Home Field (11 page)

The team had a scrimmage tomorrow, against Greenbrier, an easy opponent, but it was their first time playing without Laird. Today was his last day. Dean nodded to Garrett to get the cake for him—a surprise sent over by the boy's mother. Dean had stopped by Laird's house earlier in the week to say good-bye to his parents, but Laird's father had already left to start his new job. The hallways were crowded with cardboard boxes bearing the name of a moving company. Laird's mother seemed tired, so Dean kept his visit short. But she ran out to Dean's car after Dean and the boys had said good-bye, wanting to know if she could provide a cake for pizza night. She knew of a place that made football-shaped ones.

Garrett brought out the oversized cake on a wheeled ball cart, balancing it on the top two bars.

“Whose birthday?” someone called out.

“That's just for Tummy.”

Tummy laughed and smacked his belly. For the time being, he was Laird's replacement.

“Mrs. Kemp sent this over,” Dean said. “Laird, come on up here.”

Laird came to the front of the room, his head slightly bent in embarrassment. His dark, almost black hair was recently cut, and with his strong neck prominently displayed, he seemed more like an adult than ever before. He stood next to Dean, slouching until Dean put his hand on his back to make him stand straight. Dean felt unreasonably proud of him, as if Laird were an ambassador of Willowboro, going out into the world to represent the town.

“You all know Laird's leaving,” Dean said. “And you all know what a loss it's going to be for us. Maybe some of you
who are seniors remember when Laird was starting out. He was always athletically gifted. He didn't have to try. But he did. He worked harder than anybody on this team. He
built
this team. And now he has to leave. That's a hard thing to do, gentlemen. So I want a big round of applause for Laird, for everything he's done for us. And let's wish him well in his new endeavors—and be grateful he'll be playing Division II at his new school, so we won't see him staring us down on the field.”

The boys whooped and clapped, immediately getting to their feet. The gym echoed with noise. Laird turned red, but he couldn't stop smiling. “I'll be back to see you play!” he yelled. “You guys are going to States!”

The noise got even louder as the boys began to stamp their feet. Dean felt a familiar swell of happiness in his chest. The buzz of youth. It was contagious. He looked for Robbie and Bry—he wanted to see their expressions—but the standing, cheering players blocked his view of them.

L
AIRD LEFT THE
next morning. That afternoon the team lost the scrimmage against Greenbrier. It was unusually hot, especially in swampy Greenbrier, but still. That was no excuse. Dean brooded on the bus ride home. He couldn't remember the last time they'd lost a scrimmage in preseason. He stayed up late trying to figure out what went wrong. They just weren't strong enough, he decided. More weights, more conditioning—it was that simple.

But the next day it was hot again, and Dean didn't want to trap them in the muggy, padded weight room. Also, he didn't think Robbie and Bry would put up with it. They were sit
ting in the bleachers now, eating candy and reading the comic books he'd bought for them. Bribery. Lately it was the only thing that worked.

At the far end of the field his players were jogging slowly, cooling down between drills. They looked scrawny from this distance.

“You still thinking about yesterday?” Garrett said.

“I didn't even want them playing yet. They're sloppy. They're going to develop bad habits.”

“They're just tired. When school starts, they'll be back on their feet.”

“When school starts, they'll be distracted,” Dean said.

“Hey, is he allowed to do that?” Garrett pointed toward the chain-link gate at the other end of the field, where Robbie was exiting.

“Crap,” Dean said. “Excuse me for a minute.”

“You want me to go ahead and run the next drill?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Dean pulled down his cap. This wasn't the first time Robbie had run off without permission. Dean had to admit the boys were getting harder to manage without Stephanie. At first, things had been easier. It was a relief to have her gone, to live without the feeling of her watching him, judging him. On a purely logistical level, he no longer had to keep track of her schedule, or deal with her dishes in the sink or her car in the driveway or her stuff on the stairs. He felt a kind of bachelor's freedom. He and the boys went to the Red Byrd three nights in a row and Bryan constructed a sprawling Lego village in Stephanie's room. But the novelty was wearing off, and now the boys were restless. They complained about the double days. Robbie was outright rude,
while Bry was his usual sweet, placating self. This morning he'd asked if they could visit Joelle's farm so he could see the animals. But Dean couldn't take them to Joelle's without admitting defeat.

