Page 54 of I Knew You
The immediate groan that wanted to climb out of me could barely be contained. I turned to face the pleasant yet rugged face of my old high school football coach, Jim Mayfield.
“Hey, Coach,” I said casually, turning and shaking the man’s hand.
I had no ill will toward Coach Mayfield. He’d been a greatexample of a good man for many years when I needed it most. We had been close then. But Coach was the embodiment of football in my mind. Seeing him now made me think of things I wanted to forget, like where my father claimed he paid the University of Alabama to accept me on a football scholarship, something he’d held onto until the night of the wreck.
I didn’t want to remember any of it. Not the wreck. Not the betrayal. And certainly not the satisfied look on my father’s face as he threw my world into a tailspin.
I often wondered if Coach Mayfield knew I was recruited falsely, but I would never ask him. I had an image of him that I didn’t want tarnished.
“How you been doing, son?” Coach Mayfield asked.
“I’m holding up.” I took a bite of a fry, wanting to groan once again as he sat beside me. “How’s Betty doing?”
The older man’s eyes glistened as they met mine. “She’s fair to middlin’. We’re moving to Florida, in case no one’s said anything to you yet.”
I internally recalled my conversation with Josiah in the parking lot after the MCA dinner. It had only been last Friday, but it felt like a million years ago.
“You know damn well Josiah already told me.”
“Never could get one over on you.” He laughed good-naturedly. “I had to sic someone on you. You never called to take me up on the offer. You ought to see what I’m working with this season.” He whistled for punctuation, then he nodded toward the bartender, who came over and took his order. The third unspoken groan echoed within me as he ordered the same thing I had. Food meant I was in for the long haul.
“Good talent this year?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. Got a couple of freshmen with promise, and you ought to see the quarterback. He’s a good leader, and that’s on top of a mean throwing arm. Good eye, too.”
“That’s great.”
I couldn’t focus as he talked about his team. My thoughts swam to my father, Whit, and Julianna.
“What’s eatin’ you? You look miles away.”
“Sorry,” I replied. “Not personal. It’s been a long day. Weekend can’t come soon enough.”
“Hmm,” he said, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with the talk I heard about Whitaker East’s sister being back in town?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Word travels fast around here,” I said, then downed a swig of my beer. “How would that affect me?”
A smile played on the older man’s lips. “Wouldn’t have meant a thing if old widow Erma hadn’t seen you two moving boxes at Leota’s old house.”
I groaned aloud this time. “I should have known someone was watching. Whit can’t be here. I’m stepping in for him. Simple as that.”
“I see.” Coach Mayfield nodded. “She always was a sweet gal. I remember her coming to practice sometimes, waiting for Whit to take her home. How is she?”
“She’s okay,” I replied. “Came home to have surgery on her back in Roanoke, though.”
“Oof. From that wreck she had when you guys were teens? It was bad. Does she have anyone to tend to her?”
I sat straighter. “Yeah. I’ll be helping her as much as she’ll let me.” I’d self-nominated, but Coach Mayfield didn’t have to know that.
“Mmm…Isn’t it funny how sometimes the past collides with the present? I’m sure Whit is grateful you’re here for her when he can’t be. His stats this season are impressive, especially since he’s been at this a while.”
I tipped my beer to him in agreement. “Yeah, he’s doing great.” I took my last drink. The small talk was beginning to betoo much, and after a moment of silence, I threw my wrappers and used napkins back into my burger basket, unwilling to finish the few bites I had left. I stood, primed to escape quickly with a goodbye, when I felt the old man’s hand on my arm, steadying me.
“I know you feel some way about what happened way back when, Bram. Your injury in college and all that. Just know that when the scouts came to see you and Whit during your senior year in high school, they told me you had what it took to make it. Life throws us some awful punches. You’ve dealt with them better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
I looked my old coach in the eye, searching for any sign of lies on his face. But I saw nothing. Coach Mayfield was an honest man, and I trusted him. If his words were true, I might have earned that scholarship. Maybe it wasn’t given to me because of money. It wouldn’t be the first time my father had manipulated a situation to his advantage.
I shook myself out of my daze.
