Page 18 of I Knew You
I looked back and saw Josiah Bell speedwalking in my direction. His steps were heavy on the gravel. Josiah was an old friend I’d played football with in high school, fifteen years ago. Our choices may have kept us in the same town, but our lives were vastly different. He was a science teacher and assistant high school football coach at Mill Creek High School, married with three young daughters. My life was more singular andquiet. It consisted of my job with the US Forest Service, a farmhouse with some land, and a beagle named Lakey.
“Hey there,” I called out while setting the box on the open tailgate of my truck.
Josiah waited until he was closer to say, “Bram Winchester, you’re a hard man to pin down. Always in the background at these shindigs.” He smiled slightly. “Good turnout tonight, wasn’t it?”
The weekly community dinners from Mill Creek Aid always drew a crowd of patrons and helpers. MCA was a local charity that served impoverished families in our area. I was heavily involved behind the scenes. Josiah, also a regular volunteer, always served in the main areas with the crowd while I stayed in the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I concurred. “I’m glad people still come.”
“It does a lot of good,” Josiah replied. Then he stepped a little closer and, lowering his voice, said, “Did you happen to see the Douglas family? Dale’s really struggling. His wife said the cancer has spread to his liver.”
I hated hearing that. “I saw them come in. Terrible.”
I knew all about Dale Douglas. Eighteen years ago, the man had been a low-level supervisor at Mill Creek’s largest employer, Buncomb Industries. The owner of the factory had been my father, Vince Winchester. When the opportunity came around, my father sold the business for a substantial profit. Then the plant was shut down without warning, and the sudden job loss put over two hundred families into poverty. People moved away from Mill Creek to find other work closer to bigger cities. Those who stayed tried desperately to recover. Dale and his family remained in Mill Creek, and they were still struggling twenty-one years later.
I wished I could say I was surprised my father made the decisions he did, but I wasn’t. He was the worst kind of man who sought power regardless of the cost to others. When I wasold enough to realize I could make a difference, I made it a point to support those who’d been affected by him. Yet that didn’t heal my reputation by association. I had to work behind the scenes most of the time because the town of Mill Creek at large didn’t take kindly to me. Most saw me as an extension of my father. In reality, he and I hadn’t spoken in over three years.
“I hope Dale’s able to make it through the treatment. He’s already so frail,” Josiah lamented. He pointed to the truck bed, which was full of boxes. “You taking that food over to the shed? I’ll follow you over there and help unload.” MCA was an organization without an official headquarters, so extra supplies and nonperishable food were stored in a locked shipping container behind the police station. I’d brought a truck bed full of cutlery, napkins, catering equipment, and all the extra dry and canned goods for the dinner. There wasn’t much left to take back.
The need to provide food to families seemed to grow every single year.
“No, I’m good. Get home to your family. I’ve got this.” I smiled at him as I slammed the tailgate closed.
Josiah shook his head. “You’re always doing so much, Bram.”
“I’ve got time.” I had the money as well, but I didn’t want to say that. Flaunting wealth was not something I indulged in, and speaking of it reminded me of my father.
“The older folks don’t appreciate you as much as they should, and it burns me up.” Josiah spoke with feeling, but I adjusted the ball cap on my head and looked at the gravel. The number of times I’d heard, “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” whispered when I walked by was innumerable. I hated it, but what could I do?
“That’s kind of you, but they can believe what they want, as we all do.” Their judgment stung, but I tried to see it from their side as much as I could. They’d been destroyed by my father’sdecision and needed someone to blame. Vince stayed away, while I stayed in the community. What else could I expect?
“But if they only knew what you do, all the people you help?—"
“I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got a phone call I need to make before it gets too late.” Something akin to panic washed over me. I knew compliments were going to fly, and I could not stand to listen to them. I moved toward the front door of the truck.
“Wait. Have you talked to Coach Mayfield lately?”
I stopped and looked back at Josiah.
“No, why?”
“No easy way to say this”—Josiah rubbed his hand over his face—"but he’s retiring. Both the football coach and gym teacher positions. He and Betty are moving down to Florida to be closer to their kids.”
Jim Mayfield had been a staple of Mill Creek High’s successful football program long before Josiah and I came along. He meant a lot to me. He was a father figure during my teen years when my father was either absent or hostile.
“Well, that’s sad, but I get it.” It was well known that Betty had a stroke a few months ago and was still recovering. He was past retirement age and deserved to lay down those jobs after decades of shaping young people’s lives.
“Yeah, me too,” Josiah replied, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “He’s recommended you for the football coach position. He’s already talked to the administration about it and everything. He wants you to come out this season and watch the games from the sidelines, get to know the players and the assistant coaches, so that you can be familiar with everything. He thinks they might go to State this year.”
Not this again…
I hadn’t played football since tearing my ACL in my juniorseason at the University of Alabama. I’d told Coach Mayfield, more than once, that I had no interest in coaching, assisting, or anything of that nature. I didn’t have the heart for it, and Coach knew that. Yet, instead of backing off, he did what he did best and kept pushing the issue. Now, he’d recruited others to join in the coaxing.
“I’m flattered, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s a no. Tell him I said thanks. You’d be better suited for that, anyway.”
“No way,” he scoffed. “With Clara and the girls, I don’t have time to be head coach, not if I want to do it right. You’re the one with the plays and personality. You ever worked with teenagers?”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “I encounter them at work sometimes, and here. But it’s not why I’m declining. I don’t play anymore. And just because I’m still close with Whit?—”
