I’m tempted to say I’m not sure why, but I know exactly why.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Trey.
He helped at the assisted living center without complaint. He was good with the girls, teasing them without being inappropriate, and was great with the residents there.
I didn’t see him much, since he kind of disappeared in the sporting goods section of the supercenter while I spent all of my time in groceries and then at the cash registers.
I don’t think any of the men that he was with actually bought anything, but as I checked out the last person and walked out of the store, they were all sitting there on the benches outside, laughing and telling stories.
Trey looked like he was having a good time. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t happy with me.
I know. In a world that is fair, he would be the head coach, and I would be the assistant. But no one wants to offend me by suggesting that, including Mrs. Pinkerton, the principal, or any of the school board members who are responsible for paying me. Because after all, I have lived in Good Grief all my life, and I’m obviously not going anywhere.
Trey on the other hand, left after graduating and really hasn’t been back. He hasn’t made any secret about the fact that as soon as his dad is straightened up, he is trucking back to Seattle.
Mr. Haywood opens the door, and I pull my head out of the clouds and greet him.
Trey has Mr. Haywood’s nose and his chin too. And that twinkle in his eye.
“Come on in, girl. I think you’re gonna be pleased with my progress.” He holds the door for me as I walk in, and he closes it behind me.
He is doing a lot better. I’m mostly here to take a blood sample so we can adjust his blood thinner if necessary.
He developed a blood clot in his leg when he was in the hospital after his stroke, hence the follow-up care.
“I’m sure you have. I understand that there’s a sweet lady in the picture that might be inspiring you to clean up your act a little.”
I tease him some, because he’s known me since I was little.
When the house beside the fire station came up for sale, my mom wanted to move to be closer to it, even though it was only a few doors down. That’s how Cody and I ended up buying my childhood home. It was right about the time we got married, and I never actually moved out.
My parents did.
“How’s your dad doing?” Mr. Haywood asks as he settles down in his chair.
I settle down beside him and get my iPad out. It is nice that almost everything has gone electronic, although paperwork is still a pain.
“He’s fine,” I say, looking down at my iPad and waiting for Mr. Haywood’s information to come up.
“He hasn’t retired from the vet clinic yet, has he?”
“I don’t think he ever will. He loves it too much.”
My dad’s a veterinarian, and a good one. In a town like Good Grief, he does everything, but his specialty is small animals.
As you would imagine, he’s quiet, an introvert mostly. My mom’s the outgoing one. But growing up with him, we always had a menagerie of animals at our house. People would pick them up by the road, and since we don’t have an animal shelter, they’d end up taking them to Dad, who has never been able to resist anything in fur, and he’d bring them home.
I guess I shouldn’t say Good Grief didn’t have an animal shelter. Our house was the animal shelter.
Mr. Haywood nods thoughtfully. “He was a smart man to get into something he loved. It’s hard to be passionate about a dispatching job. I can’t wait to retire.”
I nod, knowing exactly what he’s saying. Both of my parents love what they do. So do I.
Cody hated his job. That wasn’t why we split, but I understand how miserable it could make a person when what pays the bills isn’t something they enjoy.
I can see the bleakness on Mr. Haywood’s face.
“I bet you miss all the guys that you talk to, though.” From what I understand, there is quite a brotherhood amongst loggers. Even though they are very individualistic.
“I do. It’s not a terrible job, but you can’t get passionate about it.”
“Maybe you’d like to try something else?” I tilt my head, looking at him. “Is there something you wanted to do and just never got to?”
“No. Not really.” Mr. Haywood scrunches up his nose. I wonder if the “thing” he was passionate about was his wife. Maybe he lost his zest for living when he lost her.
He sighs. “I guess after raising Trey and seeing how good he was at basketball, I wish I had played when I was in high school. There’s just such camaraderie among teammates, and they had so much fun working toward their goal. He spent so much time shooting hoops out in the driveway, until long after dark, then he was up in the morning before school, doing it again. He kept his grades up, too, because he knew he couldn’t play if he didn’t.” Mr. Haywood clasps his hands together in front of him, a small smile on his face. “He learned so much about hard work and determination and grit and perseverance. Teamwork and getting along with people. He’s still friends with a lot of the guys that he played with in high school. There’s just nothing that bonds you together when you work hard for something and are as successful as what they were. I loved watching him and was always a little jealous because I never had that opportunity. I couldn’t play sports. My parents needed me to work.”
He isn’t bitter, at least he doesn’t sound that way, and I don’t get the idea that it is a huge regret. Just one of those things that kinda nags at him.
The opportunity is long past.
I start asking him the questions I have on my form. My focus remains on my job and doing the best for him.
But I don’t forget what he said.
That, combined with what Trey had been saying, doesn’t exactly change my mind, but it makes me think that maybe there is more to basketball than what I’ve been thinking. Maybe there are positive benefits, things that the girls might be missing out on because I’m not doing it quite right.
