10. Quentin
Chapter ten
Quentin
My mother had an unusually lucid day today. I used the chance to take a walk through the nursing home park with her. Afterward, we sat down in the common room to play some bridge, a game she used to be amazing at, but she was struggling to remember the rules.
“How is Angela?” she asked.
Angela was the girl I dated in high school during my junior and senior years. She had been my first serious relationship and my last. After Angela came basic training then Afghanistan then… my new life. But I saw no point in reminding my mother of that. I’d tried many times, and she’d forgotten everything I told her just hours later—everything, even Afghanistan. For some reason, she never asked about my burn scars, so I eventually stopped bringing it up.
“Angela is fine. She’s doing great,” I said.
My mother nodded with a smile. “Lovely girl. I really hope you two will stay together. I know it can be difficult at your young age, but she’s worth it. That girl is a keeper.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. Things are going really well between Angela and me. ”
“You’re treating her right?”
“Of course.”
“You should bring her more often. Can you invite her over for dinner next Saturday, Randall?”
I looked up. When my mother started confusing names, it usually meant she was getting exhausted.
“I’ll ask her,” I said, putting my cards down. “Let’s bring you back to your room. It’s time for your nap.”
“Good idea. I am getting a little tired.”
I put the playing cards back into the cupboard with the rest of the board games the nursing home provided for the residents, and led my mother back to her room, where I put her straight to bed. I made sure she had enough blankets and a glass of water on the bedside table and kissed her goodbye.
“See you next week.”
“Don’t forget to talk to Angela. Ask her what she likes for dinner. She’s not a vegetarian, is she?”
“No, she’s not. Don’t worry.”
“I could make steak.”
“That sounds lovely,” I said gently. “Bye, Mom. Love you.”
“I love you, too, Randy.”
I left the hospital feeling a familiar sadness. I was used to the things the disease had done to my mother’s mind, but it still hurt. My mother was the only person I’d been close to after my accident and after she got sick, I often felt lonely.
On the way to my car, I ran into Raphael Ortegas. He was leaning against a wall, cigarette in hand. When he spotted me, he dropped the smoke and put it out with his heel. “Hey, Mr. Avery. Glad to see you here.”
“Hello. ”
“I wanted to thank you,” Ortegas said. “You talked to him, didn’t you? Sebastian wrote an essay this weekend. He said it was for your class and that you had given him an extension.”
“He handed in the last one completely empty. I gave him another chance.”
“Well, this time, he put some effort into it. He wouldn’t let me read it, but he wrote three pages. I think whatever you said worked.”
I sighed. “To be honest, I don’t think it did.”
“What? But he’s doing his homework. That’s something.”
“It’s the tip of the iceberg,” I said. “Sebastian is very… angry.”
“Angry?” Ortegas repeated, perplexed. “Angry with whom?”
“With the world in general, but especially with you. Sorry to be so blunt.”
Ortegas nodded slowly. “It’s okay. That sounds about right.”
I had to put some effort into keeping my words polite. I loved children. Before Afghanistan turned me into what I was, I’d been looking forward to being a father, and I struggled with understanding how someone could just abandon his own son in another state.
“Sebastian says you never cared for him before his mother died, and I think he’s just not buying that you are sincere now.”
Ortegas looked down at his shoes, his face etched with guilt. “I care about him. I always did, but he is right. I wasn’t a good father all those years.”
I remained silent. At least he was taking responsibility for his shortcomings, but he would have to put a lot of effort into making amends with Sebastian.
“I was really young when he was born. Only nineteen. Sarah was twenty. It was just a college fling, just a bit of fun for both of us, but then she got pregnant. Sarah dropped out of college to move back to her family, but I couldn’t do that.” He buried his hands in the pockets of his scrubs pants. “I guess I could have, but I was the first person in my family to go to college. My own dreams were more important to me at that time.” He looked at me like he was looking for approval or at least absolution but found only my stoic face.
Ortegas took a deep breath. “I want to be better. I want Sebby and I to be a proper family.”
“These things take time and a lot of effort,” I said. “Even under the best of circumstances. And these are not the best of circumstances.”
“You tell me. Everything seems to go downhill for him right now. His coach threw him off the soccer team.”
“I didn’t know he played.”
“He’s really good!” he said with a hint of pride in his voice. “He loves all kinds of sports. Baseball, football, all of it, but soccer is his passion. He got it from his mother. She played in college. I’m useless with any kind of ball, but she was a star player. She had a scholarship and all.”
