Chapter 15

After arriving home from Coach’s, I tore through a hasty breakfast. Right as I’d crammed into a dark blue suit, momma stepped from her room. While fussing with an enormous, wide-brimmed yellow bonnet, she inspected me. With her head tilted, I sensed the questions forming behind her somber eyes. Starting with, why’d I stayed at Coach’s overnight? However, after a quick glance at the clock, she only sighed, and we headed to church.

While momma remaining silent was unsettling, church was weirder. Throughout the service, shadowy images of Mrs. Jenkins’ swirling emerald pools and dimly lit bouncing body kept appearing. As the morning dragged, those were joined by whatever my imagination pieced together of Chanelle’s sleek frame. Afterwards, the unfocused gaze on my face was obvious enough that, despite being busy with her friends, momma noticed.

“You gonna spill, Hiram?” she asked over the rim of an iced tea.

“About?” I replied while looking anywhere but her piercing eyes. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Okay. Keep yer secrets.” Momma looked out as the first fat drops of rain thumped across the chipped white stone steps beyond the church’s entrance. “Just remember, whatever it is ... As complicated as life gets ... I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, momma,” I replied right as a rumble shook the structure and the last of us dashed through a warm drizzle for our cars.

With the rain soon a deluge keeping me at home, the rest of the day was even stranger. Any attempt to think about anything other than Mrs. Jenkins or Chanelle failed. Every time one of them faded, the other would appear. By the time the storm had passed, it was already getting dark, and, after a silent dinner, momma headed out as usual. Despite climbing into bed early, the visions continued until long after I was supposed to be asleep.

As normal, school dragged. Also typical, Monday’s practice was nothing but basic stuff since we had a game later that week. Well, kinda. While running the drills, Coach didn’t comment or act differently towards me. However, after we were done, things—changed.

“Hiram. Could you step in here for a moment?” he called out as I headed for the showers.

With a gulp, I tightened the towel around my waist and padded into his office in rubber flip-flops. As he had the last time, Coach stared into the distance from his window. The only sounds were the little fan whirring and his heavy breathing. The universe slowed.

“Pull the door closed,” he said with the sweat-stained back of his polo shirt still to me.

After I’d tugged it shut, he gestured to a chair while still facing the window. Even after I’d sat, he remained motionless. Each tick of the wall clock echoed in the room.

“My wife...” He smacked his lips and sighed. “She’s in Memphis. At her sister’s. She got a new baby. My wife ... She needs some time to think.”

Though my pulse raced, I remained silent and unmoving as Coach turned to me. My eyes tracked his hand going into his desk drawer to lift out a thick—very thick—manila envelope. As he sent it swishing across the gray metal desktop to me, his eyes locked on mine. Huh, he believed I continued to only play-act? Nothing more than simply fulfilling a role?

Despite the glimpse of a sharpness behind it, his expression was the same: “Don’t ask, just take the damned money. And let me believe what I need to believe.”

But I couldn’t let it slide.

“What about you, Coach?” I asked.

Even as images of his wife had zipped through my mind all night long, the query had been eating at me. Not only because he was my coach, but perhaps I needed to have him speak his “truth.”

Whatever they’d agreed, Mrs. Jenkins had pushed him harder. Heck, she’d pushed me into so much more than I’d ever imagined. The icy voice I’d used. How I’d treated her. Things I’d done. Even then, I knew that was driven by her. To keep her—satisfied.

So there we were. In his office, it was only the two of us. If he’d told me he’d had enough, I would’ve walked away. Not gonna lie, it would’ve hurt, but I owed him. A lot.

“If she’s happy, I’m happy,” he replied in a low voice; his fingertips tremored on the desk.

“And, uh, you enjoy it too, don’t you, Coach?” That was the other query that had wormed its way into my brain in the dark. “Me being with her.”

Though his eyes narrowed—he wanted to ask if I’d overheard them—he remained silent for a long while until nodding.

“Yes,” he whispered, then clenched his hands in a tight ball. “Just ... Just please don’t hurt her. Alright, Hiram?”

“Okay, Coach.” After scooping the envelope from the desk, I rose to my feet. After his eyes tracked my raising frame, they lingered on my towel.

“She’s my wife, Hiram,” he said while lifting his gaze to me.

“I know.” With my heart hammering, I forced a taut grin and gestured with the heavy envelope. “I understand, Coach.”

Once again, without waiting for Coach’s dismissal, I opened the door and walked from his office. And once more, he didn’t utter a word. Because we both understood that was part of my role. Nevertheless, all the way to the showers, I sensed his eyes on me.

To be honest, the entire week was a blur. Between her day job and evenings out, Momma came and went as usual. What wasn’t usual was whenever I wasn’t in class or at practice, my mind replayed everything that had happened at Coach’s house. Not only the events with his wife, but the discussion in the kitchen I’d overheard. And then the talk we’d had in his office.

Words and images tumbled. Over and over.

As I ate.

When trying to sleep.

While driving to and from school.

Time after time, one vision or snippet of conversation would follow another. Disjointed. Reforming. Morphing into a mélange of twisted ideas.

By midweek, I was questioning everything. Mrs. Jenkins needed time to “think.” About what? Would she leave me? Weird, huh? Although she’d been adamant about keeping me in her life, I became concerned over her keeping me.

By Thursday after dinner, momma had already left for the evening, and the maddening swirl of thoughts at last was sundered. At the jangle of the phone, I slapped a book closed and leaped from the couch. Hovering over the smooth avocado plastic, my hand trembled. Nobody called this late. Had Mrs. Jenkins returned? Would she call me herself? Or was it Coach calling to let me know we were done?

After a lengthy exhale, I lifted the receiver.

“Hiram?”

At Chanelle’s low voice, every muscle in my body relaxed. With a sigh, I swayed into the wall and stared out the front window at the swaying willow branches in the gathering darkness.

“Yes.” I gulped. Why? Because images of her bounded into my brain to tumble around as my heart raced. “Hi, uh ... Hi, Chanelle.”

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