Me and the Cute Catastrophe (Sweet, Small Town Romantic Comedy in Good Grief, Idaho Book 1)

by Jessie Gussman

  I admire her for saying that straight out. It is an honest answer and one that could easily be taken wrong. Like she needs to be in charge, and she isn’t giving that up. But that isn’t the impression I get. I feel like she truly doesn’t want the girls to be confused.

  “I get that. I can make sure that I tell them that I’m only stepping in because you allowed and make sure that they understand where my place is.” Being an only child, I know I have a rather controlling personality.

  When my wife and I were trying to work out our marriage, and then after it blew up, I’d gone to enough counseling sessions to know I have areas I need to work on. And I have worked on those areas. It didn’t save my marriage, but I do think that maybe I have become at least a slightly better person.

  That was years ago, but I haven’t forgotten the lessons. Mostly because the ones that resonate the most with me are the ones I’d learned in Sunday school growing up anyway. Sometimes, we just think we have a better idea.

  Or forget the things we’ve been taught.

  “I think whenever we start practices, we ought to be there together.” Again, Claire isn’t coming off in a commanding way, and I think she’s making an effort to make the best of a situation that she isn’t necessarily completely happy with.

  It was probably a shock for her to find out that she was going to have an assistant coach after years of doing it all herself.

  “That’s fine with me. I do think we need to start practicing though. The girls didn’t win a single game last year.” I put a hand up. “I’m not blaming you. But I think there’s enough talent on the team,” I think of her daughter Evie’s ballhandling, “that we should be able to do at least a little better.”

  “Winning isn’t everything.”

  “But it would encourage the girls. It might not be everything, but it’s a natural goal when you’re playing a game to play to win.”

  I would never call Claire stubborn. Studious and smart, yes. Funny, and even quirky, after living beside her. And honestly, there was still that schoolboy crush that makes me not exactly fear her, but definitely respect her, and feel like she was a little untouchable.

  Yeah, maybe I hold her on a pedestal some.

  But I also want to do a good job on this basketball team. I’m not going to go back to Seattle and admit that I helped coach a team that went oh for fifteen again.

  “So it’ll take a week at least to give the girls notice that we’re starting practice. And for everyone who wants to join the team to get physicals. I say we start practice in two weeks. That would be the beginning of October.”

  This is a huge compromise from Claire. She isn’t even suggesting we start halfway between when I want to start, which is now, and when she wants to start, which is the middle of November.

  I certainly am not going to turn it down.

  “Thank you. I appreciate the fact that you aren’t demanding to even meet in the middle. You are giving more. Thank you.”

  “This is part of what I’m teaching the girls. I want them to learn that it’s okay to not get your way all the time. However, I do think since I’m the head coach, I should run the practices.”

  That definitely puts a pinprick in my elation, but the air in my chest oozes out slowly. Even if she does run the practices, I surely will be able to get a group of girls each time and work with them myself.

  I have visions of the team having a winning record this year. If not winning the championship.

  I feel like the conversation is a win. For me.

  Claire

  “BUT, MOM, I’M TEN. I’m old enough to be home by myself. I shouldn’t have to sit through basketball practice. I’m wasting my life.” Melody hugs her books to her chest, her backpack slung over her shoulder, as she repeats the argument that she’s been using on me for the last two weeks, ever since I told her basketball practice is starting at the beginning of October and she will have to wait to go home from school until I am done with it each evening.

  “I know you’re more than old enough to be home by yourself. But I just feel safer if you’re here.”

  “Mom, you have to let go sometime.”

  “You’re right. But not today.”

  “Mom, you’re treating me like a baby.”

  “I’m not. I’m just playing it safe. You’ll thank me someday.”

  “I’ll thank you for treating me like a two-year-old when I’m ten?” Melody’s eyes narrow, and she gives me a look that feels so familiar her father could be standing in front of me instead of her. “I don’t think so.”

  I think she knows I’m not changing my mind, because she huffs, then stomps away to the bleachers where she slams her bookbag down and plops down on the seat, tilting her body so her shoulder faces me.

  I don’t smile, although I am tempted to.

  Originally, I had truly planned that she could go home and be by herself. Last year, I’d almost allowed it, because she is so responsible, and lots of people leave their kids home alone.

  But two things stop me.

  The first is her father. I know if anything happens to my children, he has the money and connections to hire a lawyer and take them from me. Not that he’s ever seemed inclined to do so, but he did give me a hard time two summers ago when Evie broke her wrist. She’d been riding her bike right in front of me, and the next thing I knew, she was on the ground screaming.

  It wasn’t a bad break, and it healed with no complications, but Cody acted like I was negligent and the most horrible parent in the world.

  The second reason is the night she almost burned the house down. Of course, that is an exaggeration.

  There’d been a small fire on the stove, which had been contained quickly and easily.

  But it scared me. It could have been so much more so fast, and I could have lost her.

