Homecoming King

by Jami Albright

  Anything I would say is lodged behind a wall of shock. What in God’s name does this discussion have to do with my job or this house?

  Then it hits me.

  This is why he refused to give us the money for the rec center. I wrote the grant. My name was on the document, and he wanted to get back at me. “That’s why you did it? I honestly can’t think of anything more spiteful. You did something vindictive and hateful because, according to you, I’m stuck up?” I stomp back to him. “I can’t believe you. You float through life with no thought of how your actions affect other people. Actions have consequences, Cash.”

  “I accept that. But if my actions have consequences, so do yours.”

  I slap my hand to my chest. “So, this is my fault?”

  “I think you should take responsibility for your part.”

  What the hell? Is he saying the grant was poorly written?

  He holds his hands up like he’s had it with this conversation. “You know what? It’s stupid to keep going over this. What’s done is done, and we should move on.”

  Move on? Move on? This man has questioned my character and my intelligence, and he wants me to move on. Every insecurity I have roars to the surface and shoves words I would never normally say out of my mouth. “Fuck you.”

  I turn and storm to the bathroom. I have to shower before the community meeting. I don’t wait to see if he leaves or not. All I want is to get as far away from him as possible, and even then, I’m not sure it’ll be far enough.

  Seven

  Cash

  Thirty minutes later, and my conversation with Tiger is still knocking around in my head. I don’t get it. If I could accept that my actions at the homecoming dance had consequences, then surely, she could admit that she didn’t handle things very well either.

  The animosity we feel is both our faults. Two stupid teenagers did stupid things, and twelve years later, we can’t seem to get past them. It’s like a damn Hallmark movie, only with more cussing. I chuckle to myself. Having the former beauty queen tell me to fuck off was deeply entertaining.

  “Hello!” I shout as I push through the kitchen door at my mom’s house. But I can tell the house is empty. There’s not the familiar eighties music playing, and the air is void of homemade smells. Mom and Nan are always cooking something. The TV is also not so loud that you can hear it in the next county, so I know Joe isn’t here either. Yes, he lives here with my mom and my grandmother. This is why my mother needs a bigger house.

  I drop my bags in the second guest room that’s situated next to Nan and Joe’s room. It’s not an homage to me, which I like. It’s a plain old space with brown and blue décor, no trophies on the shelf or medals hanging from hooks on the wall.

  This wasn’t my childhood bedroom. No, we lived in a two-bedroom mobile home at Royal Oaks Trailer Park, only five miles from where this house sits. Not far enough away for my liking. If the wind blows just right, you can smell the desperation from here.

  Not that there’s anything wrong with living in a trailer home, but that place was a disaster. Broken linoleum, carpet that crunched under your feet, and it listed slightly to the left. No matter how much Pine-Sol my mom used—and she used a lot—it always smelled of cigarette smoke and mildew. Even after all these years, any of those scents will trigger panic like a pit of vipers coiling and writhing deep in my gut.

  This house was the first thing I bought when I signed my first contract as a pro. I tried like hell to get my mom to let me build her a new house or buy her one in Ryder West, but she wouldn’t have it.

  “Ryder East is my home,” she’d said. “All my friends are here. Why would I leave it?”

  That right there is what’s got me worried that she won’t accept Wayland Estate as a gift and refuse to move. But that was nine years ago. Maybe now she’ll be ready to make her escape.

  I check the fridge and find some leftovers. I nuke a plate of grilled chicken and vegetables and tuck in to eat. I try to enjoy the meal, but my stupid conscience keeps intruding on my thoughts. Seeing Tiger really threw me off my game, but now that the shock’s worn off, I can see what a dick I was to her.

  What little food I’ve eaten sours in my stomach. The prickly heat running from my neck to the tips of my ears isn’t because of my mom’s wonky air conditioner. It’s shame, pure and simple.

  I insulted her competence. I told her I didn’t want her living in the pool house. Oh, and I also accused her of screwing around with the crew chief. People call me a lot of names, but dickhead is generally not one of them, and that’s how I behaved today.

