Playing For Keeps (4 page)

“This shift in numbers won’t affect my
professional deportment.” She felt her face flush. “I have to say I
resent your implication that it might.”

He gave her a wry smile. ‘‘Well, that puts me
in my place.”

She startled. “I’m sorry, Lew. I didn’t mean
to be disrespectful of this office.”

“No, of course not. In any case, it’s my job
to address difficult topics. If my remarks have offended you, then
I, too, apologize.”

Jacelyn came to the edge of her seat. “Is
that all?”

“Yes, for now. I’ll want to go over sections
and teaching assignments with you soon.” He checked his calendar.
“How about tomorrow afternoon? Same time.”

“Fine.” She stood.

He watched her as if deciding something.
“Jacelyn, how’s Kyle doing?”

“Good. Why?”

“He’s working for the training camp this
summer. I’m surprised. So is Paul Hadley.” Kyle’s music advisor and
mentor.

“You have kids, Lew. Ever try to steer them
toward what you’d like them to do when they have their hearts set
on something else? Especially when they’re approaching twenty.”

He chuckled. “Give him my best.”

“I will. I’m meeting him right after I check
in at the Outreach Center.
He’s
meeting with Mike Kingston
now.”

Lew shook his head. “Should be an interesting
summer.”

“In more ways than one. Goodbye, Lew.”

The president’s comment about Kyle bothered
Jacelyn as she hurried down the stairs to the ground floor of the
faculty building where her Outreach Center was now located. She
hoped Kyle didn’t get too involved with Mike Kingston, especially
if he got the job watching the man’s son. Kyle needed to practice
several hours a day, and he had some recitals scheduled at
night.

She made a mental note to talk to him about
the time constraints working for the Kingstons would impose. She
wasn’t sure that “Coach” would be a very good influence on her
son.

Something really needed to be done about the
Outreach Center’s new office. The custodians had cleaned it up as
best they could, but the hardwood floors were scarred, the walls a
dingy gray and the windows filmy, making for poor lighting. Jacelyn
had gotten an order to replace the windows, and sand and refinish
the floor, but the rest was on hold.

The office that had been taken away from them
was spacious and bright and pleasant. And it now housed the
athletes.

“What’s the scowl for?” Must be her day for
frowns. Jacelyn turned to find her part-time secretary, Lucy Jones,
looking up from her computer toward Jacelyn’s desk, which was by
the window opposite Millie’s. “This space is pathetic.”

“Not very inviting, I know. Though the
eucalyptus and potpourri you brought in make it smell great.” Lucy
looked around. “When are the windows and floor going to be
done?”

“The end of this week.”

“That’ll help.” She peered over thick
glasses. “It’s hard not to resent them, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Jacelyn nodded to the numbers Lucy was
crunching on her own computer. “How’s next year’s budget
looking?”

“About the same as this year’s if the alumni
come through again.”

“They have for four years. They will
again.”

“I hope so.”

“Me, too.” She drew in a breath and glanced
around. “But I have a feeling we’re going to be on our own sprucing
the rest of this place up.”

“I’ll volunteer to help.”

“That would be great.”

Lucy stood. “I have to go get my son from
Vacation Bible School. Anything else I can do before I leave?”

Jacelyn checked her watch. “No, I’m meeting
Kyle in a few minutes, too. Thanks for coming in today.”

“You’re welcome.” She studied Jacelyn. “You
okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You seem distracted.”

She
was
distracted—thinking about
losing the office space, about the decline in numbers for her
courses, about Kyle wanting to babysit Mike Kingston’s son. “No,
I’m fine.” She looked out the window and stood, too. “It’s too nice
a day to be indoors. I’ll walk you out.”

Chatting about their kids, the two women left
the office. Jacelyn wished Kyle was still young enough for Vacation
Bible School. She wished he was as amenable to her suggestions as
he used to be. At one time, she’d wished he was older, more
self-reliant, and then it wouldn’t be so hard being a single
mother.

