Michael Koryta - The Prophet

His brother was even referred to in the later letters.

I’m so glad you decided to begin writing, Rachel. It was a very good idea. You should tell the football coach that I appreciate his understanding, his encouragement. There aren’t many men who would do that. He’s something special.

“He could have told me,” Penny said. “Your damned brother could have thought to talk to her mother before he encouraged her to do something like that.”

Adam didn’t argue. “Did she tell anyone else about these? Beyond Colin Mears and my brother? Who else would she have trusted?”

“Should have trusted me. But she didn’t, and it’s my fault. She knew how I felt about Jason. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh, you know? Maybe I should have… you got to understand, he’s a hurtful man. Hurt me worse than anyone ever had, until this. And I just wanted to… shield her. I didn’t want him to have the chance to hurt her the way that I knew he would. But maybe I should have said, Rachel, let’s go see your dad. Let’s talk about all the reasons you need to stay away from that man. Maybe—”

Her voice was rising, tears chasing behind, and she lowered her face, fingered the zipper on the sweatshirt. “I could have told her, you know? But she hid the letters. Because she knew I wouldn’t like it. That was Rachel, she never wanted to upset me.”

Adam watched a tear fall onto the back of her hand. He made no move to reach for her.

“Tell you the truth?” she said, looking up again, her eyes bright with tears. “I’m pretty shitty at a lot of things. Drink too much, smoke too much, can’t hold on to a decent job, don’t keep the house up the way I should. But something I was always good at? Loving that girl. Might be a lot of people who don’t see it that way, who don’t see me as a good mother, but—”

“She loved you,” Adam said. “You know that. You just said it. She was trying to protect you, and you were trying to protect her. There’s no blame inside these walls, and the only things that happened between you happened because you were trying to take care of each other. Remember that, Penny. You need to remember that.”

She used the blanket to wipe away tears and said, “I keep thinking it’s done. Keep thinking I’m dried out, there’s none left.”

He was silent. She wouldn’t dry out. She’d think she had, and then she’d find herself down in the frigid waters of Lake Erie weeping into a cold dawn. He let her sit and cry while he lit a cigarette and smoked in silence.

18

IT WAS MATT BYERS WHO first expressed concern with Colin’s approach to practice. They were halfway through drills when the defensive coach sidled over to Kent and spoke in a low tone.

“He’s going to burn himself out in ten more minutes like this, Coach. Look at him.”

Kent had been looking at him. They were running no-contact drills—as the playoffs lengthened, as he hoped they would, contact would be less and less common in practice as he tried to protect fatigued bodies—but still the kid was burning jet fuel, smoking through every pattern and then returning to his spot at the rear of the line to run in place or do jumping jacks or push-ups. It was a cool afternoon but the sweat dripped out of his helmet.

“He may need to burn himself out, Matt.” Kent was fairly certain that he did, in fact. Today, Colin was coming off a sleepless night after hearing the details of his girlfriend’s murder. Today, every one of his teammates and classmates was whispering about what they’d learned. They all knew how she had died, and if Colin had not shown up at practice, Kent would almost have been relieved.

Colin was trying to sweat it all out. To empty himself of all that he carried, and while it was not possible, it might help. If he broke himself down enough to sleep through the night, that might help.

“He’s freaking these guys out,” Matt said.

Kent looked at him, the bills of their caps close together, voices still low. “ He’s not what’s freaking any of them out. They understand it, Matt. They know. Let him give what he can today. When he’s done, I’ll stop him. Okay?”

Byers nodded.

Over in the receivers line, Colin, never a vocal leader, had begun to shout. Demanding faster feet, better hands, more effort. Slapping helmets as his teammates went by, and, yes, all of them looked a little shaken. No one more so than Lorell McCoy, who threw a few awkward passes, his always-polished release hurried, responding to Colin’s frenetic energy.

Kent left them there and walked down to the other side of the field, where the offensive and defensive lines were working on their splits. Hickory Hills ran an option offense, and did very little with it except pitch the ball to the fastest kid on the team and try like heck to open a hole for him, rarely with much success. This meant their offense would play with wide gaps, trying to spread out the Chambers front line, and hope they could get around the end faster than the Cardinal defenders.

They could not. He was sure of that, but he was also sure that his defense would see the same option plays, the same veer approach, soon enough, and there would be much greater speed to it then. Hickory Hills was in many ways a perfect opponent, because they would give Chambers a chance to polish fundamentals before running into a higher level of talent.

Kent was pacing, nudging at the feet of his offensive linemen, when he heard Steve Haskins, the receivers coach, shout for a trainer.

Kent turned then and saw that Colin Mears was on his hands and knees on the fifty, throwing up.

He did not rush to him. Every one of the kids was watching anxiously, and Kent tried to communicate calm to them through patient motion. By the time he reached midfield there was already a trainer with Colin, wiping his face down with a towel and offering a bottle of Gatorade. Colin took a sip, swished it in his mouth, and spit it back onto the turf. His chest was heaving.

Kent knelt and laid a hand on his back.

“You all right?”

Colin nodded. Retched again, brought nothing up, and then spoke between gasps.

“Good to go, Coach. Good to go.”

“Go sit down. I’ll tell you when you’re good to go.”

“No, sir. I’m fine. I’m—”

“Son, you want to tell me what you just said?”

Colin spit again, then turned back to him. “I said that I’m fine, I’m ready to—”

“Let’s take another look at this situation, a little slower. I told you what I wanted from you. And you did what?”

Colin’s breathing was beginning to steady, but his eyes were confused.

“You did what?” Kent said again, making sure his voice was clear enough to be heard by others, trying his best to stare the boy down the way he would have at any other practice, any other day.

“Argued,” Colin said.

“That’s right. You’re a senior, am I correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many times have you seen someone have luck arguing with me on my football field?” Voice rising now. Let them all feel this day was normal, from Colin to his teammates, let them find some familiarity in this practice so that they would not lose their heads.

“None, sir.”

“That’s right. It won’t start today. Go sit your ass down. I’ll tell you when you’re ready to go.”

Colin rose on wobbly legs and went to the sidelines. Kent stood and looked up and down the field, saw all the uneasy faces watching, and shouted, “That’s what we call effort, gentlemen. You might want to remember it. I suspect you’ll need it to win a few more football games.”

They got back to work, Colin sitting on the grass just off the field, his helmet still strapped tight. Kent walked to him and knelt, spoke out of the side of his mouth, his eyes still on the field.