  My mother would have my hide if she knew how I treated Tiger. An idea hits me, and I pull my phone from my pocket and dial my assistant.

  “What’s up, Cash?”

  “Hey, Helen, can you send some flowers for me?”

  “Sure. Who are they going to?”

  “Tiger Lyons.”

  “Tiger?”

  I chuckle. “Yep, her name is Tiger. I’ll text you the address.”

  “That’s fine. What do you want the card to say?”

  What do I want to say? “I’m sorry I was an ass.”

  Helen’s deep laugh comes through the line. “Stuck your foot in it, did ya?”

  “Pretty much.” I push my hair from my eyes. “Can you have them delivered tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Hey, did everything work out with the house?”

  “It did. Thanks for all you did on your end. Order yourself some flowers too.”

  “What? Oh, my. How very thoughtful of you. You do spoil me, Mr. King.” Every word is delivered with a dry unenthusiastic tone.

  “Ha-ha. Just order the damn flowers and know that I couldn’t live one minute without you.”

  “Oh, that I know. Talk tomorrow.”

  “Talk tomorrow.”

  We disconnect, and I’m feeling marginally better. This has been the strangest day, but at least I put one thing to rights. I finish up my meal and see a yellow flyer sticking out from under some mail on the table. I fish it out from the bottom of the stack and read it.

  SAVE THE RECREATION CENTER

  Meeting Thursday the 4th at 7:00 p.m.

  LET’S BAND TOGETHER AS A COMMUNITY TO FORMULATE A PLAN

  SINCE CASH DIDN’T COME THROUGH.

  I reread the paper, and several things become apparent. First, I’m so happy the town is trying to save the rec center. I loved that place when I was a kid, and I’d hate to see it close. Second, I want to help, and nobody’s more surprised by that than me. And thirdly, whoever made the flyer needs a proofreader.

  They forgot the in front of cash.

  I push through the doors of the rec center and am immediately transported back to a time when my world was anything but stable. I breathe through the flash of anxiety that was my life until I went to college. Once the panic passes, a warm bubble blooms in my chest. This place was my safe haven, it’s where I learned to play football, and I can save it. It’s a real full-circle moment and it helps to chase away the momentary panic.

  “Can I help you?” a teenage girl with a name tag that reads Wendy asks from the other side of the dingy counter.

  “Um … I’m here for the meeting.”

  She loops a piece of long, straight blonde hair behind her ear and smacks her gum, then sucks it between her teeth causing it to pop. “Okay.” She gives me a bored stare, still chewing her gum.

  Smack.

  Smack.

  Pop.

  Smack.

  Smack.

  Pop.

  “Can you tell me where it is?”

  “Oh.” She seems to snap out of her bubble gum coma and points. “It’s in the Landry room, end of the hall.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s already started,” she yells after me as I make my way to the meeting.

  I raise my hand, but don’t turn around. “That’s alright.”

  The door to the room is open, and I hear Tiger speaking. “I know we’re all disappointed, but I
promise, we’ll find a way to get the money. Remember what this rec center stands for—family, community, and unity. I know we can solve this problem if we all work together.”

  That’s my cue. I’m a little embarrassed at how satisfying it is to be the hero in this situation. I’d like to say it’s altruistic, but I do like that I’m the one who can fix this and no one else. But before I can show myself to the room, a woman I can’t see shouts, “How could he turn us down like that?”

  A heavy sigh comes from Tiger. “Carol, I don’t pretend to know the mind of Cash King. All I know is that we got an email from his foundation two days ago stating that they didn’t approve our grant application.”

  What? Suddenly my interaction with Tiger from earlier makes so much more sense. They applied for a grant from my foundation, and it was declined? That can’t be right. Not that I would know firsthand. I leave the running of the charity up to Carlton Hastings. Oh, I don’t let him go off without supervision, I have my accountant go over the books every month, but I can’t be bothered to deal with the day-to-day business. Football takes 100 percent of my focus and time. I do what any good businessman does—I surround myself with smart, trustworthy people, and I delegate.