She reminded herself of the old adage,
Be
careful what you wish for.
For years you encouraged your kids’
sense of independence and ability to think for themselves. Then
they grew up, and ambushed you with their independence and ability
to think for themselves.

o0o

The ball flew through the air, spinning at
fifty miles an hour at least. Mike leaped off his feet and twisted;
it landed with a thunk in his hands. He had to remind himself this
was a jugs machine mechanically pitching the ball to him, not Ace
McCabe, the quarterback who had led the Bulls to three Super Bowls;
this was a sleepy college campus, not Bulls Stadium; and he was
thirty-six and a coach, not some hotshot young player up for MVP of
the game. Still, it felt mighty fine to catch the pigskin again. He
missed putting his body on the line. He glanced around the area.
The activity was picking up for the camp, as the players would be
arriving Friday. Some kids were tossing a ball up on the embankment
that surrounded the field; the ball had already come across his
playing area once and Mike had thrown it back. Couples strolled
along that grassy knoll, which sported a walking/biking path.
Beyond that, a group of coeds lazed under a tree. Mike could hear
the tinkle of feminine laughter, reminding him of his own college
days when he flirted with his girl in the warm summer air. The
outdoors in upstate New York had that green-earth smell that no
place else in the country could match.

He’d caught a couple more throws when he
heard clapping from the bleachers. Turning, he found a dark-haired,
broad-shouldered boy watching him, applauding. A shy grin split the
kid’s face. “Nice catch, Coach,” he called out.

Mike took a good look at the spectator. This
must be the kid he was meeting. “You Kyle Worthington?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jogging across the short distance that
separated them, he smiled at Kyle. His dark-eyed gaze reminded Mike
of Tyler. “Ditch the formalities, okay?”

“Sure.” Kyle eyed the ball. “You haven’t lost
your touch.”

Jacey’s son and I followed your career
religiously.

“Your uncle said you were a football
fan.”

With sham alarm, the kid looked from left to
right. “Shh, don’t tell anybody.”

Gripping the ball, Mike dropped down on the
bleachers. “Why’s that? Your mama was with us when he said it and
she didn’t freak.”

“It’s not my mom that I’m worried about.”
Obviously wanting to change the subject Kyle nodded to the ball. “I
read an article in
Sports Illustrated
that said your
father used to practice with you every night when you were
little.”

Mike pictured Jim Kingston out in the
backyard tossing footballs even when he was tuckered out from a
hard day teaching adolescents at the high school and tutoring
afterward to make ends meet. His shoulders would be slumped like an
old man, but he never let on how exhausted he was. Mike’s brothers
weren’t into sports, but his dad was, and it had become an interest
they shared.

“Yep, he did that.”

“Neat.”

There was something about the kid’s tone.
“Your daddy play with you?”

“My dad did music with me.”

“Huh?”

“I’m a musician. My father recognized my
budding talent—his words—when I was three. He made me practice
hours a day.”

“When you were
three?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I loved it.” The boy
stared off into the field. “He was so interested in me then.”

“What do you play?”

“Piano.”

“Hey, my son likes to tinker with a
keyboard.”

“Yeah?” Mischief lit Kyle’s face. “If you
pick me to watch him this summer, I could give him lessons.”

“Which was the point of this meeting.” Mike
held out his hand. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Kyle
Worthington.”

“Same here, Coach Kingston.” The boy had
strength in his long slim fingers—just right for piano-playing. Or
for catching a football.

“So, you wanna watch Tyler?”

“Yeah. I put in for it.”

“Why?”

“I love kids, and since I never had brothers
or sisters, I thought this would be fun. And it’d sort of make me
feel part of the team.”

“You play sports?”

“Only in my mind.”

“What’s that mean?”

“My dad wouldn’t let me sign up for any teams
when I was little. When he left...well, it’s a long story. Now I
make a great fan.”

Mike wondered what was wrong with parents.
Some of them ought to be horsewhipped. “Sorry your daddy and mama
kept you from the games.”

Kyle laughed out loud. “Not my mom. When she
found out I’d hidden my interest from Dad, she tried to get me into
stuff, but it was too late. By then, I was a klutz.” He got a
faraway look in his eyes. “That didn’t stop her, though. She took
me to every game—soccer, football, basketball—I wanted to go to. We
even saw a few Bulls games when you played. It was a while before I
figured out she was bored to tears.”

Score one for Dr. Ross. “I got the impression
she isn’t a sports enthusiast.”

“That’s for sure. Anyway, Uncle Eric had
daughters, and they’re into ballet. So we started to do stuff
together to spare Mom the agony of watching a game.”