“Hey!” he called to Robbie. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Nowhere!” Robbie called back. He was making his way across the baseball field, which abutted the football field. He stopped when he reached the pitcher's mound, smoothing the dirt with his foot while he waited for Dean to catch up.

“You can't run off whenever you get bored.”

“I want to get a Coke from the soda machine.”

“There's Coke in the clubhouse.”

“It's in a bottle. I like my own Coke in a can. It tastes better.”

“Robbie, come on, give me a break.”

“Why should I? You said we would go to the mall yesterday after the scrimmage, but we just went straight home and then all we did was watch game tapes.”

“I'm sorry,” Dean said. “I forgot. I have a lot on my mind. We can go next weekend. There'll be sales for Labor Day.”

“No, we can't, you have to go to the parade.”

Every year the town threw a parade to showcase the high school band and football team—but mostly the football team. When it was over, the players stopped by all the stores to drop off season schedules.

“We'll go after the parade,” Dean said.

“Yeah, right.”

“I promise,” Dean said. “Okay?”

Robbie allowed Dean to guide him back toward the field, but when they got to the chain-link gate, he stopped abruptly.
“I'm not going in there,” he said. “I'm sick of sitting on those hard bleachers.”

“Don't be so dramatic, it's not that bad.”

“It
is
that bad.” Robbie planted his feet. Then he sat down on the worn grass.

Dean glanced back at the field, relieved to see that his players were absorbed in their sprint ladders, too exhausted to pay attention to him. Only Bryan had taken notice and was making his way over to them.

“Pull yourself together,” Dean said. “You're going to middle school this year and you need to start acting like it. You want Bryan to see you like this?”

“I don't care what he thinks,” Robbie said. “He's such a fucking goody-goody.”

Dean was shocked.

“What?” Robbie said.

“Don't
what
me. You are not allowed to use that kind of language with me—or anyone.”

“I don't care.”

“You don't care? Do you want to go to the mall next weekend or not?”

“
I don't care!
” Robbie said, yelling loudly enough for some of the players to look their way. Without warning, he threw himself on his stomach like a toddler and began to pound the grass with his fists.

“Robbie, get up! You're embarrassing yourself.”

“I want Stephanie!” Robbie said, yelling into the grass. “Stephanie was nice to me. She made s'mores in the microwave and promised to call and help me pick what to wear on the first day of school
once I got new clothes
.”

Dean struggled to keep his cool. He knelt down and spoke gently. “I'm sorry we haven't gotten your school clothes yet. And I'm sorry you miss your sister. I miss her, too.”

“No, you
don't
.” Robbie sat up. Blades of mown grass stuck to his wet cheeks. He pushed his overgrown hair out of his long-lashed eyes. “You don't love us as much as Stephanie does.”

By now Bryan had approached. “Daddy loves us,” he said. “He's just busy with football.”

Robbie sneered. “You're such a tool.”

“Don't talk to your brother that way. He's your ally.”

“He's your
ally,
” Robbie repeated, mocking.

“Fine, you want to sit by yourself, sit by yourself,” Dean said. “You can sit here for the rest of practice.”

Dean strode back onto the field, his anger fueled by the sense that he deserved none of it. He stood next to Garrett, who was discreetly looking down at his clipboard. The players were setting up cones on the yard lines for yet another conditioning drill.

“My brother and I used to fight all the time when I was that age,” Garrett said. “All the time.”

“It's me they're pissed at.” Dean kept his eyes on the field, but he was too upset to concentrate. His glance flitted to the gate, where Robbie was still sitting on his patch of dirt. Bryan squatted in front of him, cajoling.

“I'm sorry, I have to go talk to them again,” Dean said. He walked back across the field toward his sons. He was aware of his players watching him, the sun shining on their white helmets. Behind them, the field goal's yellow bars reached up, ecstatically, to frame the sky. It was a sight that, in any other year, would have filled Dean with a sense of happiness
and anticipation. There was nothing he loved more than a hot summer day at the beginning of a new season, the way it stood in contrast to the nights to come: when the black sky would be kept at bay by bright lights, when the field would smell like kicked-up dirt and mud, when it would rain, or the wind would blow cold, and the game would go on anyway; when the crowds behind him would holler and cheer and stamp their feet on the bleachers, their noise the backdrop for what were actually very calm and decisive moments for Dean. He didn't second-guess himself when he was on the field. Because then he was part of something bigger. But today, he felt uncertain and detached. There was something brutal about the sunshine, the way it brought everything into such sharp focus. It reminded him, he realized, of the day Nicole died, how bright and hot the sun had been when he and Stephanie arrived at the edge of the field, and how all the subtlety of the trail ride—the rich, faintly metallic smell of the creek bed and the layered cool shade of trees—fell away, and it was just the barn and the ambulance in the distance, glaring white.