  I still haven’t recovered fully from it. And that is the other reason that I just can’t leave her home by herself.

  Call me a helicopter mom. Or overprotective. I’d rather have labels and names than a dead daughter.

  Plus, the things I am going to do with the team are things I want Melody to participate in anyway.

  Trey hasn’t arrived, and that doesn’t surprise me. He already told me that he’d probably be a little late, since he’d be taking off early from work to make it.

  I already have things worked out with my job where I work eight to two every day and make up the hours by spending one night a week with a patient that needs round-the-clock care.

  That way, I am there for my girls before school and after school, and they have a special night with Tammy every week. It’s worked out pretty well.

  I walk over toward where the girls are huddled around the basket. The only one with the ball is Evie who is dribbling and occasionally taking a shot. I’m not sure where she gets her talent and love of basketball, since neither Cody nor I are interested in the sport, but she definitely gets her height from her father, and somehow, she picked up a ball when she was little—I don’t even remember what age because I thought it was just a passing fancy—started dribbling and shooting, and slowly started getting better.

  When I tell the girls to line up, she is standing on the three-point line. She turns and tosses the ball without really seeming to take aim. It swishes through—all net—then she jogs over to where the girls are gathered at the foul line.

  “Show-off,” Rachel says, with a smile that only has a little bit of sneering in it.

  That’s part of the reason I don’t let Evie play any more than what I have. I’m not exactly an expert in basketball, but she is better than any of the girls on the team.

  It looks like this year we are going to have—I count heads—four girls, including Evie.

  We had six last year, but three of them were seniors, so four isn’t too bad.

  Evie doesn’t respond to Rachel, and she wouldn’t. Evie has such an easygoing personality. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her upset or offended.

  “I’m so glad to s
ee everyone here,” I begin. “I hope we have a good time this year and learn to be kind people who think of others.” I go on to talk about Trey and explain that he’ll be the assistant coach.

  Everyone already knows it. It’s been two weeks since it was decided, and Good Grief is a small town. Still, I feel like it’s my job.

  I finish up and look around the small group, asking if there are any questions.

  The girls shake their heads as footsteps echo on the gym floor—a long stride—and I assume that’s probably Trey.

  Perfect timing. I smile at the girls.

  “And as tradition demands, we’ll use the first basketball practice to pick up trash around the school.”

  Chapter 11

  Trey

  I CAN’T HELP IT. I screech to a stop. She’s going to have the girls do what for basketball practice?

  I’ve been telling myself for two weeks I will let her lead, and I will guide the practices in the direction I want them to go, not by butting heads with her but by gently steering things in the direction of my preferences, possibly working with small groups and showing her that building on a foundation, conditioning, and putting the work in at the beginning of the season is the way a person builds a winning basketball team.

  I realize, as I listen to Claire’s voice die away, that I have underestimated the pickle I have gotten myself into.

  I have also completely misconstrued Claire’s plans for the season.

  Thinking back, I know she said exactly what she planned to do—build character in the girls—and I had totally put my spin on what she was saying and assumed that she meant she was going to build character through basketball.

  I am just starting to understand that what she actually meant was she planned to use the time that was set aside for basketball practice to do things that will build character, things that have absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with basketball.

  Even if she had sent the girls to go take a three-mile run, she would have at least been facing in the right direction.

  As it is, going out to pick up garbage, she isn’t facing in the right direction, she isn’t even... I don’t even know. She isn’t even on the planet. It’s like she is out on Jupiter, looking toward Pluto.

  I can’t allow this. We are only having two practices per week until the season starts. We can’t waste them going out picking up trash.

  I stomp over, determined to fix this and lay down a few ground rules right away. I need to start the way I intend to go on.

  And while I admire Claire for wanting to teach the girls character and have nothing personally against picking up trash, it isn’t what basketball practice is for.

  I form my argument in my head as I walk over, and even though I’m steaming, I’m not so upset that I can’t say what needs to be said calmly and rationally.

  I stop beside her, my mouth opens, and she turns.

  Those eyes, the green emeralds that I always have trouble looking away from, sparkle with life and happiness, and I can see the joy and affection she has for every girl there and the excitement caused by making a difference in their lives—it’s all on her face. In her eyes. I see it, even with my mouth open and the words that I feel need to be said trembling inside my lips.

  “I’m so glad you made it before we dispersed.” She smiles at me, the same smile that she shot me across the table when I’d shown her how to use her spoon with her spaghetti. One that thanks me and appreciates that I don’t make fun of her, and one that makes me feel like I’m part of her inner circle, welcome and appreciated.

  I sigh to myself, putting my hands in my dress slacks.

  My idea of a good coach is one who is always dressed for the occasion.

  I’m not dressed to pick up trash.

  I am dressed to coach basketball.

  She seems to realize this as her eyes slide down to my tie. They take in my dress pants and the shoes, which mark me clearly as a nonlocal, even though I am.

