Daniel Palmer - Helpless

“Any of them angry? Did I offend one of them? Are any of them upset about something I did or said?”

“Nothing I heard about. Why? What’s this all about?”

“Either somebody is going to step forward now, or I think you’re about to witness the end of my coaching career at Shilo.”

Tom’s mind raced to ID a suspect. He’d been tough on Lindsey Wells for sure, but he didn’t think he’d crossed any lines with her. She was upset about her playing time, but not enough to make him a target. McAndrews? Grass? Vern’s twins? It could have been any of them, but Tom doubted it. What were they after? A new coach? They had a record number of wins. State championships. Was he too hard? Too demanding? The feedback at team meetings had only been positive. The girls made it a point to tell him what a good job he’d been doing. All of them, except for Jill.

“I realize you girls have already been through a lot these past couple of days. But Sergeant Murphy is right about consequences,” Powers said. “This sort of thing is not only illegal, but it can very well cost you the season. It’s an embarrassment to Coach Hawkins as well as to your school. I don’t know if one of you is angry with Coach about playing time, coaching style, or the drinks he gives you at halftime. No matter what it is that led to these posts, they are way—and I mean way— out of line. It won’t be tolerated. Now, I’ve worked out a deal with Coach Hawkins and Sergeant Murphy intended to save your season.”

Vern nudged Tom, but Tom hadn’t a clue about any deal. Murphy walked the line and collected the handouts. The girls seemed relieved to give them back.

“As long as the girl who created the account comes forward, or one of you anonymously tells us who did it, and we can verify it’s true, there won’t be any repercussions at all. Not for the person who wrote it or the rest of the team. If this sounds like I’m pressuring you to rat out your friend, well, damn straight I am. This is a very serious matter that I intend to take very seriously.”

Silence. All Tom heard was their silence. Come forward, dammit! End this now. Soon, he knew the girls would be back home with their parents. Parents would be calling parents, and the news would spread. Emails about him would clog up Shilo’s notoriously spotty Internet service. The superintendent would demand a meeting. Powers seemed oblivious. Murphy seemed to be gloating.

“Coach, do you have anything to add?” Powers asked.

Tom glared at the athletic director. “No, Craig. I think you’ve done quite enough already.”

“So, is anybody ready to come forward and take ownership?”

Not a single hand rose. Not a single girl spoke or took a step forward, until Jill’s cheeks flushed a bright shade of red. Without saying a word, she took off across the practice field, running faster than Tom had ever seen her run before.

Murphy went to his car and came back holding a clipboard with a paper attached. He handed the clipboard to Tom.

“Coach, we’re going to want to take a look at your laptop computer.”

“My school-issued computer?”

“That’s the one,” Murphy said.

“What’s this?” Tom asked.

“A consent form. You’re agreeing to let me take possession of your work computer.”

Tom didn’t say anything. He just started filling out the form.

Tom paced around the kitchen. It was almost seven o’clock. Jill should have been home hours ago.

He texted her again.

Again she texted back: Green.

Where are you? I want your location, not status .

No answer.

He texted her again.

This time she responded.

Green!!!

At least he knew she wasn’t in any danger. Kip Lange hadn’t gotten to her. Jill was following their established communication plan in case they ever got separated. Tom would text her the question, “How are you doing?” If she was fine, her required response back to him was the word green . Any other reply, or no reply at all, and Tom would know something was wrong. Jill’s responding only with the word green was also her way of saying, “Leave me alone.”

Tom wanted to know where his daughter was and, more important, who she was with. He called every player on the team to ask if they’d seen or heard from Jill since practice. Shilo had two proper ways to exist: married with kids or retired with visiting grandchildren. Tom didn’t fit the Shilo mold. With news of the blog post spreading like a virus around town, Tom not only broke the mold, but he’d taken a bat and damn well shattered it.

Somewhat to Tom’s surprise, many of the girls and their parents hadn’t turned against him. At least for the moment, they were willing to believe Tom wasn’t a sexual predator. That he was innocent of any wrongdoing. Unfortunately, cooperative as some of them were, nobody could help him locate Jill.

Tom’s anxiousness increased to the point of making him physically ill. Headache. Upset stomach. His only relief came when Jill responded to his last three text messages.

Green.

Green.

Green.

Nine o’clock came and went. Tom put his jacket on. He had his car keys in hand, ready to drive the streets of Shilo, when a fire red Mustang pulled up to the curb and Jill jumped out of the passenger-side door. Tom watched Jill through the front-door sidelight windows. She bounced her way along the brick walkway, as though her world was void of worry. Tom retreated up the short carpeted staircase, and he stood in the kitchen entranceway, his arms folded tight across his chest.

Jill closed the front door quietly behind her.

“Where have you been?” Tom asked. Jill marched up the front stairs, passing within a foot of Tom without acknowledging his presence, let alone answering his question.

“Jill, I asked you a question. Please answer me. I’ve been worried sick. Where have you been?”

Jill took off her jacket as she walked the carpeted corridor toward her bedroom door, which was the first room on the right. She closed the door to her room quickly, barely giving Tom a glimpse inside. Pressing his body up against the pinewood, he understood perfectly well that the door wasn’t the real barrier between them. Tom silently cursed Craig Powers and Sergeant Brendan Murphy.

We were getting closer. I know we were, he thought.

“Jilly-bean, please talk to me. Who was that who drove you home?” Tom used her nickname, though he hadn’t done so in years. It came out because she would always be his Jilly-bean.

“I don’t want to talk right now,” came a muffled reply.

“Well, that isn’t really an option. I’m your father, Jill. I have a right to know where you were. You didn’t answer my calls, and I want to know who drove you home.”

Again no answer.

Tom continued, undeterred. “Look, I know today was really rough on you. I’m beyond angry about how it was handled, and I plan on speaking with Mr. Powers about it first thing tomorrow. I know it was embarrassing for you, too.”

Nothing.

“Dammit, Jill, I’ll stand here all night and talk to this door until I get an answer. Do you hear me?”

Tom pressed his open palm against her door. He heard the doorknob turn and felt the door open just a crack.

Jill placed her bright and beautiful moon-shaped face into the opening. “Did you do it?”

“No, sweetie, I didn’t do anything like that. They thought peer pressure would get the person who made up that stuff to come forward.”

“I talked to a bunch of the girls afterward. Nobody wrote it. They think it’s true.”

“Jilly, come out. Let’s talk about this.”

Jill opened the door. Whipped it open would be more accurate.