He remembered Robbie's face, too, that dark, dark terror, an animal bewilderment. His first instinct that afternoon had been to cover Robbie's eyes, to pull him close to his own body. He had that instinct now, as he approached his sons. All at once he could see how dirty and tired they were, with sweat-dampened hair and knees scuffed with dust and grass stains. He saw in their expressions a mix of hope and fear.

He knew then that he was going to resign his coaching position.

B
efore the parade, Dean had gathered his team in the locker room and told them what he would announce at the parade's end. The seniors took it the hardest. Brett Albright, Dean's QB, lagged behind, waiting for Dean as he locked up.

“Coach, I don't mean to be rude, but I'd much rather have you coach than Mr. Schwartz.”

“He'll do a good job,” Dean said, sternly—but secretly pleased.

“I just always thought you'd be my coach senior year.”

“Me too,” Dean said. “But I have to do what's best for my family.”

Brett nodded, but he didn't make eye contact.

“You don't need me,” Dean said. “You can lead this team. You know the game inside and out.”

Dean walked with Brett all the way to the parade's starting point on Main Street, talking with him about his plans after graduation. Brett was thinking of junior college, and then maybe a four-year school depending on what he wanted to study. He was sweet and earnest with Dean in a way that Dean knew he probably wasn't with his own parents—in a way
that Robbie wasn't with him. When Dean told his sons he was giving up coaching in order to spend more time at home, Robbie's response was to shrug and then retreat to his room to do whatever he did in there. Bryan gave him a big hug and said, “I'm so glad!” And Dean thought,
You're not the one I'm doing it for
.

The Labor Day parade was like a preview for Friday-night football, with the band, the cheerleaders, and the football players all in uniform. The blue-and-white color scheme looked glossy and new beneath the cloudless sky. Everyone was happy to be outside. Dean felt like a killjoy when they reached the parade's end, in Willow Park. There, the Boosters had set up a small wooden stage for speeches from the mayor, the principal, the president of the Boosters Club, and of course, from Dean. Normally Dean introduced the senior players and went over the home game schedule and then led everyone in a fight song, but on that afternoon, he explained that he would be leaving his position as head coach. He didn't give a reason, and it was awkward until Dean introduced Garrett as the new coach. Then everyone had a reason to applaud.

Afterward, Dean drove the boys all the way to Frederick, in the next county, where there would be no chance of running into anyone they knew. He took them shopping in Frederick's busy downtown—not quite a mall, but there were chain stores like the Gap and Foot Locker
.
Robbie wanted a very specific pair of jeans and made them go to multiple stores.

“How do you know which pair to get?” Dean asked, slightly annoyed but curious, too. He had never been someone who paid much attention to clothing.

“He just sees what other people are wearing,” Bryan said.

“It's not that simple,” Robbie said, going into the dressing room.

“You should try something on, too,” Dean said to Bryan.

“You can get me what's on sale.”

“Don't be silly, pick out what you want,” Dean said.

“I don't want to waste money.”

“Why are you worried about that?”

“Because you just quit your job.”

“No, I didn't.” Dean knelt down. “I'm still teaching gym.”

“But didn't you get paid a lot more for football?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.” Bryan still seemed confused. But also relieved. “I guess I'll go get some jeans, then. Can we get sneakers, too?”

“Sure.”

It occurred to Dean that they hadn't been spending much at all. They hadn't gone on summer vacation, and if they ate out, it was the Red Byrd or subs from Sheetz. Dean felt guilty. When they were finished shopping, he took them to one of the nicer restaurants in the area, a Mexican place that Laura had mentioned to him once, describing it as “surprisingly authentic.” He wondered if she'd actually traveled to Mexico, if she could speak Spanish. She seemed like someone who would know another language for no particular reason.

