Coach Maddie and the Marine

by Edens, Blaire

  He’d never accept it as just a part of war.

  She was a beautiful and vibrant woman who shouldn’t be a widow.

  Emotions weren’t his thing but he couldn’t ignore the sorrow lodged deep in his heart. He also couldn’t ignore the need to make things right.

  Maybe he’d help with her nephew’s football team. Maybe if he spent some time around her, he could gather up the courage to talk to her about Frank, find a way to apologize to Maddie and ease some of the weight of the guilt.

  Who was he kidding? She probably wouldn’t let him help. He was a reminder of everything she’d lost.

  On the other hand, if Frank were here, he could’ve coached Andrew himself.

  He couldn’t let the kid’s team suffer. He’d just have to convince her that he was the man for the job.

  Maybe this was one small thing he could make right.

  ...

  Andrew sat silently in the backseat of the car as they rode to the practice field Tuesday afternoon. The sky was bullet gray and Maddie had been praying for rain all day. Unfortunately, it looked like the precipitation was going to hold off just long enough to get through the first practice.

  A binder crammed with notes and photocopies on positions, formations and strategies she’d prepared over the past few days sat on the passenger seat. She’d watched a handful of football games, and even though she was terribly nervous, she was prepared. She’d even stopped by Jerry’s Bakery and bought a tray of cookies and treats for the boys.

  She and Andrew were the first to arrive at the field. After unpacking the car and piling the balls on the corner of the field, she placed the cookie tray on the sign-in table beside the carefully arranged football-themed napkins. From her tote bag she pulled the sheet of name tags she’d made for each player. She opened her binder to her roster, and tucked the football motif ballpoint pen she’d bought just for the occasion behind her left ear.

  The boys began to arrive. She stood behind the table and gave each boy their name tag, with instructions to wear it on their left side, and a cookie when they checked off their name on the roster. With the last boy checked as present, she took a deep breath, cleared her mind and prepared to step into her new role as Coach.

  Whistle around her neck and digital watch on her wrist, she yelled, in her best authoritative voice, which she’d practiced in the bathroom mirror, to the boys, “Okay, boys, line up on the fifty-yard line.”

  “We don’t have a fifty-yard line, lady. Do you see any lines on the field? When’s your husband showing up so we can get started?” a surprisingly deep voice asked. She looked down to find a boy with a very solemn face looking up at her.

  She glanced up at the field. No lines. All the books had yard lines. All the fields on television had lines. In hindsight, it would have been a good idea to check out the field before practice. The tone of the kid’s voice suggested the team was already close to mutiny and she hadn’t even introduced herself yet.

  “I know there are no lines.” She looked for the boy’s name tag. “Hey, where’s your sticker?”

  “Hey, where’s our coach?” the boy shot back.

  She couldn’t back down now. “I’m your new coach. My name is Maddie Westerfield. I’m Andrew’s aunt. You can all call me Coach Maddie.”

  “I’m not playing with a girl coach.” This time it was a different voice. “I’m quitting.”

  A chorus of “me, too” followed.

  Great. I should have known I couldn’t coach this team.

  She looked to the bleachers where a handful of parents sat, their eyes on the boys. She could not, would not, let these boys quit the team with all those parents watching.

  “Here’s the deal. Your coach was deployed and I begged other parents to help out and coach the team. Since I didn’t have any takers, I’m your only choice.”

  The boys stared at her, silent. She pivoted on her heel and walked away, hoping her attempt at “take-away” psychology would work.

  She heard murmurs behind her. She kept walking. Halfway across the field, a small hand tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Coach Maddie?” the voice asked tentatively.

  She turned to face the boy. “Yes?”

  “We’ve decided that we’ll give it a shot. We want to play.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Henry. Henry Travis.”

  “Okay, Mr. Travis. Let’s go back and get this practice underway.”

  ...

  At a quarter past three, David closed his office door behind him and jiggled the doorknob to make sure it was locked. He saluted the guard on duty at the front door and walked across the parking lot to his car. As he pulled out of his spot, he ran over the list of errands he needed to run—grocery store, drugstore, and finally to the dry cleaners to pick up his uniforms.

  But first, he had football practice. He maneuvered onto the main road leading through post and drove toward the main gate. Football practice. Despite the circumstances, he grinned. It had been a long time since he’d been to one.

  Most of his fondest memories were of playing football with his brother, Robert. Only two years apart in age, their earliest games were played in the front yard of his parents’ home in Mississippi. After an injury sidelined Robert in high school, only David went on to play in college.

  But those weren’t the best games of his life. The best ones were the ones his father coached, when they were boys, when he and his brother were on the field together.

  He missed Robert. Every day. Every hour.

  He’d been his first and best friend.

  These boys deserved the same kind of memories.

  By the time he was halfway to the main gate, he was second-guessing himself. Showing up at practice probably wasn’t the best idea. She’d said she didn’t need his help. She didn’t invite him.

  He was probably the last person she wanted to see. Probably, hell. He was the last person she’d want to see.

  It was foolish to think helping out a team of eight-year-olds would do anything to ease his guilt.