Basically, I think that there isn’t much to be proud of in a team that never wins a game. Not that winning is everything, but it is more fun—and takes more character to get there—than losing.
It will bond the girls together to strive for that win more than not caring. Which is what I’ve been teaching.
I finish up with Mr. Haywood, and I never do ask him the questions I wanted to about Trey.
I AM STILL THINKING about the things that Mr. Haywood said Saturday afternoon as I sit at the fire hall with the ladies’ auxiliary. We’ve already cleaned the fire hall and taken stock of what is in the cupboards and what we need to purchase in order to do the last chicken dinner of the season.
Now we are all just sitting around chatting about who is getting married, who is having babies, and whether or not Good Grief is ever going to get that high-speed Internet line they promised during the last election cycle.
I’m just kinda sitting here, enjoying the fellowship of the ladies. Most of them are my mother’s age and older. Their sons are the firefighters, and their daughters are in law work, and they run the auxiliary.
Until my mom became the chief, she was in the auxiliary, and she dragged us to every meeting, every dinner, every barbecue, and every fundraiser. We even washed the fire trucks. I spent countless hours polishing aluminum wheels.
The cool thing about it was I also got to ride in the parades occasionally. So, don’t think that it was terrible. Because it wasn’t.
Anyway, I guess it is a natural thing that I became a member myself.
Even though I don’t really fit in with these ladies who are a generation older than me, I love listening to them and learning from them.
I’ve done the same thing with my kids too. Melody’s here somewhere. Probably in a corner with her nose in a book, and Evie is here as well. There’s a basketball hoop on the cement pad behind the fire hall, and she and a couple of the ladies’ grandkids are out there shooting
hoops.
Anyway, I’m just happy to be here and am not paying much attention until the conversation to my right catches my ear.
“She wanted to play this year, but she didn’t want to be on a team that never wins a game.”
I notice Mrs. German kind of looks at me out of the corner of her eye after she says that.
It’s not said in a mean way. I don’t take offense, even though I know immediately they’re talking about the basketball team and about Mrs. German’s granddaughter who played last year but didn’t come back.
“Larissa told me the other day she was glad that she’s in the Carroll school district. She didn’t want to play on our team.” Mrs. Boxer gives a self-conscious shrug when she meets my eyes. “It’s nothing against you, Claire. They love you. Truly. But they want to win too.”
Both old heads nod sagely, and I don’t feel hurt, but I do feel guilty.
Mrs. German reaches out and puts a hand on my leg. She pats it, her fingers gnarled with big knuckles. The hands of a woman who’s worked all her life. Kind and full of love.
I don’t doubt that they want the best for me.
“Just remember, sweetheart, the Bible says whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” The wrinkles around her eyes deepen, and she looks at me over the top of her glasses. “That includes basketball.”
Mrs. Boxer nods, and then they go on to say how happy they are that I am teaching the girls good things and encouraging them to help with the assisted living center, and weed the gardens of shut-ins, and make food for new mothers, and all the other things that we have done.
Truly, they went on and on. I know they are fine with me and with what I do with the team.
But I could still sense a little bit of disappointment. Because while they love those “good works,” those ladies would also really like to go and see their grandchildren play ball games. It would get them out of the house and give them an excuse to socialize.
Except, their grandchildren didn’t want to play basketball, because no one wants to be on a losing team no matter how many good works they are doing.
Mrs. Tucker, who has been quiet up to this point in the conversation, speaks softly. “My granddaughter said she wanted to join the team, and she didn’t care how many games they lost.” She gives a sly smile and looks at the other two ladies. “She said Mr. Haywood was dreamy.”
I smile at the way Mrs. Tucker says it, but then—noticing the way that Mrs. German and Mrs. Boxer are looking at me—my smile freezes.
“What?” I ask, but I can see the wheels of their heads turning.
“That’s one way to build your team. Get yourself a dreamy assistant coach.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. Like I asked for an assistant.
This is not something I want to talk about. It’s not something I want to think about. I already have trouble thinking about Trey way more than I should. I don’t even want to go where those ladies are attempting to take me.
Plus, they’ve already given me enough things to think about.
I believe that. What they said. That everything I do I should put my heart and soul into. I’ve never believed any differently, even if I don’t always try my hardest at everything.
It isn’t an easy way to live, because, for instance, when you have your heart and soul invested in your marriage, and your husband comes home and announces that he’s found someone else, it will devastate you. Just saying.
I can’t help but feel like maybe I’ve done this with basketball, for similar reasons.
Of course, I’m not going to have my heart broken. But I know I’m not any good at basketball. And if I sink my heart and soul into trying, somehow, to be a good coach and actually win games, it’s going to be devastating when we don’t.
Not to mention, I really don’t have a roadmap of how to get there.
But I believe I’ve started out in the right direction.
Tuesday, we’re actually going to work on basketball at basketball practice.