The restaurant was popular, filled with couples sitting at small, colorfully painted tables, but the staff was friendly to kids. Dean got a margarita before dinner and tried to relax and enjoy his sons' company. When the food came, the boys had good appetites and everyone cheered up. The guacamole had a secret ingredient and if you could guess what it was, you got a free dessert. Bryan guessed “mayonnaise” and the wait
ress laughed, shaking her head, but brought him some churros anyway.

The answering machine was blinking crazily when they finally got home. Dean waited until the boys were in bed to listen to the messages. Joelle and Ed had called, as well as Garrett, the Boosters president, the school principal, a couple of parents, and the local newspaper reporter. He had warned everyone in advance, but they all wanted to commiserate after the fact. Dean called back the reporter, who asked Dean if he was sick. Dean said no, he just needed to spend more time with his family.

“I know that sounds like an excuse, but in my case it's true,” Dean said.

“Why'd you wait so long to resign?” the reporter asked.

“I don't have a good answer for that. I guess I forgot how all-consuming football is.”

T
HE IRONY WAS
that after resigning, Dean's life got even busier. The boys were in school, which made life easier, but he was back in school, too, with new students to meet and names to memorize. In addition, he had to help the principal find a replacement for Garrett, who couldn't be athletic director anymore, and he also had to pinch-hit as A.D. for a few weeknights until the replacement took over. As he attended to one logistical concern after another, he found himself thinking of Laura, of how much more interesting everything would be if she were still working at the high school.

Dean also had to train Garrett. Although his former assistant was well prepared for his new job, there were certain details and scheduling concerns that Dean had to enumerate,
a whole slew of keys, contacts, and equipment to hand over. Dean gave him everything except his office.

Now it was the first football Friday of the season and there was a game-day feeling in the air, with a warm September breeze blowing through Dean's office window. The freshly limed field was like an empty stage in the distance. Dean could make out someone walking along the perimeter, near the clubhouse. Probably Garrett—or possibly the assistant Garrett had recently hired. Dean was planning to attend tonight's game with the boys, but when he mentioned it to Stephanie, she seemed surprised, and a little annoyed, as if she'd expected him to renounce football altogether.

She was coming home for the weekend. He had no idea why. She had assured him that nothing was wrong, that she was coming because Joelle said she should, that the boys missed her. That bothered Dean, but when he called Joelle, she said Stephanie was the one who had contacted her and it wasn't any of her business but she thought Stephanie sounded homesick and didn't Dean want to see her, in any case? Of course he did, but what he really wanted was for her to start her life. He wanted someone in the family to feel free of obligation. He was also grumpy that Stephanie had invited herself over to Joelle's for dinner, and now they all had to go.

“What's five times seven?” Bry asked from the corner of Dean's desk, where he sat doing his homework. The elementary school started and finished an hour earlier than the middle and high schools, so Dean had been letting him hang out in his office during the last period of the day, which happened to be his planning period. It was a convenient arrangement, if
not strictly allowed, but Dean knew no one would give him a hard time.

“Is it thirty-seven?” Bryan asked.

“I think that's a prime number.”

“Come on, just tell me. I hate sevens.”

“Here, it's easier this way.” Dean grabbed a handful of paper clips from an unused ashtray on his desk and began to arrange them into seven groups of five.

“I get it, I get it.” Bryan began to manipulate the piles himself and Dean wondered if his teacher had shown him this method. She was an older woman who insisted on memorization. Dean found her to be a little harsh, but Bryan seemed to like the strict rules; they satisfied his innate desire to please.

Robbie had not adjusted to the school year as well as his younger brother. Yesterday Dean had gotten a call from the vice principal, who informed Dean that Robbie had been sneaking out—he had actually used the word
sneaking
.

“He's been going out for lunch instead of eating in the cafeteria,” the vice principal said, “which, as you know, is not allowed even at the high school level.”

“Does he get back in time for class?” Dean asked.

“Yes, but he's not allowed to go out in the first place.”

“I was just trying to find out if he's skipping lunch or class. Maybe he hasn't made new friends yet and he doesn't like going to lunch.”

“That's exactly it, Mr. Renner. According to his teachers, he's a bit of a loner, and we think it may be because of some of the difficulties he's facing at home.”