  Or help her move forward.

  He didn’t have to spend a whole season coaching a team to find the time to apologize to her. He could call her on the phone, ask for a meeting. For that matter, he could email her.

  But that would leave the kids without a competent coach.

  He made a left turn and drove through Officers’ Housing. There was nothing he could do to bring Frank back. There was nothing he could say to explain his failure to Frank’s widow. But the need to try was overwhelming.

  He turned the car around and headed in the opposite direction, back toward the dry cleaners.

  On the other hand, he was the reason Maddie was a widow. She needed help, even if she didn’t realize it, and football was something he knew. Her sister was deployed. She was alone.

  All alone, because of him.

  He owed her. Big time.

  It was only football. It had nothing to do with how beautiful she was. Nothing. He barely even noticed. He’d have done the same for any soldier’s widow.

  That was a lie. Every cell in his body noticed Maddie Westerfield, but he was old enough to understand the difference between attraction and compatibility. The two of them weren’t compatible. There was no way they could ever be together.

  Football. He steered his mind to first downs and punts.

  He pointed the car in the direction of the football field.

  Decision made.

  As he pulled into the parking lot, he saw a mob of people in a huge, writhing knot near the center of the field. He looked between two men and saw, in the middle of everything, the distinctive flash of copper curls.

  He jogged toward the mass. Parents and players were all clustered around a very harried-looking Maddie. He pushed his way through the crowd and stood beside her.

  “Give me the whistle,” he said into her ear.

  Without hesitation, she tugged it over her head and handed it to him. He put it in his mouth and b
lew. Hard. The high-pitched noise silenced the crowd and one by one they each stepped back from her.

  “What is going on here?” he asked.

  Everyone started shouting at once. He blew the whistle again, louder this time.

  “One at a time. Ma’am?” He pointed at a frumpy woman near the front of the fray.

  “This woman,” she spat and pointed her index finger at Maddie, “claims she’s a football coach. My son is not playing football with a woman for a coach. What could she possibly know about football? I mean, look at her. She’s scared to death of these boys. And she gave them those dumb name tags with little footballs on them.”

  He grimaced. “You made name tags into a football art project?”

  She shrugged.

  He addressed the crowd. “I know you’re all upset. But this isn’t working. Everyone needs to go home and cool off. We’ll meet back here tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock and figure out what we need to do to get these boys the right coach.”

  The crowd, grumbling as they moved toward their minivans and SUVs, dispersed, leaving the two of them alone at the center of the field. Andrew stood a few yards away staring at the ground.

  “Let’s get out of here. Andrew,” David said, “how about the three of us go get dinner and talk?”

  Andrew nodded. He looked as if he might break into tears any moment.

  “No,” she said, putting her hand on his arm, “you’ve done more than enough. Andrew and I will go home and I’ll figure something out. Maybe there are some names on the list that I forgot to call.”

  “This practice was a total wreck. Let’s take a time-out and come up with a solution.”

  “We can’t impose on your evening. I’m sure your wife, or girlfriend, would rather you spend the evening with her.”

  “No lady in my life to disappoint. I did have an exciting trip to the dry cleaners on the itinerary but it can wait until tomorrow. Come on, I know a great Italian place out on the highway. It’ll be fun.”

  “Really, I don’t think—” Her lower lip quivered, like she might start crying at any moment.

  “You really need help, mine or someone else’s. Now, please, for the sake of these kids, let’s have dinner and try to figure out a solution.” He placed his hand on her shoulder.

  He saw the resistance in her green eyes beginning to melt. Her shoulders relaxed and she blew out a breath.

  She said, “Okay, then, if you’re sure. Andrew, let’s go.”

  Chapter Three

  Maddie had never been happier to see a man.

  If David hadn’t shown up at that exact moment, she wasn’t sure what she would have done. She was good at telling her clients all about conflict management, but none of her classes had covered a mob of angry parents.

  While he drove, she stared out the window and took deep breaths.

  She’d never felt so incapable, so out of sorts. So damned ineffective.

  Paolo’s Pizza was located in a strip center, tucked between a nail salon and a shoe store. The moment the door opened the smell of melting cheese and freshly baked bread filled her nose and she felt her stress level sink dramatically.

  “This place smells great and I never even knew it was here,” she said.

  “I’ve only been at Camp Wilson a month and Paolo already knows me on a first-name basis. And the best part is,” he said, bending to address Andrew, “they have a huge arcade.”

  “Can I play some games, Aunt Maddie? Can I?” Andrew shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  After settling at a table and ordering a pitcher of root beer, she gave Andrew a five dollar bill and sent him off to the arcade. David poured her a frosty glass before he poured his own. “What happened out there?” he asked, taking a sip from the heavy mug.

  “At the beginning of the practice, the boys all threatened to quit, but then they decided that it might be more fun to play with a girl coach than not at all. When I got them all back into a line, I asked who wanted to be the quarterback.” She took a sip of her drink and rolled her eyes. “Apparently, that was a big mistake because they all volunteered, so I said they could take turns. Then, this kid, Jimmy, got really angry and yelled to his dad and then, well, it just went downhill from there.”

