Chapter 1: A new life in an old town

It had been almost 20 years since Steve had been there — the terms of his return no more his decision that those of his departure.

The place really hasn't changed much. It just seemed smaller than he remembered. In a way he was glad his mom decided to keep the house. Her decision had given him a place to come to, even if it isn't home any more.

No one in town recognized him when he stopped. Maybe that was a good thing. His life had been different than what they'd expected. But it's exactly what he always hoped it would be — up until now at least.

The only thing he regretted was the fact that he really had other place to go. The choices he made in the last 20 years ago had made sure of that.

A series of budget cuts left his job superfluous — at least according to those with the purse strings. He was sure his open disdain for their entire collection didn't help matters.

His bosses were satisfied with his effort. His successes were their successes. Of course no one could know his part in it. That's just as well. He'd never minded anonymity. In his former job and former life, anonymity was a good thing.

But he was never anonymous in this town. He guessed he never wanted to be either. Maybe that's why it bothered him so much that no one seemed to remember him when he stopped at the grocery store a couple of hours before.

He figured someone would recognize his face — someone he'd gone to school with or one of the many people in town who seemed to follow his every move on the Friday nights long ago.

But no one did. Or if they did, they didn't say anything. Maybe the hard feelings he'd left behind were deeper than he'd realized.

It wasn't like he was given a choice in the matter. His mom left for California and so did he. He was only 16 at the time.

Oh sure, the way they did it wasn't the best. He should have been able to tell a few more people that he was leaving. As it was he only told his then-girlfriend and her family — and they were sworn to secrecy.

But he realized he hadn't had many friends anyway. Sure, a lot of folks were appreciative of what his right arm could do — especially on fall Friday nights.

After a state football championship during his sophomore season, he'd had more admirers than he knew what to do with. But Steve didn't really count them as friends.

On a July night 20 years before, he and his mom snuck out of town like thieves.

He kept in touch with Janey Reynolds — his girlfriend at the time — for a few months. She told him that no one but her really missed him until he didn't turn up for the start of football practice in August.

Then everybody missed him like crazy. Janey and her sister, Allie, kept him up-to-date of the happenings of the town through weekly letters and a couple of phone calls per month.

At least until Christmas they did. Then the letters stopped and their phone number was changed to an unlisted exchange. Steve always wondered what happened.

Letter after letter he'd sent would go unanswered. Then they came back to him marked "Return to Sender."

Steve's mom took it as hard as he did. But by the time he realized the letters he'd hoped for were never coming, it was almost time to start a new portion of his life.

So he moved on and tried to leave Janey behind.

Janey was the first girl he'd ever kissed; the first girl he'd ever touched; the first girl he'd ever told he loved; and the first girl he'd made love to.

They were inseparable — along with Allie, who was six years younger — from first grade right up to the time he'd left.

Janey was the first of many who'd grow tired of the distance between themselves and Steve. For Janey at least it was physical distance. With the others it was mostly emotional.

His job required him full-time. It could accept nothing less, and he wasn't willing to try anything less. It was part of what made Steve who he is.

The women in his life weren't willing to be a mistress to his profession — his life really. Even when he was throwing touchdown passes all those years ago, his dreams revolved around doing what he'd done for the last 14 years — well that and Janey.

Janey was never far from his dreams in those days. She often wasn't far from his dreams these days either, but he'd never admit that to anyone.

Steve wasn't surprised when his wandering mind led him past the house, down over the hill to the creek that lay below. For some reason it seemed smaller than he remembered.

Janey's family had lived on the other side of the water. It was there he'd first seen the red-haired girl who'd be the first to steal his heart.

She didn't look like much then — of course she was only five at the time, so looks didn't matter much. But Janey was fearless.

She wasn't into dolls and frilly dresses. She was into climbing trees and digging in the dirt and trying to catch salamanders in the creek. She was the best friend any boy could hope for — right up to the time she stopped answering his letters.

Part of coming back here — not that he had many viable choices — was to finally close that part of his life. Steve wanted nothing more than to see Janey and ask her why.

He'd read and re-read the letters over the past 20 years. They'd offered no clue. The last one she sent asked when his spring break was that year and wondered if he'd be coming back to see her in the summer before both took college tours.

Then nothing. Nothing but memories he couldn't seem to shake.

Despite what he'd prepared himself for Steve was surprised at the changes he saw before him.

He used to be able to look from his side of the creek onto the back deck of Janey's house. Now the property was surrounded by a privacy fence.

He wondered if Janey's parents were still alive. They were younger than his mom, so they might be.

Steve's mom had died a couple of years before. He'd been on assignment at that point and didn't learn the news for almost four days after her death from a heart attack at the age of 62.

It took him almost a week to clear things up enough to make it back so he could bury her. He was sure she didn't mind. Her devotion to Steve and his ideas and ideals was never questioned.

