Sunrise

by Karen Kingsbury

  Billy sniffed a few times. “You . . . you too.”

  The man hesitated, probably waiting for them to leave. Finally he shot Ashley a look. “We need a minute here, okay?”

  Ashley glared at the man and cast the boy a sad smile. “I liked your hustle tonight, Billy.”

  “Th-th-thank you.” He looked like he felt so bad about letting his father down that he could barely make eye contact. And what about his speech? Did he stutter all the time or just when he was being yelled at?

  The father had given Ashley a sardonic look. “Yeah, thanks. Why don’t you mind your own business?”

  Ashley hadn’t been at another practice since, and until now she’d almost forgotten about Billy and his irate father. As it turned out, another boy—not Billy—won the rebound and dribbled the ball the length of the court for the layup.

  But while the Cougars’ fans were celebrating another score, Billy’s dad shouted, “That should’ve been yours, Billy!” Then the man pounded down the bleachers and stormed to the far corner of the gym, near the Cougars’ basket. From there he paced along a short line, five feet in one direction, five in the other.

  “Look at him!” Ashley turned and shared the horror of the moment with her dad and Dayne and Katy. “If he goes to his car, I’ll be scared. He’ll probably come back and shoot someone.”

  “The ref should say something.” Her father was clearly bothered also. “Poor little guy.”

  Billy looked terrified, and the players on the bench, including Cole and Ricky, were noticing the drama playing out between the boy and his father. Whereas Billy had been focused on the action, doing his best to keep up with his teammates, trying to appear aggressive, now he seemed entirely distracted by his father.

  The Bulls missed, and the tallest boy on the Cougars caught the rebound. He immediately passed it to Billy, who started to dribble toward the Cougars’ net. In that moment, Billy looked very smooth. It was possible to see that maybe the father’s genes—if he had indeed played college basketball—had been passed on to his son.

  “Yes, Billy. . . . That’s it!” His dad clapped loud and dramatically. As angry as he’d been before, he was jubilant now. His hands shot straight in the air. “Finally!”

  But the closer Billy came to his father, the slower and more nervous he looked. As he neared the three-point line, he panicked and threw the ball directly into the hands of a Bulls player.

  “What?” His father pressed his hands against the sides of his head. “Ugh! You’re killing me, Billy!”

  Billy’s eyes were wide, and it looked like he was crying. Billy slowed while his teammates passed him on their way down to the Bulls’ side of the court. Then the poor child stopped and shrugged at his father. “Sorry, Dad,” he shouted. “I’m sorry.”

  The man’s face was beet red now. He pointed at the opposite side of the court. “Don’t stand there! Get it back. Hurry!”

  Everyone in the gym was watching, and at the next out of bounds, the ref blew his whistle. He tapped both his shoulders. “My time-out.”

  Coach Troy used the moment to swap players, apparently trying to distract his boys from the drama that might explode across the court.

  The ref walked purposefully toward Billy’s dad. When he was maybe a foot from the man, the ref said something none of them could hear.

  “He’s my kid,” the father spat back. His response echoed through the quiet gym. “If he’s not hustling, it’s my job to get him into gear.”

  The ref said something else and pointed to the door.

  “You can’t kick me out!” Billy’s dad snarled. “It’s a public school.” His words were tough, but whatever the ref said must’ve hit home in some way because Billy’s dad made a brush-off gesture at the ref. Then he walked to the foyer and leaned against the brick wall near the drinking fountain. Far enough away so he couldn’t comment on the action but still in sight.

  Ashley had worried that the crowd might recognize Dayne, though he wore an old crewneck sweatshirt, jeans, and a baseball cap low over his brow the way he often did. As it turned out, Billy’s dad created more than enough distraction. The fans were far too caught up watching him to notice they had a movie star in their midst.

  Kari and Ryan left with Jessie and RJ not long after. They waved, but Ryan looked upset. He glared at Billy’s dad on the way out, and Ashley held her breath. Ryan was a coach too. If anyone would challenge the guy, it would be Ryan. Ashley watched Kari link arms with him and lead him toward the farthest door, steering him clear of the chance to say anything.