  “Hang on a minute.” It’s my mom. Now I’m hiding behind the door and eavesdropping. “There has to be some kind of mistake. Cash wouldn’t dismiss our request without any explanation.” At least my mother is defending me. “I don’t think he would, anyway.”

  “And has he given you a reason, Gracie?” some man asked.

  “Well, no. I haven’t been able to talk to him about it.”

  Shit. Why hadn’t I answered my mom’s calls? I peek into the room and am struck dumb. The place is full of upset and angry people, and a lot of them are holding signs that say Down with Cash, Cash Sucks, and Cash Who?

  “Sonny, this isn’t Gracie’s fault. She’s not to blame for what her son has done, and I don’t want to hear anyone else insinuating that.” Tiger’s red-faced, and I can at least be happy that she’s defending my mother.

  Sonny hangs his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Gracie.”

  The homecoming queen clears her throat. “Thank you, Sonny. Now, if we could get back to the subject at hand. We have to come up with the money for the lease on the rec center and to make repairs, because the mayor and city council have made it clear that they don’t intend to continue funding the center.” She smiles and it’s like the sun after a spring thunderstorm. “We’ve had a setback, but I know we can solve this if we work together.” Her fingers shuffle through a stack of papers. “I have some ideas—”

  “Excuse me.” A woman in the back jumps to her feet. “We should have someone else fill out the grant application and try to resubmit.” The insult to the woman in charge is clear as a bell.

  Maggie Lewis, Donny’s wife, stands and points her finger straight at the lady with the suggestion. “There was nothing wrong with the application, so you just sit down, Danielle Roberts.”

  Danielle Roberts. I knew the woman looked familiar. She was one of five Danielles in our class.

  “It’s all right, Maggie, Danielle is entitled to her opinion. In fact, I’m open to suggestions,” Tiger says into the mic. Her shoulders are hunched, and she isn’t looking at the audience.

  My turn. “I have a suggestion.” I step into the aisle, and there’s an audible gasp from the room. “How about you give me the benefit of the doubt?”

  Tiger’s head jerks up, and she gives me a look that could cut glass. “Oh, really? And how have we not given you the benefit of the doubt? The email from the Cash King Foundation was pretty clear. It’s hard to misinterpret Denied.”

  I make my way to the podium. “I’m not exactly sure what happened, but if you’d told me, I could’ve tried to fix it.”

  “Why would we think you’d fix it, when you declined the grant?” Tiger holds her ground as I mount the stage. I’ve got to give it to the woman, she isn’t intimidated by me.

  I ignore her question and address the crowd. “I wasn’t aware the application had been denied.” Okay, that statement makes it sound like I knew about the application in the first place, which I didn’t, but these people don’t need to know that. “But I promise I will find out what happened and make this right.”

  There’s a smattering of applause. I glance at the front row and see my mom smiling at me. Next to her is Nan and next to her is Joe, who’s holding a sign that says Cash is Cheap. “You too, Nan?”

  “Boy, do you see me holding a sign?”

  I point to the poster board Joe’s holding. “That’s your handwriting.”

  She bats away the remark. “You know how bad Joe’s arthritis is. If he’d written it, nobody would’ve been able to read a word of it.”

  The crowd laughs, and I lift a brow at my grandmother, but all she does is wink at me. I swear I get no respect.

  “Folks.” Tiger raises her voice over the crowd. “I think we should table this discussion until next week. I’ll post my ideas for raising the money in the Socialbook group, and we can discuss them at the next meeting. Thanks for coming out tonight.”

  People stand to leave. “Wait a minute.” Everyone turns to look at me. “I’m telling you that I didn’t decline the application.” Not technically a lie. “But I’ll find out what happened.”