It will be a small first step in the right direction.
Chapter 15
Trey
I WALK INTO “BASKETBALL practice”—using the term very, very loosely—on Tuesday with mixed feelings.
My conversation with Mr. Woodley has changed the way I look at Claire.
Somewhat.
I have been seeing her as a good bit older than me and pretty much someone who would never look at me twice.
Mr. Woodley seemed to indicate that she had a huge crush on me when I was in high school.
There’s such an age difference between us; she wasn’t even in high school when I was.
That doesn’t matter to me.
Not now.
It’s the least of the things I care about.
Not that I’m thinking of a romantic relationship.
I’m really not.
But it makes me wonder, if she watched so many basketball games—Mr. Woodley had said every single one I ever played—how could she be so unconcerned about practices? And winning?
Still, the conversation I had with him really only served to make me more curious about her.
I’m kind of looking at her with new eyes as I walk toward the foul line where she always seems to start practice, chatting with the girls.
I realize there’s one extra girl.
Do we have a new addition to the team?
She doesn’t hear me until I’m almost on her, at least she doesn’t turn, and she looks surprised when she sees me.
Maybe just my imagination, but her cheeks look red too.
Why?
“Mr. Haywood. I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of our team, Baney.”
I glance at the girl and give her a smile. Not a very big one because I don’t really like the way she’s looking at me. Not in a terribly bad way, just more interested than she should be.
Then she shoots a sly look at Claire, glances at her teammates, and lifts her eyebrows.
I really don’t like that.
It makes me feel like they’re up to no good, but I can’t imagine what in the world that could be.
I’ll have to watch that they don’t do anything to Claire, like put a snake in her locker or something.
“Okay, girls, like I said when you came, we’re going to practice basketball today.” Claire sounds very businesslike, but she does slant me a glance, like she wants to make sure that I’m noticing that she is keeping her word.
I’ve definitely noticed.
I’m thinking about all the things we could start with and forming an answer just in case she asks me what I suggest.
“Baney, you and Rachel will be on one team, with the other two girls on the other. Evie, you have to sit out until we need a substitute.” Claire points at the ball Evie is holding. “You can throw the ball up so the girls can jump for it.”
She looks back at the girls with her hands on her hips. “Now, remember, if you stop dribbling, you have to stop walking too. We got called for that a lot last year. Also, remember, you’re not allowed to go outside that rectangular black line. I don’t even think you’re allowed to touch it with your foot. We got called for that some as well. You have to watch where you’re standing. Okay, girls?”
She gives them a bright smile and starts walking toward the edge of the gym. “You guys can go ahead and start whenever you’re ready.”
She’s made it the entire way to the sidelines, and I still haven’t gotten my mouth closed.
I haven’t gotten the expression on my face under control either.
Shocked outrage, maybe? Or just completely aghast with sincere disbelief.
She’s just going to have them play?
With the admonishment to stop “walking” if they stop dribbling. And of course, to watch for the black line.
I’m typically not a swearing man, but strings of words that I would never say in front of these teenage girls run through my head.
I was really looking forward to this pr
actice, and now, I’m really looking forward to it being over.
My head is hurting, and I want to close my eyes, except...call me an idiot, but I kinda like the way she looks when she’s walking away.
She also seems pretty pleased with herself.
And she thinks she’s pleased me. At least, that’s what I read in the expression on her face.
Like she’s come to a decision that I might have been right, and she is giving me everything I wanted.
How do I tell her this isn’t even close?
I run a hand through my hair and turn away, just in case she looks back. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
My ex was always talking about her feelings and how I had no idea how to make her happy. Like it was my job to make her happy.
I don’t think anybody could have made her happy, but she seemed to think I could and it was my responsibility to spend every waking hour trying.
That isn’t nice. I guess I should say it didn’t seem to matter what I did, nothing was ever right. She never thought I was putting enough effort into making her happy.
I even tried to use Mr. Woodley’s teaching, the one where he’d taught us to notice things.
Didn’t work. Not with the ex, anyway.
That is how I notice Claire’s expression, though, and figure she probably thinks she is doing a really great thing for me.
Now what?
I shift, looking over, hooking a hand behind my neck.
She turns around, but thankfully, she looks at the girls first, and I am able to get my mouth closed.
I need to look down at my feet though, because I am still having a little bit of trouble with my expression.
I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I had been hoping for slightly more than “go play basketball, girls.”
I walk over to the sideline and turn around, standing beside Claire, maybe slightly behind her, so she is sure that I am giving her deference as head coach.
She waits until Evie throws the ball in the air before she looks at me and speaks low. “You don’t look like you’re very happy. Are you having a bad day?”
The girls slap clumsily at the ball, and I turn my head. They giggle and chase after it, paying no attention to the out-of-bounds line.
Me and the Cute Catastrophe (Sweet, Small Town Romantic Comedy in Good Grief, Idaho Book 1) Page 11