  “You want to let them all play quarterback?” He grimaced.

  “Why not? They can’t all play the same position at one time.”

  He leaned toward her and asked, “How are they ever going to learn the position?”

  “What do you mean? It’s not like these games are for real or anything. They’re only in fourth grade.”

  “Men—and boys—take football very seriously. Who was the quarterback last year?”

  “Jimmy. What should I have done?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “Most coaches assign positions so the kids learn the ins and outs of their job on the team. If they’re switching all the time, nobody knows what to do. It would be like you switching places with a dentist on Monday and a plumber on Tuesday.”

  She laughed. “Point taken.”

  He looked over his shoulder and then whispered, “Between you and me, how much do you really know about football?”

  “I used to go to my late husband’s football games in high school.”

  “Did you watch those games?” He tilted his head to the side and waited for her answer.

  “Um, some of them?” She’d watched. Sort of. She knew when one team ran into the other team’s end zone, it was a touchdown.

  “I’m not sure it’s going to be enough.”

  She exhaled. He was right. It wasn’t going to be enough.

  She didn’t like failure. At all. It made her angry, frustrated. She’d never failed at anything she’d put her mind to and she wasn’t going to start now.

  “I have to coach this team,” she said.

  “Why?” He tapped his index finger on the table. “Why not just bow out?”

  “I won’t be a failure. Period.”

  ...

  David saw the determination in her eyes. She definitely wasn’t a quitter.

  “Did Frank ever explain the game to you?” he asked. He saw the pain in her eyes when he mentioned her late husband.

  “Not really.” Maddie toyed with the corner of the menu. “I watched some games last weekend and tried to read some of the books from the library. They were boring, so I just copied the pages I thought I might need and crammed them in a notebook.”

  “Want me to help you at the next meeting?” he asked.

  “I appreciate the offer but I think it might be best if I find someone else to help out. Another parent.” She refused to meet his eyes. “I’m not sure if it’s best that you and I, well…” Her voice trailed off and she played with a sugar packet. “I think it’s best if I ask another parent.”

  She knew exactly who he was.

  But this wasn’t the time to bring up Frank, to tell her what it was like at the end.

  He’d cross that bridge later when they weren’t in such a public place.

  When he got the guts.

  “Then let’s compromise. We’ll go to the meeting together. I’ll help you over the next couple of weeks, try to teach you everything you need to know about the game. Then, you’ll be able to do it on your own.”

  The perfect solution. He’d sign on for a short period of time, help her over the rough spot, do his best to stand in for Frank, and quickly make his exit.

  “I could be your temporary assistant.”

  “I think I’ll just step down. Surely I can find someone.”

  David shrugged. “Maybe, but you’ll always be mad at yourself for not finishing the job.”

  Chapter Four

  “Buonasera.”

  She looked up from the menu and saw a short, round man who reminded her of a Mediterranean Santa Claus.

  “Buonasera, Paolo.” David rose and hugged the man, air kissing him on both cheeks.

  “What a pretty lady you’v
e brought with you tonight,” Paolo said, switching back to English for Maddie’s benefit. “Those green eyes. Bellissimo.” He slapped David’s shoulder with a meaty hand. “Now what can I get for you two?”

  David fired off an order in rapid Italian. She was able to catch a few words but had no real idea what he ordered.

  “Coming right up. I’ll get you each a glass of wine. You can’t enjoy my food drinking that swill.” He gestured toward the half-empty pitcher of root beer and pursed his lips like he’d just tasted a lemon.

  “None for me, Paolo. I’m driving.”

  “One glass of my best red coming up for you, cara mia.” Paolo winked at Maddie and headed back in the direction of the kitchen.

  “You speak Italian?” she asked.

  “I picked up a few phrases when I was on assignment over there a couple of years ago. I really only know how to order food and ask for directions.” He grinned and for a tiny sliver of a moment, she forgot she wasn’t interested in him. Forgot he was a marine. Forgot he might have been with Frank at the end.

  Forgot that he was the last man on earth she should be attracted to.

  She took a sip of the wine and it was delicious, just what she needed to relax the tension in her shoulders. The warm fruity burn of it traveled down her throat and took the edge off the day.

  The urge to ask flared up again but she took a deep breath. Even if he was the same David Sterling, and she knew in her heart that he must be, there was no reason to reopen the wound. In her work, she’d learned that there was never a fulfilling answer to the why question. It was combat. Death happens.

  As a military wife, it was part of the deal. Dwelling on the details did no good.

  The sharp pang of grief reminded her that she was sitting across the table from a marine.

  Regardless of any connection he might have to her late husband, she wasn’t willing to take a chance on being widowed twice.

  “Any other languages?” she asked, steering the conversation back into neutral waters.

  “I am fluent in Spanish, thanks to my best friend in the Corps. It may not be the most exotic language but it sure comes in handy from time to time.”

  She nodded. “I’ll bet it does. Some of my clients are Spanish speakers. I usually have to employ the talents of an interpreter. It’s hard to help them when there’s a language barrier.”