“Difficulties?” Dean repeated. The vagueness of the word disturbed him. He recalled one of Robbie's former teachers
describing Robbie as “sensitive”—a good thing, at the time, or at least Dean had heard it as good. But it was also the word that Nicole's family used to describe her. He was grateful to be on the phone, so the vice principal could not see his shaking hands.

He said yes to the vice principal's recommendation that Robbie start seeing the school counselor a couple of times a week. When he hung up the phone, it occurred to him that Robbie wasn't even being punished for breaking the rules. That he was considered too fragile to punish.

The bell rang, which meant Robbie was getting out of school and would be heading their way soon. Dean didn't know what he would say to him, but he put the worry out of his mind, because he was supposed to meet with the girls' cross-country team. The girls had a race the next day, but no coach. Their coach had taken a new job over the summer and no one had thought to replace her. It was something Garrett should have attended to, as A.D., but Dean felt guilty about it, since he was the one who'd thrown everything into chaos at the last minute. The principal said he had a new coach in mind, but he wouldn't share the name with Dean. Which meant he was scrambling. Probably he'd bribe one of the young teachers with the promise of a better schedule—honor students and electives.

“I have to go talk to some students,” Dean said to Bry. “You okay hanging out here for a while?”

“Yeah, okay.” Bryan was still moving the paper clips.

Dean headed to the big gym, where he'd told the girls to wait. But it was too big a meeting place. Dean realized his error as soon as he saw the four narrow-shouldered girls
sitting on the bottom row of bleachers with their backpacks balanced on their laps. When he gathered the football team here, they would sprawl across several rows of bleachers, shedding coats and backpacks. Dean would always have to wait a few minutes for them to settle down; it was as if they needed the space of the gym to absorb their energy. But the girls seemed dwarfed by the room's expanse. With the exception of one very tall girl with long legs and square, sturdy knees, none of them looked like runners—or even athletes. In addition to the tall one, there was a blond girl whose skinny arms and pudgy middle seemed to come from two different bodies; a serious-seeming redhead with a skim-milk complexion; and finally, a small, wiry girl whose short, bleached hair made her look like a baby chick—not the look she was going for, Dean guessed, with her dark clothes and triply pierced ears. All were dressed casually for the warm day in shorts, T-shirts, and sandals.

“You girls don't have the tradition of dressing up on game day?” Dean asked.

“Why would we dress up for the football game?” asked the tall one with the runner's legs.

“No, I mean for your team. Because you have a race tomorrow.”

“No one really cares that we have a meet tomorrow,” the pierced girl said.

“How can they care if they don't know?” Dean said.

“Even if they knew . . .” The pierced girl didn't bother finishing her sentence.

Dean scanned the ten names on his roster. A small team.
But you didn't need a lot for cross-country. It only took five to score.

“I guess we should wait until everyone gets here to get started,” he said.

“I think this is everyone,” said the serious-looking redhead. Her hair was pulled back into a tight French braid that clung to her skull and went straight down her back, as if keeping her posture in check.

“Not according to this.” Dean held up his list.

“Let me see,” the red-haired girl said. “You must have last year's team. Those girls graduated.” She pointed to the first three names. “I don't know about the others.”

“Daria's not coming, she quit over the summer,” the blond girl said. “And Tamara and Julie didn't like practicing with the boys' team, so they quit, too.”

“Who cares, Tamara wasn't any good anyway,” said the pierced punk duckling. “And Julie wanted to play soccer, she was just looking for an excuse.”

“Tamara wasn't bad,” the blond girl said. “She was faster than Jessica—no offense.”

The red-haired girl—Jessica, apparently—waved away the remark, but her skim-milk cheeks went blotchy.

Dean asked the girls to introduce themselves and learned that there was one from each grade. The tall girl was actually the youngest. Her name was Aileen and she was a freshman. The punk duckling was the senior. She went by See-See, short for Tennessee, a nickname bestowed upon her because she had been born there, on a commune, her mother having once been a sort-of hippie. (All this was explained to Dean very quickly
and so efficiently that he understood she had been giving this spiel for many years.) The other two were Lori and Jessica. Lori, the blonde, was a sophomore. Jessica, the French-braided redhead, was a junior.