  A local would be wearing cowboy boots.

  Her eyes slide back up to mine, and she says, “I’m sorry. I guess I should have told you what I was planning for today.”

  She doesn’t need to tell me I’m not dressed for her unconventional activity. I know it.

  She turns back to the girls. “I told you Mr. Haywood would be the assistant coach this year, and I’d like to introduce you all to him.”

  She starts with a girl named Rachel, the tallest girl on the team aside from Evie, who stands on the opposite end and is introduced last.

  When I first walked in, I’d noticed how small the group was. I had assumed this was just the seniors or maybe the new players, but... “This is the whole team?” I ask and try not to look as horrified as I feel.

  Claire nods, smiling, and I don’t think she has a clue that my heart just dropped to my toes, cowboy boots or no.

  Four kids? There are four girls on the team total?

  Good Grief is a small school, sure, but at least when I played back in the day, we never had trouble filling the team.

  Four girls didn’t even make a full team.

  “Is there any chance that other girls will join closer to time for the season?” I ask, hoping that there is something going on, some sickness sweeping the school, play practice that is interfering with basketball, alien abduction, anything that is keeping us from having all the girls here today.

  But I’ve barely gotten the sentence out before Claire shakes her head.

  “This is actually one more than I was expecting. I hadn’t been sure that Kenzie was going to make it.” She shoots a grin at the blonde-haired girl who smiles back, showing teeth with a set of hardware that would set off metal detectors.

  At least the girls seem to really love Claire.

  Part of me thinks they must really love something if they are willing to stay after school and pick up garbage and call it basketball practice.

  Maybe they just have bad home lives.

  Pain, unexpected and sharp, shoots through me, and for the second time since I’ve moved to Good Grief, I have that empty, cold feeling in my chest and wish I could talk to my mother.

  She was always sociable and up on everything. She would know about the home lives of the girls right off and be able to tell me if anything needed to be done about them.

  “All right then, let’s go outside and get started. Evie, you can grab the bags out of my car.” Claire claps her hands together, and the girls grin, three of them giggling amongst themselves while Evie walks a little ways off, not quite part of the group.

  Going through high school, I’d never really had that problem, not more than a time or two, where I didn’t feel like I fit in. I had plenty of friends backing me, thanks to my skill in basketball.

  Somehow, when a kid stands out as a sports figure, lots of people decide they like you, no matter what kind of person you are. I didn’t always like the people I hung out with, but I always had people to hang out with.

  Still, there were one or two times I remember where I felt like I was on the outside looking in.

  It isn’t a good feeling, and I feel a little bad for Evie, who obviously loves basketball but really isn’t being given the opportunities or even the attention she deserves.

  I try not to think about that too much though. Honestly, from what I’ve seen in my life, the harder someone has it, the more they have to overcome, the better they eventually do. It’s like adversity makes them stronger.

  It makes sense, and I believe it to be true, but it’s still hard to watch.

  I take my eyes from the girls’ retreating backs and look at Claire, who has gone over to pick up the basketball that sits in the corner.

  “So is this like a tradition that you do at the beginning of every season?” I am pretty sure it has to be.

  As much as I hate to waste even one practice, I can wait until Thursday to get started with my plans.

  Claire bends down and picks up the ball, holding it in front of her with her hands positioned the way a pre
gnant woman might position her hands around her belly. “It is. We pretty much use the first practice to clean up the school. I think it teaches the girls to take pride in their facilities and also reminds them, of course, that if you throw garbage down, somebody has to pick it up.”

  “Yeah. I see that you’re making sure you’re teaching good lessons in character for the girls.” I want to say more, like they could learn some lessons through basketball, but I don’t because she starts again.

  “That’s right. I’m glad that we see the same thing. I was worried that you were going to be all ‘we gotta do drills and run and do all the boring stuff that sucks the joy out of their life,’ and really, there’s no point to that anyway.” She smiles as though her words hadn’t just struck me in the middle of my forehead.

  All the stuff she just mentioned was exactly what I want to do.

  Only, it isn’t pointless.

  “So you start on all that other stuff in the second practice?” I couldn’t bring myself to say “pointless stuff.”

  “No, we never do that garbage. There’s always something that actually has meaning to it that needs to be done. Someone that needs help. Places that can use willing hands and happy smiles.” Honestly, my pulse is throbbing in my forehead, but I’m also admiring how Claire glows and becomes animated with excitement as she waves an arm and her cheeks turn pink. “We can bring life and light to so many people, and that’s what I always use the basketball practices for. It’s just a waste of time to throw a ball around and try to get it into a hoop. What’s the point of that anyway?” She sets the ball in the rack along with three other balls, all of which look flat to me, which probably states just how important basketballs are to the girls on the school team and also that Evie either blew that ball up herself or was smart enough to pick the only one that had air in it.