Anything for Her Children

“You got nothin’ on Fuzz,” Dan Cahill had said, referring to the longtime Springhill coach who’d suffered a heart attack over the Christmas holiday. “I can’t work with someone I don’t respect.”

Grady had only taken over the job as the Springhill Cougars’ head coach two weeks ago, but the crowd about to witness his debut didn’t think much of him, either.

All because word had spread that Grady had suspended Bryan Charleton, the best player to come through Springhill High in a decade.

Grady looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Bryan bringing up the rear. The seventeen-year-old junior had shown up for the pregame talk wearing khaki pants and a dress shirt, demonstrating he knew the drill. A suspended player couldn’t suit up but was expected to support his teammates from the bench.

“You know where Bryan is?” Grady asked the short, skinny ninth-grade boy acting as the team’s manager.

The boy’s eyes darted away from Grady’s. “No,” he said, then went back to filling a tray of paper cups with water.

Rap music from the school’s PA system blared. Grady’s head pounded and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He fiddled with the tie he wore with one of the suits he’d bought after being named an assistant coach at Carolina State. The tie felt like a noose.

On court the Springhill players and their opponents went through layup and shooting drills. The illuminated numbers on the overhead scoreboard clock counted down the minutes remaining in the allotted warm-up period.

Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen.

And still no Bryan.

“I’ll be right back,” Grady told Sid Humphries, the very young junior-varsity coach he’d asked to act as his bench assistant during the game. “Have them do passing drills next.”

Ignoring the panicked look in Sid’s eyes, Grady hurried back in the direction of the locker room, the heels of his dress shoes clicking on the wood floor.

“Grady. Wait up.” Tony Marco, the school’s athletic director, caught up to him in the corridor that led from the gym to the rest of the building.

Nearly a half foot shorter than Grady’s six-four, Tony had a stockier build, a mustache and the dark coloring he’d inherited from his Italian father.

Nobody ever guessed Grady’s mother and Tony’s mother were sisters.

“Is it true you suspended Bryan Charleton?” Tony sounded as though he’d be more likely to believe aliens had invaded the White House.

“Yeah, it’s true.” Grady fought against taking offense at his cousin’s tone. If not for Tony, Grady would still be driving an eighteen-wheeler instead of coaching basketball and teaching high school students. “I caught him cheating.”

“Cheating?” Tony’s thick black eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “In PE?”

“Not in PE. I teach a nutrition and exercise class, too.”

“Isn’t that an elective?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Grady said tightly. “Cheating’s cheating.”

“But…” Tony’s voice trailed off, though not before Grady guessed he was thinking about the regrettable circumstances that had led Grady to Springhill High.

“Suspending Bryan Charleton wasn’t smart,” Tony said in a hushed tone.

Grady straightened his spine. “I don’t agree.”

“Listen, R.G.” Tony placed a hand on his shoulder and used the nickname nobody but family called him. Grady’s full name was Robert Grady Quinlan. “Next time something like this comes up, run it by me before you do anything.”

Grady had to unclench his jaw to respond. “You asked me to coach this team, remember? You said I was the best man for the job.”

Tony had approached Grady in a panic after Fuzz Cartwright, who’d coached at Springhill for more than two decades, collapsed during a holiday tournament game. Tony claimed Dan Cahill, the first-year assistant, didn’t have enough experience to lead the team. Grady initially refused, telling Tony he couldn’t support himself on a high school coach’s stipend. Tony’s second offer included a teaching job at Springhill High taking over Cartwright’s health and PE classes.

Sick of driving a truck and missing coaching so much it was almost a physical ache, Grady relented and moved to western Pennsylvania. But now he remembered the real reason he’d been reluctant to return to coaching: the ripple effects of the scandal. Even his cousin was second-guessing him.

“You are the best man to coach this team,” Tony said.

“Then let me do my job.” Grady moved away, his cousin’s hand dropping from his shoulder, the sensation of isolation even more acute as he continued to the locker room.

Silence and the smell of dried sweat greeted him, followed by the clank of a metal locker closing. Grady turned a corner around a bank of lockers and spotted Bryan Charleton with one foot on a bench, lacing up his size-fifteen Nike basketball shoes. He was already dressed in the black-and-gold Springhill colors, the snarling Cougar on the left leg of his shorts seeming to mock Grady.

“What are you doing in uniform?” Grady asked.

Bryan had strong regular features, close-cropped brown hair and dark, soulful eyes that gave off the impression it would take a lot to rattle him. “Getting ready for the game.”

“You’re suspended. You’re not playing in the game.”

Bryan straightened to his full height. Six foot five with a lean, muscular build and the wingspan of a pterodactyl, the boy had been born to play basketball.

“Aw, Coach, you don’t really mean that,” the kid said in his soft, unhurried voice. “We’re playing a tough team. Everybody knows I’ve got to play if we’re gonna win.”

Grady couldn’t dispute that. It was still early in his junior year, and Bryan was already attracting interest from college coaches, making it likely that scholarship offers were on the horizon. The undisputed star of the team, Bryan had already led Springhill to an 11-0 record. Many believed he was good enough to propel the team to a state championship.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Bryan.”

“But, Coach, why have me sit out the game? You made your point. I learned my lesson.”

It would have been so easy for Grady to give in. To his cousin Tony. To the Springhill fans who clamored to see the team’s star on the court. To the players who wanted to win. And to Bryan, whose passion for the game had never been in question.

But giving in wouldn’t help Bryan, who needed above all to learn there were consequences for his actions. It would be like handing the boy a free pass to do whatever he pleased, no matter how wrong.

“Change out of that uniform and go home, Bryan,” Grady ordered. “I don’t even want you on the bench tonight.”

“What? You’re not serious.”

“I’m dead serious.” Grady looked directly into the boy’s shock-filled eyes, hardening his resolve so he wasn’t tempted to change his mind. “Here’s another lesson you can learn. Defy me again and you’re off the team.”

Grady didn’t wait for Bryan’s reaction. He walked out of the locker room and into the fray, questioning why he’d let his love of the game prevail over his common sense, propelling him to take this coaching job. Because once again the atmosphere in the stuffy gym was as chilly as the January night.

It was going to be, he thought, a very long basketball season.

K ERI C ASSIDY RUSHED TO the foot of the stairs in the cramped ranch house she shared with her two teenagers, wishing she didn’t feel as though she’d never catch up.

She was always hurrying. To her job in the advertising department of the town’s newspaper. To the grocery store. The bank. The high school. The gym. The doctor’s office.

Today was no exception. She and Rose barely had time to eat the egg rolls and shrimp fried rice she’d picked up on the way home before it was time to get ready for Bryan’s basketball game.

She wondered if other single mothers couldn’t quite get all aspects of their lives running smoothly or if her age and relative inexperience put her at a distinct disadvantage. At twenty-five, she felt more like a kid herself than a mother.