“Hmm.” Mike stood and situated himself in the
gravel that surrounded the field. He didn’t like sitting still too
long; it made him jittery. He tossed the ball up in the air. “So,
if you took care of my son, what would you do with him?”

“I don’t know. Find out what he likes to do,
first.”

Mike saw Kyle watching the ball, so he
pointed about ten feet down the gravel. “Go over there. I’ll toss
this to you.”

The expression on Kyle’s face was like a
child’s at Christmas. “You kidding?”

“Never kid about my football, boy.”

“I told you I was a klutz.”

“I wanna see for myself.”

Bolting up from the bleachers, Kyle jogged
about ten feet down. Mike threw him a light toss. He caught it
easily. As they threw the ball back and forth, they talked more
about Tyler, his likes and dislikes and Mike’s views on discipline.
All the while, Mike interspersed directions...

“Here, hold it where the stitching is...flick
your wrist like this...that’s it, a little more pressure in your
fingers.”

“What kind of kid is Tyler?” Kyle asked.

“He’s shy.”

“Your
son is shy?”

“I know. Don’t that beat all?” Mike scowled.
“His mama died not too long ago, and he’s still holding everything
in.”

“I’m sorry. Jeez, I don’t know what I’d do
without my mother.”

Mike threw another pass. Backed up a step.
“Tyler’s into board games.”

“Mom would love him. She blackmails me into
Scrabble all the time.”

“Oh, God. My worst nightmare,” Mike
joked.

A few more tosses, then Kyle asked, “What
does he like to eat?”

Mike appreciated Kyle’s questions. “Fancy
stuff. His mother always cooked new things. We reverse roles when
we go out; I get a hamburger and French fries and he orders Caesar
salad.”

“Mom taught me to cook.” Kyle caught a toss
that should have gone over his head.

“I do believe you been playin’ possum on me,
buddy. You’re real good.”

“No way.”

Despite his denial, Mike could tell the kid
was pleased by the compliment. “You live at home during the school
year?”

“Nope, on campus. Mom said the independence
is good for me.”

“Your mother sounds pretty darn smart. You
like having her teach here?”

“Yeah, sure, why wouldn’t I?” His eyes
twinkled. “She got me your autograph, didn’t she?”

Much to Mike’s chagrin, he recalled the
encounter. “She tell you I thought she was lyin’? That she was a
fan?”

“Ohmigod, did she faint on the spot?”

“No, why should she?”

They tossed some more passes, and widened the
distance between them to a point where conversation wasn’t possible
so Mike never got his last question answered.

After a while, somebody came into Mike’s line
of vision. He stopped the play. “Looks like your mother’s here,
boy.”

Kyle turned and held up the ball. “Hey, Mom,
did you see? I can catch the football.”

She came closer, out of place on the field in
a suit and white heels—though they did great things for her legs.
“Yes, I saw.” And wasn’t happy, if her tone was any indication.
“Watch out for your hands, honey. You don’t want to jam a finger
before your concert with the Philharmonic next week.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

“It’s okay.” The lines around her mouth
softened. “Just be careful.”

Mike crossed to Kyle from the opposite
direction that Jacelyn came from. “Hi, Dr. Ross,” he said.

“Mr. Kingston.”

“We were just talking about me watching Tyler
this summer, Mom.”

“The secretary at the sports office told me
your interview was out here.”

Kyle nodded.

“If you’re not done, I can wait at the
car.”

Mike spoke up. “No, we’re done.”

Kyle’s face blanked. Then it revealed the
same emotions Mike used to see in the mirror before every game.
Hope. Determination. The desire to win.

“The job’s yours, kid. We’ll have to sit down
and hammer out the nitty-gritty but I think you and Tyler would be
a good match.” He winked at Kyle. “Besides, I already checked out
your resume and references.”

“It’s mine?”

“Yep.”

“That’s great. Really great.”

“I think so. But before you decide for sure,
you should know that you’ll have to watch Ty at odd hours, maybe
even an occasional overnight.” He shook his head. “I’d like to
enroll him in some kind of camp, too, so he’d get some playtime
with other kids.” He looked at Kyle. “Then you could have mornings
off, to compensate for the unusual hours.”