  Ashley’s heart beat faster than usual, and she felt nervous, anxious. A little sick to her stomach too.

  Billy’s dad kept his distance and didn’t say another word the rest of the game, but when Billy was in, he paced and held his hands in the air or waved off the entire action on the court and turned his back, his body language telling everyone in the gym that he was beyond disgusted.

  Ashley took hold of Landon’s knee. Her anger bubbled inside her, looking for a way out, an answer for Billy. “The ref should kick him all the way out.” Her heart raced inside her. She was so indignant, so worried for Billy, that she forgot to watch Cole.

  And at that moment, a ball swished through the net, and the Cougar fans jumped to their feet. “Way to go, Cougars!”

  “Nice shot!” Landon yelled.

  In front of them, Jim Flanigan chimed in. “Good passing, boys!”

  “What happened?” Ashley blinked. She had no idea. She’d practically forgotten anyone else but Billy was even playing.

  “Ricky made a three-point shot.” Landon chuckled and patted Jim on the back. “The boy has an arm.”

  “Thanks.” Jim turned around and grinned. “Can’t wait to see him with a football when he’s older.”

  Frustration surged through Ashley. “What about Billy’s dad?” She looked at the man. His face was still red, his glare directed at his son. “Isn’t there something we can do?”

  Jim turned around again and gave her a sympathetic look. The action was still moving up and down the court, but he was calm and collected. Same as Landon. They were the antithesis of the man across the court. “There’s a dad like that on every team. That’s youth sports, I’m afraid. Once in a while someone goes overboard, and a coach or a ref has to step in. But this guy . . .” He motioned toward Billy’s dad. “In my years of coaching, I’ve seen a handful of them every season.”

  “It’s worse at the high school level.” Landon put his feet on the bench in front of him. “I remember some of my buddies telling me stories.”

  “It’s way worse.” Jim glanced at Landon and then Ashley. “I had a dad once who took copious notes and stats on his son every practice, every game. Kid couldn’t do anything right. At the end of every game the guy would pull his boy aside and tear him to pieces.”

  “He’d hit him?” Ashley gasped.

  “Not with his fists.” Jenny turned around. “With his words. I was there; I saw it every game.”

  Jim made a sheepish face. “One time the team and I were still in the locker room, and the kid’s dad started saying things about the coaches.”

  “Basically bashing Jim and the other coaches in front of the entire group of parents waiting for their kids.” Jenny looked indignant at the memory. “I went up to him and told him he might try being a little more positive.”

  Disbelief filled Jim’s expression. “The guy actually pushed her, shoved her in the shoulders and told her the team was none of her business.”

  “One of the parents called the police, and the guy was arrested.” Jenny shook her head. “They released him later, and the athletic director forced him to stay home for the next two games.”

  “Let me guess.” Landon had his eyes on the game. “He was right back at berating his son.”

  “Exactly.” Jim sounded defeated at the memory. “Here’s the sad part. Ran into the dad a month ago and asked about his son. The dad had him slated for IU or Duke or Kansas.” He shrugged
. “He was a decent athlete, and I hadn’t heard where he wound up.”

  “The father just shook his head.” Jenny’s eyes glistened. “He said they hadn’t talked to their son since he graduated. He skipped college and went to mechanics’ school.”

  Ashley’s heart sank. “It destroyed their relationship?”

  “Yep. Same as it’ll destroy the one between Billy and his dad and between so many kids and their parents.” Jim took a long breath. “I’ve worked with pro athletes long enough to know one thing: the ability it takes to make it at that level has nothing to do with parents badgering their child. Kids either have it or they don’t, and usually it’s something that becomes pretty obvious long before high school.”

  “That was the last time the kid played football.” Jenny looked heartsick. “His dad ruined everything fun about it. Now the guy probably hates the sport.”

  “That’s the thing.” Landon clasped his hands and rested his forearms on his knees. “Sports can be so good for kids. But if parents start looking for the scholarship or the ticket to the pros, it can destroy kids.”

