Page 66 of Penance
“Yeah, kid?”
I should stop calling him that. He’s no longer a kid, but he’ll always be my kid.
“I–umm—I just wanted to say I think you’re doing a good job at this—uh—coaching thing.”
Something about the way he says coaching makes me think he’s talking about something more—like maybe he’s talking about being his dad, too. Or maybe that’s just me desperately wishing.
My lips pull back into a smile, but I try to control it. I fail miserably, though.
“Thanks, kid,” I say, although it feels like my throat is on fire with the effort not to cry like a baby right here on the baseball field. I reach out to him, ruffling his hair, but he dodges it and slugs me on the shoulder.
“Too slow, old man,” he says with a grin as he takes off running across the field. He turns around long enough to give me a salute and yell, “I’ll be late getting home. I have to work.”
I watch him go with my chest feeling slightly lighter than it has in months. That interaction was probably nothing for him, but for me, it was progress.
When I turn around to grab my keys, some of the boys are still gathering their stuff, including Morgan, who is staring at me with what I can only describe as sadness in his eyes.
Swiping my keys off the bench, I walk over to where he’s standing, his eyes tracking me the whole way.
“How’s it going?” I ask, hoping he realizes I’m asking about much more than baseball.
He shrugs. “Fine.”
But it’s not fine. I can see it in his eyes.
“I have something for you that might make it better.” By this time, all the other boys have left, and it’s only us standing here. I’ve been thinking about how to do this without embarrassing him for several days now, and this seems as good as any. “Come on,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder. It’s in the parking lot.”
Morgan follows, his eyes darting from side to side as if waiting for someone to jump out of the bushes.
“Where’s your sister at today?” I ask, trying to make it sound casual, but the truth is, I’m worried. She’s too young to be left alone, and the last babysitter was unreliable.
“She went to a friend’s house. She’s safe, Coach. I promise.” His words are rushed as if he’s afraid I won’t believe him.
“Hey,” I say, pulling him to a stop with me in the middle of the sidewalk. “I wasn’t questioning you. I know you wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”
I face him head-on, letting him see the truth in my eyes, but he doesn’t say anything besides offering a sharp nod. We continue walking.
I don’t say anything else as we walk, leaving it open for him to talk if he wants to, but unfortunately, he stays quiet too. We reach the parking lot, and I head toward his car. It’s been sitting her since last week, and he’s been bumming rides off some of the other players for practices. It’s not sustainable, though, especially when he has Mia to consider.
“I’ll get it moved, Coach,” he starts. Panic laces his voice as he begins to pace, and I realize he thinks I’m mad because the car’s been sitting in the parking lot all week.
“Morgan, hey, look at me,” I say, lifting my arm to stop him. “It’s fine. No one is mad about the car. No one has even asked about it. You don’t have to move it, but you can if you want.”
His forehead wrinkles. “It won’t start, Coach. I can’t afford to paysomeone to fix it. I had to buy groceries this week, and the light bill is due, and—”
“It’s fixed.”
His words come to a screeching halt.
“What?” His voice is shaking, and for the second time in a matter of minutes, I have to fight off tears.
“It was a simple fix,” I say, shrugging it off. “A new belt and a ratchet is all it took.”
It was a simple fix. When you grow up poor, you learn to fix things on your own.
“I’ll pay you back for the belt, Coach. I swear.”
But I put my hand up to stop him. “No, you won’t. I did it to help you out. Everyone needs help once in a while. The lesson is learning when to accept it. So just accept it, okay?”
