. This was everything Josh had been dreaming of, hoping for, praying for. Finally, their family could be back together. He didn’t care if they lived on the moon or in the middle of the Mohave Desert. If the four of them could be together, Josh would go anywhere.
Josh’s mother blushed.
She opened her mouth to speak, and he held his breath because he had no idea what she might say.
CHAPTER NINE
“I HADN’T EVEN THOUGHT about getting back together, Gary.” His mom’s voice was soft, but scratchy with feeling. “I didn’t think that was on the table.”
Josh felt sorry for his mom. She reminded him of an autumn maple leaf, trembling in the wind, beautiful but ready to fall.
His father cleared his throat and shook his head. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. Um, I meant we could all move down. I don’t see us getting back together. That’s not really part of this. I’m just trying to keep us close—as a family.”
The color drained from his mother’s face in an instant. Josh’s heart dropped to his feet.
“Get out.” His mother pointed toward the door, her voice still soft, but terrible now.
Josh’s father stood. “I just think—”
“Get out.” She raised her voice to a normal level, not looking at Josh’s father, but still her quavering finger pointed at the door.
“It’s not fair to make him have to choose.” Josh’s father backed away, scowling.
“Get out!” She jumped to her feet and screamed. “I said, get out!”
Laurel’s face crumpled. She took three big gasps of air. Josh plugged his ears just as she began a piercing howl. His father stormed out. The kitchen door crashed shut. Josh shook his head, grabbed his baseball and glove, ran up the stairs, and slammed the door behind him as well. He dove onto the bed and buried his head in the pillows, pressing them tight to his face and screaming.
“I hate you! I hate you all!”
CHAPTER TEN
AFTER THINGS FINALLY QUIETED down, Josh heard his mom carry Laurel up the stairs and put her to bed. His mom knocked softly on his door, saying his name. Josh refused to answer. He loved his mother and he felt sorry for her, but hadn’t she had a hand in all this? He could easily recall her nagging his father over and over about money, money, money. She’d done it tonight, hadn’t she? The stupid electrician’s bill? He’d heard them fighting beneath his bedroom for years on end, and a part of him understood why his father had called it quits.
So he bit his lip and remained silent until she gave his door one final, shocking thump, spit out the word “fine,” and went away. She slammed her door too, and Josh bolted upright, banging his head on the low, slanted ceiling above his bed.
“Ow! Stupid ceiling! Stupid, crummy bedroom!” He slithered off the bed, grabbed a duffel bag, and began stuffing it with some clothes. The idea of running away didn’t seem like a plan anymore; it seemed like a necessity. It didn’t seem like a way to get his parents back together; it seemed like a way for him to get away from them both. He grabbed his Speed Hitter, thinking he’d need the training bat to stay sharp. On the edge of his mind flickered the worry about where he’d ultimately end up living and how he’d care for himself, but the cloud of anger and determination was too thick for him to think about that. He put a ball in the pocket of his glove and duct-taped it closed, adding it to the duffel bag.
He texted Benji, then Jaden, letting them know that their plan was in full swing.
With his own heavy breathing the only sound to be heard through the house, he crept down the stairs ninja-like in his socks, planting his feet heel to toe with the care of a watchmaker. He removed the note from his pocket and set it on the table.
At the kitchen door, he threw on his sneakers and grabbed a raincoat off its hook before letting himself out into the dark, dreary night. Outside, cold gusts of wind whipped his face with rain. Energy from the weather rushed through his body, filling him with excitement. He slung the bag across his back, gripped his Speed Hitter, and took off at a lope up the street.
Before rounding the corner, he took a final glance at his house. He snorted at its gloom and kept going in the misty glow of the streetlamps. The roads were wet and wild and empty, but Jaden was waiting for him at the door to her house. She swung it open as he climbed the steps onto the covered front porch. Wind rushed in as he dumped the dripping duffel bag and training bat on the floor.
“You’re all wet.” She used her shoulder to close the door, then helped him out of his coat and hung it on a rack inside the door. “We can let it dry for a few minutes, but let’s not forget to bring it to the basement. I’m sure someone will be coming to my door tomorrow looking for you, and it’d be pretty dumb if your coat was hanging here. Sneakers too.”
Josh already had his sneakers off and in the rubber tray where Jaden’s sneakers rested beside a pair of her father’s running shoes. He pointed to his stuff. “What about this?”
“Downstairs, I think.” She motioned to him and opened a door he hadn’t even realized was there beneath the staircase leading to the second floor. “It’s not bad, and no one can see in.”
