Hometown Favorite: A Novel (14 page)

Goodness and mercy were too slow; they followed too far behind Death, and, yes, Lord, he is in your house now, at peace,
at rest, leaving us here to wonder where evil might collide with
our lives.

"This is the Word of God for the people of God," he said,
and a few amens echoed in response. "Jesse's stay here with us
was too short; a good soul was taken home too soon."

Dewayne extolled Jesse's virtues and praised his family for
giving Springdale the gift of their son. He admonished the graveside community not to forget Jesse, and to hold those dear to
them a little closer, to listen to them a little longer, to see them a
little clearer once they would depart this hallowed ground. But
when it was time to pray, he had run out of words. He did not
know how to speak to God. What was he to say to a God whom
he acknowledged a faith in, a God with whom he had had such
insignificant communication, a God who had presented him
with the challenge of treading the dark of his own mortality?

The reverend from the Webbs' church sensed Dewayne's
spiritual exertion and stepped in. Once they lowered Jesse's
body into the grave and the line of family and friends had
passed the opened earth, pouring handfuls of dirt onto the
casket, the crowd set off in deferential silence.

Jake Hopper had come in late and sat in the back of the chapel at the funeral home for Jesse's service. He had not followed
the procession to the graveside in his car. Instead, he stumbled
along a garden path through the cemetery and waited at a
distance, half hidden behind an obelisk, listening to Dewayne
eulogize his good friend. Jake had been the last one to have a
conversation with Jesse, perhaps the last one to take full notice
and discern his fragile state before he got into his Hummer.

Jake had not been sober since he had defeated the Tiger
Mart man at the pool tournament that had pitted him against
the bartender for the championship. This was his first public
appearance, and he braced himself against the obelisk and
took another drink from the flask concealed inside his coat pocket. They never got to crown the Rebel Rouser's King of the
Cue. The police had arrived at the bar right after the bartender
had made his opening shot. Jake had seen Jesse come out of
the bathroom and hurry from the bar. The demands of the
game had kept him from obeying a drunk's instinct to protect
a brother addict. Hadn't he tried? Hadn't he offered?

Now in the rise and fall of the soul's mercury, in the pool of its
lowest red depths, he tried to drench the theory he might now
be a murderer. He might be the cause of an innocent death.

A collective of sports news reporters had gathered on the main
road cutting through the cemetery but had kept a respectful
distance from the grave site as they waited for the end of the
service to interview Sly and Dewayne. Two college football
stars, each leading his team to a conference title, each headed to
a major bowl game, each a contender for the Heisman Trophy
and leaving for New York City for the ceremony in twentyfour hours, and each returning home for the funeral of a best
friend-it was a news story that could not go untold. Dewayne
insisted they go to a neutral location to hold this impromptu
press conference, and he led them to the parking lot of the high
school. Out of respect for Jesse, both Sly and Dewayne kept all
comments about their years playing for the Tigers on a positive
note, even though one intrepid reporter asked if either of them
thought there might be a connection between Jesse's death and
their state championship loss their senior year.

"We lost as a team;" Dewayne said. "There is never one play
that loses a game or one player that makes a team lose. You
win or lose as a team. End of story." And the moment he heard
those words come from his mouth, he felt a rush of regret.
He could have provided a stronger buffer to shield the hurt feelings of his friend when Sly was raging against him after
the Tigers' defeat to the Devils, but he had wimped out. His
defense had been lame.

Why had he never looked Jesse in the eye when he was alive and
said the words he had just spoken to an anonymous reporter?

Jake remained in his car behind the reporters and curiosity
seekers in the parking lot, unable to see or hear much of what
was happening, but that was not the point. He wanted only to be
in proximity to Dewayne and Sly, for being near them was easing
some of the pain and assuaging some of the confusion. For the
moment, he did not have the reckless need to soak his fears in
alcohol. By focusing on the importance of Dewayne and Sly to
his life, perhaps to his survival, he would not have to drink again
for that minute, that hour, that day, for who knew how long.

Jake followed them to Cherie's after the interview and then
waited until nightfall before leaving the refuge of his car and
walking to the front of the house, walking carefully so as not
to stumble, holding his hands out from his sides to maintain
an awkward balance. He stood at the end of the path leading
to the front porch, placed his hand on the mailbox, and peered
through the windows at the dinner preparations going on inside
the house. It was like watching a play on a set that enclosed
the actors. He wished that he could breach this set, that the
characters would invite him onto the stage to be a player in this
story, to contribute to the action, to add to the depth of each
character from the wellspring of passions and desires swimming through his own heart. But he could not force his legs
to inch his body forward to the light, toward the life inside the
bright set. He feared they would have a moral limit as to who
could enter and no invitation would be issued.

"Coach? Coach Hopper, is that you?" said the voice that snapped him out of his dream. He stepped back, and the lucent
glow of the streetlight brought recognition.

Dewayne stepped off the porch and bounded toward Jake,
like a child dashing toward a favorite uncle. Sly was at his heels,
and both men shook his hand and pounded his shoulders. It
was the admission he had hoped for, yet dreaded.

