Darlene Gardner - Anything for Her Children

“Not when R.G. won’t let him play Tuesday,” Tony said.

“If Grady won’t let him play, he probably wants to make real sure the boy learns his lesson,” Mary Lynn said.

Grady slanted Mary Lynn a grateful look. “Exactly right.”

Tony’s dark eyebrows arched as he addressed Grady. “The way you learned a lesson from what happened at Carolina State?”

Grady felt as though Tony had cut into his flesh, then taken the shaker from the table and liberally sprinkled salt into his wound. “The two have nothing to do with each other.”

“Sure they do,” Tony said. “Right about now Bryan thinks life isn’t fair. Isn’t that how you felt when you couldn’t get another job coaching basketball?”

Did Tony honestly think Grady had tried to get another coaching job? Grady assumed Tony knew he’d been driving a truck by choice. Well, maybe choice was the wrong word. It certainly hadn’t taken much convincing for Tony to talk him into applying for the teaching position at Springhill.

“I didn’t look for another coaching job,” Grady said.

“You came to me when Fuzz had the heart attack, remember?”

Mary Lynn laid a hand on Grady’s forearm. “And he’s told me a dozen times how lucky Springhill is to have you. Isn’t that right, Tony?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “But I still wish he hadn’t suspended Bryan.”

Tony brought the tiramisu the rest of the way to his mouth. Grady dug in, too. The bitter, grainy taste of strong coffee hit him at the same time Tony reached for a half-empty glass of water beside his plate and drained it.

“What’s the matter?” Mary Lynn asked. “Did I mess up the recipe?”

“It’s fine,” Tony said, although it obviously wasn’t.

“I think you used coffee grounds instead of brewed coffee,” Grady told her.

“I’m so sorry.” She stood up and gathered up their plates with the barely eaten tiramisu. She blinked a few times, Grady thought to keep from crying. “I’ll clean up.”

When Mary Lynn was gone, Grady asked Tony in a quiet voice, “Don’t you want to make sure she’s all right?”

“She’ll be fine,” Tony said.

Grady wasn’t so sure, an observation that was proved true when he carried some dirty dishes into the kitchen and found Mary Lynn wiping tears from under her eyes.

He patted her awkwardly on the back. “Don’t cry, Mary Lynn. It’s only dessert.”

“That’s not why I’m crying.” She blinked a few times.

“Did you hear how polite Tony is around me? He couldn’t even tell me the tiramisu was awful.” Mary Lynn took a tissue out of the box and dabbed at her eyes. “Listen to me. Blabbing to you about my troubles. And you being Tony’s cousin.”

Grady’s desire to help Mary Lynn overrode his vaguely uncomfortable feeling at hearing her private business. “I’m family. Anything you tell me stays with me.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” she said, blinking up at him through damp eyelashes. “It’s just that I’ve been trying to get pregnant for almost a year, and I can’t get Tony to go to an infertility clinic.” She sniffed. “Sometimes I think it’s because he doesn’t want to have a baby with me.”

Grady would have issued a consoling statement if he hadn’t gotten the distinct impression that Tony had been hitting on Keri Cassidy, not the sign of a happily married man.

“I’m sorry.” Mary Lynn covered her mouth, her hand trembling, her expression miserable. “You’d think that after being married two years, I still wouldn’t be so jealous of her.”

“Of who?” Grady asked.

“Tony’s ex. You know he was engaged before he married me, right?”

Grady nodded, although he’d never met Tony’s fiancé. He’d been too busy trying to build a successful team at Carolina State.

“It’s hard living in the same town as her,” Mary Lynn said on a heavy sigh.

The same town…

“What’s her name?” he asked.

Mary Lynn took a shuddering breath before she replied, but Grady already knew what her answer would be. It was why the name had seemed familiar to him.

“Keri Cassidy,” she said.

K ERI STOOD ABOUT TEN FEET from the baseline Tuesday night, close enough to the Springhill High cheerleading squad that she had to guard against getting whacked in the face by a black-and-gold pom-pom.

At a few minutes past game time, every seat in the gym seemed to be taken. Keri’s only hope was if the group of parents she usually sat with saved her a seat.

“Watch out!” The tiny, dark-haired cheerleader at the end of the line shouted a warning.

Keri turned toward the court to see a player in black-and-gold valiantly trying to save the basketball from going out of bounds. He caught his balance before she could move out of the way, nimbly stepping between Keri and the cheerleader.

That’s when Keri realized who he was: Bryan.

He winked at her before running back on court, leaving her staring openmouthed after him. Against all odds, Coach Quinlan was letting him play.

The cheerleaders continued with their go-fight-win cheer, nearly deafening Keri. She looked toward the bleachers again and spotted an upraised hand waving wildly. It belonged to Lori Patterson, the mother of the senior point guard.

She headed up the aisle that cut through the bleachers, with fans craning their necks to see around her. Lori sat on the end beside the center aisle. She scooted over, creating nearly enough space for one person. Keri sat down, a portion of her right hip hanging over only slightly into the aisle.

“Hey, there.” Lori squeezed Keri’s knee. Short and compact with a fabulous complexion, she was about fifteen years older than Keri. But then, so were all the other parents, a fact that had once made Keri uncomfortable. Now she was used to it. “Where’s Rosie?”

“I couldn’t get her to come,” Keri said.

Lori nodded, her heart-shaped face full of understanding. Lori was divorced so usually came to the games alone, a reason Keri had gravitated toward her. They only socialized at basketball games but had become friends, sharing stories about their problems and triumphs with their children.

“She’s missing a show. Bryan already has six points,” Lori said, her face bright with excitement. Keri did a quick check of the scoreboard, noting that Springhill was up 10-8.

“Great steal, Garrett,” Lori yelled at the top of her lungs, calling out her son’s name. On court the wiry point guard had a two-on-one break, with Bryan running the lane adjacent to him. The defender committed to Garrett, who bounced a pass to Bryan. Bryan caught the ball in stride, took a long step and elevated over the rim. Holding the ball in one large hand, he thrust it through the rim.

The crowd went wild.

From the home team’s bench, Grady Quinlan, in a black dress shirt and gold tie, yelled something at Bryan. By the coach’s expansive gestures, it wasn’t something positive. The guy probably thought dunking was equivalent to showboating.

Unbelievable.

Maybe more mind-boggling was Keri’s expectation that reversing his decision to play Bryan would turn Grady into a kinder and gentler coach.

Yeah, right.

“It’s gonna be a close game,” Lori said breathlessly. “Westlake’s supposed to win their district, too.”

Lori’s comment proved prophetic—Springhill was leading by only two points at the half.

“Good thing for Springhill Bryan’s playing tonight,” Lori said, a huge smile wreathing her face.

“He should have played Friday night, too.” The speaker was Hubie Brown’s mother, Carolyn, who sat on the other side of Lori. A large woman who always dressed in bright colors, she never kept her opinions to herself. “I bet Coach Quinlan feels stupid for losing that game after what happened in school today.”