He followed her into the stuffy, gloomy space, blocked off from the really nasty part of the basement by some paneled walls that bowed in and out. On the floor was a carpet so thin it might have been painted onto the concrete. In the corner sat a dusty old tube TV with a coat hanger for its antenna. A musty plaid couch backed into one wall. It faced a large chrome-and-glass-framed copy of Vincent van Gogh’s Starry Night on the opposite wall.
“My dad calls this his think tank. One small window over there. Not much sound. His favorite painting. Perfect place to hide. Just no Xbox.” She pointed at the sad-looking TV.
Josh flicked the light switch on the wall and a floor lamp next to the couch jumped to life. It was a good reading lamp, and he said so.
“I got you the Lord of the Rings trilogy,” Jaden said. “I think you’ll like it. It’s a great story about running away. Really it’s about how you can’t run away. All you do is fulfill your destiny.”
Josh plunked himself down on the couch, looked around, and saw a fat black spider resting on a web in the corner of the ceiling. “Some destiny.”
“Well, it’ll heat things up with your parents.” Jaden ignored the spider and sat down next to him. She pushed her frizzy hair behind one ear, exposing her long neck and those thick, dark eyelashes.
“It’s already pretty hot. They really went at it.” He told her what happened.
She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Josh. It sounds terrible. Maybe you should go back. I’m not one hundred percent sure this is the right thing in the first place, especially because it was Benji’s idea.”
“It was a good idea on the bus.” His voice came out angrier than he intended.
“On the bus they hadn’t had this big blowout,” she said. “I don’t know if you can even bring them together now.”
“Well, I’m not going back.”
“You can’t stay here forever,” she said.
“You think I don’t know that?” He glared at her and kicked the duffel bag on the floor.
“Then what?” She was not flustered.
“I don’t know. Benji’s place, then maybe Bricktown.” Josh recalled the young men on the street corner. He knew most of them didn’t have families, either. “I’ll join a gang and live with the rest of them.”
Jaden waved her hand. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard.”
“Well! I know it’s stupid, but I’m stupid right now, okay?”
Jaden got up and headed for the door. She stopped and turned around. “I think you should go home. I won’t make you. I’ll go along with whatever you want, Josh, but I think if you go back right now, this will all turn out better. There. I said it.”
They stared at each other in silence, battling wills.
“Well?” Jaden finally asked.
Rain thrashed the tiny rectangular window in the corner of the room, and the house above them groaned beneath the wind.
Josh wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to hug Jaden, but she was standing too far away.
He opened his mouth to tell her all those things.
“Good night” was all he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JOSH AND JADEN DIDN’T talk when she brought him her Lord of the Rings paperbacks. She put the boxed set down on the end cushion and retreated up the steps. He took the first book, The Fellowship of the Ring, from the box and began to read about wizards and hobbits and elves, relieved to be lost in a scary wood, distracted from the ruin of his own life. At first the musty smell of the couch invaded his brain, but as the book and the night went on, his nose quit complaining. The boiler chugged away from behind the wall. The couch grew warm and cozy as the rain raged on against the window, and Josh caught himself drifting off. He reached up for the switch, put out the light, and fell into the black emptiness of sleep.
Somewhere in the night, an angry sound wrenched Josh awake.
He had no idea where
he was or what was happening. In the total darkness nothing made sense. Then he remembered where he was—Jaden’s basement. He remembered the warnings Benji gave on the bus about staying alone and break-ins. He saw furious, staggering shapes on the walls.
Josh bucked and fought to free himself from the fear.
He heard Jaden cry out.
The light went on, and footsteps thundered down the steps.
The face he saw terrified him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“YOU THINK YOU CAN just run away?” Josh’s father demanded.
“I . . .”
Josh’s father raised a mighty paw to strike his face. Josh went limp. There was no use struggling against the power of a lion. When the blow came, all Josh felt was its breath. His father’s hand slammed the cushion next to his head, sending a storm of dust swirling through the yellow cone of light from the reading lamp.
“You what? You what, Josh?” His father shook Josh’s neck like it was a feather. “You like scaring your mother half to death? Scaring me?”
“No.” Josh could barely speak.
Jaden stood by the door in her nightgown and robe, holding herself tight with both arms. She looked frightened or angry or maybe both.
“Ahhgg!” His father cast him loose. Seeing Josh’s phone on the arm of the couch, he snatched it. “I’m taking this phone. You’re not having a phone.”
Josh sank into the couch. His father stamped around the small room with hands flying in wild circles above his head as he spoke. “You’re impossible. Things are falling apart, and you’re running away! Is that what you think life is about? Things get tough and you run!”
Josh might have been a marionette on strings, yanked suddenly upright, his jaw opening and closing without his control, words spilling from his mouth that couldn’t have been his. “You’re the one running!”
His father spun on him, cobra quick, and got in his face. “I am not running. I have a job.”