She supported him even when she thought he was wrong. She always said that's what mothers do. Of course mothers also tell their sons that they still own the house he grew up in. It was a few months after his mom died that Steve found out it was still in the family and belonged now to him.

He'd always assumed that she sold it when they moved. He'd never asked, he realized, but given their departure it seemed reasonable.

Steve knew his mom wasn't any happier about leaving than he was. But she also knew it was necessary. This town had a way of taking a person's dreams and crushing them to dust. His mom wasn't about to let that happen to him as it had to her.

So when the town and its residents started to threaten the dreams Steve always had, his mom made the only decision she could. She left it behind. She knew Steve would be leaving for college in two years anyway, so she didn't worry about losing her son.

No, all she worried about was her son losing his dream. And if the two of them stayed there, that was a distinct possibility. That was the problem with this town — no one ever left and dreams had a way of fading under the pressure to be what everyone there thought you should be.

And Steve's mom and the people in town had distinct differences in what they thought Steve should be. Everyone in town already had Steve's future mapped out. Of course they didn't bother to consult him on his life. He was the star quarterback who would lead the high school to a couple of more state championships, who was destined for college greatness and then to a career in the NFL.

It wouldn't have surprised Steve's mom if the town leaders didn't already have a street picked out to name in his honor. Steve's mom knew those things were a possibility for her son, but they certainly weren't the only possibility.

She patently refused to allow him to limit his choices like so many before him had. If he decided he wanted the same things as the local residents, so be it. But if he decided differently — which he ultimately did — she wasn't willing to let anyone there throw roadblocks on any path he picked.

She and Steve left for California and the part of the town's dream did come true. He was a star quarterback in college and he might have been a great NFL quarterback. God knows his announcement that he wasn't planning to play after his senior year at Texas A&M drew some howls from pro football pundits.

Steve held true to his word — even after he was drafted in the fourth round — and eschewed any attempt to lure him to play again, regardless of the money offered.

His dreams never revolved around money — at this point in his life he wished they would have revolved a little more around it — but instead his only goal was to follow in the footsteps of his father, a man he'd never met.

So while other players were taking art appreciation classes and beginning golf, Steve was studying political science, languages and taking ROTC courses. His teen years saw the end of the Cold War and his college years saw the beginning and end of the Persian Gulf War.

The downsizing of the military didn't affect him, because by the time President Clinton managed to cut the armed forces in half, he was already assigned to special duty.

Steve and his team were indispensable, right up to a few months ago when Congress decided his particular services were no longer needed. Maybe it was just as well.

He was 36 now, a little long in the tooth for traipsing around the mountains of Afghanistan and Pakistan — or any of the other "stans" for that matter. His last trip to the sand dunes of Iraq had led to three days with an IV drip in his arm.

But he'd had a good life and a good career. He was mostly immune from the petty bureaucracy of the military — although not entirely — and his special group of hand-picked people had found ways to keep the country safe without running afoul of blow-hard politicians until his last misstep a few months ago.

But that was history. Steve was here now, looking at the fence across the creek from his new home. He was unemployed and almost unemployable. His particular set of skills weren't exactly needed in a civilized society and he had too much pride to hire himself out to the highest bidder. At least he did for now.

All in all, it seemed like the perfect time to head into town to have a beer.

As with many things in Steve's life, the plan and the execution of the plan varied greatly. The variance was a direct result of a man named "Pig."

In high school, Anthony "Pig" Chambers was a member of the offensive line that kept Steve upright during that magical sophomore season.

Now, Pig was an under-employed laborer at the factory in town that seemed to be the resting place for all the area's failed dreamers. Pig's dreams revolved around Steve — more specifically around the glut of college recruiters he thought would follow Steve around during his junior year. College recruiters he was sure would be impressed enough with Pig Chambers to offer him a free ride to somewhere nice.

The recruiters did shadow Steve during his junior year — but it was 2,500 miles from Pig Chambers and the rest of the Buckley High School Buccaneers. The free ride Pig — and many others on the team — expected never materialized. And Pig and his teammates, instead of chasing pretty coeds on a sunny college campus, were left to try to chase a paycheck at the mill.

Of course, none of the newly hired mill workers, or their parents, took into account the fact that plenty of recruiters were there during Steve's sophomore year and none of them saw anything worth returning for after Steve left. Recruiters took note of some of the Buckley players after Steve left — often when they played at other venues closer to the universities than Buckley was — but few stood out enough to warrant further attention.

A few players managed to attend college and one or two tried to walk on to the football team but none successfully. Others couldn't handle the academic pressures of high school and recruiters shied away after they got a look at the lest-than-stellar GPAs.

But men like Pig Chambers rarely see their own hands in a failure. The fact that he was stuck working in a factory and married to a woman he didn't like rested solely on one man's shoulders — Steve Booth.

For the most part, Steve didn't care. He had shouldered the load of this town's expectations before and he was far better prepared to handle it now than he was then. But that was before Pig Chambers decided to take things one step too far.