  Ashley was horrified. She swallowed hard and found Cole, sitting on the bench next to Ricky. The two were giggling and flicking each other’s legs, being little boys the way they were supposed to. She reminded herself to ask Cole later if he really wanted to be in a gym on a Friday night playing basketball.

  Because here, at their entrance to the world of youth sports, the last thing she wanted was to force him into something that didn’t interest him. If he’d rather be at her dad’s house catching night crawlers and watching them wiggle through a jar of dirt, then fine.

  She shivered, and for the rest of the game she didn’t jump to her feet once. Instead she clapped and cheered and encouraged, not just Cole but Billy and Ricky and Lance and Johnny.

  The whole team.

  After the game, Ashley positioned herself so she could watch Billy—shoulders sunken—as he grabbed his gear bag and trudged toward his father. He hung his head, and twice as he crossed the floor he stopped and wiped his eyes.

  That was all Ashley could take, and she wasn’t the only one. Before she could make a move toward the boy, three other sets of parents hurried to him and patted him on the back. Ashley was standing close enough to hear.

  “Nice game, Billy,” one of the dads said.

  “Good hustle.” Another stopped right in front of Billy and waited until the child looked up. “Remember, you play for the fun of it.”

  In the distance, Billy’s dad was distracted by the ref, who seemed to be giving the man an unwanted lecture. Good thing. Otherwise the man would’ve come unglued at the idea of some other dad telling his son the game was about having fun.

  Of all things.

  As Billy reached his father, the man held up his hands. In a voice that was only slightly quieter than it had been during the game, he said, “What happened out there?”

  At the same time, Cole came running up and hugged Ashley around the waist. “We got homemade chocolate-chip cookies for a snack!” He held up a plastic bag with three cookies inside. “And a juice pack! Isn’t that great?”

  Ashley felt a sinking sensation. She was judging Billy’s father, but she’d been on the same track in the first few minutes of the game. Bragging that Cole was a starter and writing his future to include a stint of playing college basketball. Landon had been right to pull her back to her seat.

  Cole was more excited about the cookies.

  She rubbed his shoulder. “Chocolate chip is my favorite.”

  “I know.” He reached into the bag, pulled one out, and gave it to her. “This one’s for you.”

  Landon and Jim were walking alongside Ashley’s father. They had slight smirks on their faces.

  “Okay—” she held up her hands—“you were right. It’s too soon to tell about the whole gift thing.” She clapped a few times in as lackluster a fashion as possible and looked at Landon for approval. “See? I can be calm.” Especially after the sickening display by Billy’s father. “Go team.”

  Cole ran to Landon next, and the two swapped high fives. “I did what you said; I played for Jesus!” Cole pumped his fist a few times. “And it was so fun, Daddy.” His smile faded, and he whispered, “But Billy was crying. Did you see him?”

  “I did.” Landon’s eyes filled with sorrow.

  “I think his dad’s being mean to him.” Cole’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “I heard him yell a couple times.”

  A couple times? So Cole had missed the man’s blatant display of temper and fanaticism? Ashley silently thanked God. Cole’s first experience in sports, his first basketball game, wasn’t marred by the ranting of a lunatic father. He was having too much fun playing the game to do more than barely notice the guy. He had his buddy Ricky with him and a coach he adored and his family in the stands. All that and homemade chocolate-chip cookies.

  When they reached the parking lot, Ashley saw Billy and his dad walking in the other direction toward a lone car. His father wasn’t yelling at the boy anymore, but a lesson seemed to be in full swing. The man stopped every few feet and appeared to re-create missed rebounds and lost opportunities on the court. Ashley watched, Cole’s hand in hers, and for the first time she didn’t glare at the man.

  She pitied him.

  What a price he was willing to pay for the chance that his son might have a little athletic talent. Because one day not too far down the road, Billy would probably design jet engines or tend to patients, argue legal matters or drive a delivery truck, and he would hate the game of basketball. But that wasn’t all.

  He would hate his father, too.