In the light Dewayne and Sly saw a hollow-chested man
whose hair was thinning on top of his bowed head; the pallid face of an alcoholic with papery skin and an expression
of constant mourning. Gone was the robust confidence that
had once inspired them. Dewayne asked him to come in, but
he declined, citing an urgency he would not identify. He just
needed to feel their touch, to hear their strong voices, to have
them say his name to remind him that he was still among the
living, that no one held Jesse's death against him.

He was doing fine and about to open his own barbecue restaurant, he told them. "Hopper's Barbecue;" he said with excitement, almost as if he thought man had never before attempted
the concept of offering barbecue to the public. Then came the
request out of the blue, from the giddiness of the moment. He
had not wanted to burden these Heisman nominees, but could
they help their old coach with this new phase of life? Would
they come to the grand opening of Hopper's Barbecue at noon
tomorrow? Their enthusiastic yes surprised and pleased Jake.

Sober now from head to toe, he walked backward to his car,
talking to the boys the entire way, not wanting to lose sight of
them. Maybe they could wear their old Tigers' jerseys and pass
the football in front of the restaurant? They would draw the
crowd in, and the Springdale Leader would be sure to take pictures of him flanked by these future superstars. He would call in
a favor at the high school and request several of the current football players who would love to be in the presence of two former Tigers, and throw in some of the cheerleaders as a bonus. He
would ask the police chief for an escort to the restaurant, maybe
even block off the street to give the boys plenty of room for a
little pitch and catch. Dewayne and Sly would just show up, sign
some autographs, take a few pictures, throw a few passes, and eat
the best barbecue ever made since man became a carnivore-all
before getting on the plane to New York and arriving in the Big
Apple in plenty of time for the award ceremony.

Jake had found himself, and he called in many favors that
night. No one wanted to miss this opportunity to exploit the
return of two Springdale heroes, especially on the heels of such a
sad day as this one had been. Everyone agreed it would help bring
the town back to life. Jake did not touch another drop the rest of
that night. He did not drink again until the following morning
when he turned on the television to watch the morning's sports
news as he made his coffee and prepared to eat his cereal, the
first bite of food he had had since he could remember.

"So which of you will win the Heisman tomorrow?" the
newscaster asked.

Both Sly and Dewayne pointed to themselves before starting to laugh.

"Well, not to put the other nominees down-they are all
excellent players-but all our polling numbers show the race
to the trophy is between you two."

Jake chuckled, wondering where in Springdale that All Sports
Network had set up this interview with Sly and Dewayne. If he
had known in time, he would have tried to finagle the interview
in front of Hopper's Barbecue.

It wasn't until the commentator encouraged the viewers not
to change the channel-when they returned from commercial, they would play highlights of Sly's and Dewayne's college
football careers-and stated that the show was live from New York, home of the Heisman award ceremony, that Jake realized
Springdale's only luminaries were now separated from him by
several states. The grand opening of Hopper's Barbecue was
no match for the publicity of national talk shows surrounding
all things Heisman.

The reality came as a sucker punch to his empty gut. Instead
of pouring milk into his cereal bowl, he unscrewed the pint
bottle of whiskey he had neglected the night before and saturated the flakes in its intoxicating warmth. The phone began to
ring. It rang as he ate his cereal and watched his boys exchange
playful banter with the commentator. Had not the three of them
had such an exchange just last night? How had they gotten to
New York? The network television showed highlights from
their college games, but for Jake it was a broadcast of personal
humiliation for America's entertainment.

He dropped the bowl and spoon in the sink, put on his
overcoat, and stepped outside. He looked into the bright blue
sky. Perfect day to travel toward a horizon ... any horizon, he
thought. He opened his trunk and retrieved a pint of whiskey
from a cardboard case. As he eased his car onto the road, a
convincing proposal occurred to him: maybe this was God's
way of punishing him for being a murderer.

Had he answered the ringing phone instead of going out
the door, he would have heard from Cherie that All Sports
Network had flown them all last night on the company plane
to do a live studio interview that morning from New York, put
them up in a four-star hotel, and shuttled them to the studio
the next morning in a stretch limo. Hopper's Barbecue could
not compete with such superstar treatment.

Jake broke the seal off the bottle with a twist of his wrist. He
began to sing an old hymn, "What can wash away my sins ...
before he took a long pull from the fresh pint.

"Sly, you put on a clinic in the championship game against
Tech," Robert Hickman, host of This Week in College Football,
said. Hickman, a former college running back for Texas, was
unable to contain his delight at being in the presence of the
top two contenders for the Heisman Trophy.

"Sly brought Miami back from the brink," Dewayne said,
grinning at his friend and slapping his large hand into Sly's
open palm.

"I'll say he did," Hickman said. "With twenty-five of thirtyeight passes for four hundred thirty-two yards-"

"And no interceptions" Sly could not help himself and gave
the camera a quick smile and wink.

"I was going to get to that," Hickman said. "In fact, I think
you had the fewest interceptions of any quarterback in college
football this season"