  No one but my mom and Nan act like I’ve even spoken. Tiger’s already gathered her purse and stormed out the side door. As I glance around at the thinning crowd, I realize I haven’t bombed this bad since my sophomore year in college when I threw five interceptions, and OU beat us forty-two to nothing.

  I make my way to my family. To Joe’s credit, he’s put away the sign. “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on, Mom?”

  Her eyes narrow in that mom kind of way. “I tried, but someone wasn’t returning calls or texts.”

  She’s right, of course, but I’m not ready to admit defeat. “You could’ve left a message.”

  The tap, tap of her small hand on my chest is an indictment. “Good try, son. I love you, but you should not be the one in the dark right now. This is your foundation, and I’m your mother.” She turns and makes her way up the aisle.

  Nan takes me by the hand. “Come on, big boy, let’s go home.” She’s always called me big boy, even before I towered over her.

  “Think we could get a ride in that fancy car of yours?” Joe falls into step with us.

  I give him an are you shitting me look. “Don’t push your luck, old man. Cash is Cheap, really?”

  Joe’s yellowed teeth flash in his bearded smile. “Mob mentality, Cash. I got caught up in the mayhem, but I’ve come back to my senses.”

  The guy’s so good-natured, and he makes my nan so happy, that it’s hard to stay mad at him. “Sure, I’ll give you a ride.”

  “Whoop!” He punches the air. “Shotgun! Race you, Linny Rae.”

  My grandmother throws her head back and laughs. “Joe, you kook. Between your arthritis and my bunions, a hundred-year-old turtle could beat both of us in a foot race.”

  I shake my head as the two of them walk in front of me on the way to the car. I’ve got bigger problems than two geriatric troublemakers.

  I’ve hurt my mom’s feelings. That’s the first thing that has to be rectified, then I’ll figure out what happened with the grant application and how I can help save the rec center.

  Eight

  Tiger

  “Make it a double,” I say to the gal behind the counter at Dairy Queen. “A small dip cone isn’t going to do it for me tonight.”

  Maggie sidles up beside me. “You’re double fistin’ it, huh?”

  “You were at that meeting, right?” I snort. “I only hope the hit of dopamine from this ice cream is enough to calm me, so I don’t go after Cash King.”

  Maggie laughs. “Oh, I definitely think you should go after Cash King, but in the non-violent sense.” She takes her cone from the attendant and makes her way to a booth by the window, but not before sayi
ng, “If you know what I mean.”

  I follow and resist the urge to trip her. “Shut up.”

  Maggie giggles like a twelve-year-old boy looking at the Victoria’s Secret catalog.

  “You’re hilarious.” I slide into the booth across from her.

  Maggie taps her cone to mine in a toast. “That I am.”

  “I can’t believe you can be so flippant about what just happened. I had some solid ideas to discuss with the group, and then Mr. Football-britches strolls in and derails the whole meeting. He made me look like a nitwit.”

  Maggie winks. “I knew you were thinking about his football britches.”

  “I was not … am not.” She only stares at me. “I’m not!”

  “I think you protest too much.” My tormentor pulls a napkin from the dispenser on the table and wipes her mouth. “And he didn’t make you look like a nitwit, Tiger. If anything, he’s the one who looked bad.”

  I place my hand over my heart. “It’s good to know you’re on my side.”

  “Why do there have to be sides?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?” she asks.

  I blow out a frustrated huff of air. “I … I don’t know.” I take a huge bite of my dip cone so I don’t have to speak for a few minutes. The tornado of thoughts and emotions crashing around my head keep jumbling my answer.

  “He said he didn’t know about the grant being denied.” Maggie catches a drip of ice cream with her tongue before it falls to her hand.

  “Cash always has something to say. It’s what he says that’s usually the problem.”

  “That was a long time ago, Tiger.” The look in Maggie’s eyes isn’t unkind, but I can see she means business.

  “I know, and seeing him face-to-face today brought it all back. As ridiculous and immature as it is, a part of me is still not okay because of what happened that night. It’s just …”