  The meeting was set for Wednesday, the last day of school before Christmas break. Jim Flanigan had been working behind the scenes with Joe Agueda, his retired police officer friend. Jim had a video screen and a DVD player set up in the locker room. Joe had promised to bring something with impact.

  But there was something Jim had to do before he could meet the guys. He found Jenny on the phone in the kitchen. All around her, the kids were having their annual gingerbread house contest. The teams this year were Bailey and Connor, Ricky and BJ, and Shawn and Justin. The kids were talking at once, discussing the sugary white mortar that would serve as glue for the large gingerbread pieces.

  Jenny was saying something about the next CKT show being Oliver and how the owners of the theater couldn’t sell it out from underneath them.

  Jim drew a deep breath. Even in this crazy moment, he and Jenny needed time together with God. There was no other way he could face his players with the ultimatum he was about to present. He caught Jenny’s attention and made a signal for her to wrap it up.

  She nodded. “Hey, Ashley, I have to go.” There was another minute of conversation, and Jenny hung up. She gave a sweeping direction to the kids. “Don’t eat the glue.”

  “I thought it was frosting.” BJ had enough on his fingers to cover half the roof of his house.

  “It’s more glue than frosting.” She looked from one team’s project to the next. “No one eat the stuff. It’s bad for you.”

  “Makes your insides stick together.” Ricky made a face. Then he burst into giggles.

  “It’s true.” Shawn looked at his siblings. “Some ants in Brazil die every year because people spread flour near their anthills.”

  Jenny hesitated, looking like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to stay for the story or not. She took a step closer to Jim, her eyes on their oldest adopted son.

  Shawn set his gingerbread roof down so he could illustrate his story with his hands. “The ants march over to the flour, and then, of course, they guess that it’s food, so they eat it, and down in their stomachs it mixes with their digestive juices and gets so sticky their insides stick together.” He gave a definitive nod. “It kills them.”

  Jenny’s mouth was slightly open. She blinked and glanced at the three bowls of white frosting the teams were using as glue. “Bottom line: don’t eat the glue.”
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  Bailey made a face. “As if we would. The stuff stinks.”

  “I think it probably tastes as good as it smells.” Justin leaned close to the bowl and took a long whiff. Then he shook his head. “But not if it makes your insides stick together.”

  Jenny held up her pointer finger. “Be right back.”

  Jim smiled to himself as he led her into the family room. “It’s like living in a sitcom.”

  “Every day of the year.” She wiped her brow and searched his eyes. “What’s up?”

  “The meeting with the team’s in an hour.” He felt an urgency just saying the words. “This’ll be an ultimatum for many of them.”

  “Joe’s still coming?” They’d talked about this twice in the last week. Jenny had already told Jim that she thought Joe would bring a lot to the meeting.

  “He’ll be there. He told me to eat light. The movie’s already been approved by the school district, but it’s hard on the stomach apparently.”

  “Good.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “The kids need a wake-up call.” She leaned up and kissed him on the lips, lingering there for a few seconds. “You know what it was like.”

  “Yes.” He sighed, and suddenly he felt tired and old. “I hope a story from an old man about a day a long time ago can make a difference right now. When these kids need it most.”

  “It will.” Jenny wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned against him. “You’re doing a good thing here, Jim. God will meet you in that locker room tonight.”

  “Pray with me?”

  She brought her hands down to his, and for the next few minutes they took turns asking God that the meeting with Clear Creek’s football players wouldn’t be merely a reprimand or another time when the boys felt like they were being lectured. But that what they saw and heard and committed to this night would change them. Maybe even save them.

  As they finished praying, Jim paused. He ran his finger over Jenny’s right thumb, the one that was shorter than the other. She could still use it, still write and work and play as if she’d never lost the top half. But it was missing. And it would forever serve as a reminder of all God had taught them that spring night when they were in high school. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her scarred thumb. Then he continued his prayer. “And one more thing, Lord. Thank You for a wife who has stood by me in the darkest of times and the brightest. Thank You that she supports me and believes in me. I can feel her prayers in everything I do. In Jesus’ name, amen.”