“How is he taking being benched?”
Ortegas shrugged. “He pretends that he doesn’t care, but I think it hit him pretty hard. It was one of those things that connected him to his mother.” He hesitated for a moment. “There’s nothing you can do about that, right? No way to get him back on the team?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said.
“Yeah, thought so. I won’t keep you any longer. I have to get back to work, anyway. Thanks for the talk.”
I climbed into my car and turned the radio on, but I wasn’t really listening to the radio host's rambling. I didn’t want to give Ortegas false hope because I had no idea how much weight my word had in the matter, but I would talk to the soccer coach. I could do little to ease Sebastian’s pain, but maybe I could do that for him .
I casually leaned against the wall, the aroma of stale school coffee wafting from the nearby machine as I watched Coach Jacobs from across the breakroom.
Evan Jacobs was a man in his mid thirties and looked more like a super model than a sports coach, but I’d heard stories that Evan almost made the jump into the MLS before an injury ended his career and led him down the path of coaching.
I didn’t know him well, but so far, we’d always been friendly. I had to take a chance and ask Evan to let Sebastian back on the team. The worst thing he could say was no.
I threw my empty paper coffee cup in the trash and caught up with Evan just as he was about to leave the room.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?”
The coach looked at me with surprise. “If you can walk and talk, sure. I need to get to the field. Practice with the varsity team starts in ten minutes.”
“I won’t slow you down.”
I trailed Evan as we walked down the hallway that led to the sports fields.
“It’s about Sebastian Martin.”
“Ah, Sebastian.” Evan nodded eagerly. “Tiny kid, but the boy can do things with the ball that make you go dizzy. A real talent, that one.”
“Yes. I’ve heard he’s quite passionate about soccer.”
“Can’t argue with that. What about him?”
“You benched him,” I said as we were rounding a corner.
“I had to. His grade average dropped below the threshold.”
We avoided a group of cheerleaders in uniform, heading in the opposite direction.
“I’m aware,” I said. “He’s struggling in my class too. He’s going through some things. ”
“Aren’t they all?” Evan asked with a shrug of his shoulders. “Teenagers. They’re always going through something. It’s a weird time, isn’t it? Lots of hormones and feelings.”
“It’s more than that.”
We’d reached the doors leading out to the fields. The soccer field’s well-kept grass was basking in the bright sunlight. In the distance, the coach’s assistant was already plopping down little orange plastic cones.
“I don’t want to go into too much detail, but Sebastian has a good reason to be distracted from his schoolwork.”
“Maybe,” Evan said. “But rules are rules. Making exceptions just messes with the team spirit.”
He walked over to a bench at the side of the field, sat down, and put a clipboard on his lap. I took a seat next to him. I wasn’t ready to give up yet.
I lowered my voice. “His mother died.”
Evan frowned. “Poor kid. That’s terrible. Way too young to lose a parent.”
“His mother was an avid soccer player,” I explained. “I think playing is very important to Sebastian. To keep her memory alive, if you will.”
Evan gave a sympathetic nod. “Heavy stuff.”
“I don’t think banning him from playing will do him any good. If anything, it will make it worse.”
“Yes, Quentin, I understand. And you are probably right. But rules are rules. Why do you care about him so much, anyway?”
“His father asked me for help.”
The players started to arrive, wearing soccer jerseys in the school’s colors, navy blue and red. Like typical teenage boys, they were goofing off, roughhousing with each other until Evan blew his whistle.
“Hey, Brody, knock it off, or you’ll be washing the entire team’s socks tonight!” As the boy that got called ducked his head with a sheepish grin, Evan turned back to me. “It’s admirable you’re trying to help, but we should leave that kind of stuff up to the social workers. Or the school psychologist.”
“All you need to do is put him back on the field. Tell the rest of the team his grades have improved or that there was a mistake at the office or whatever you want.”
Evan raised his eyebrows. “You suggest I lie to my team?”
“I suggest you help this fifteen-year-old boy who struggles with the traumatic loss of his mother.”
Evan’s mouth twitched. “How about a deal?”
“A deal?”
Evan leaned back against the bench and rubbed his chin. “Since you are apparently not above bending the rules a little. How about this? I help your protégé, and you help mine. Connor Reynard.”
Connor Reynard was in my senior class. He was a friendly kid but not the brightest candle on the cake and pretty lazy. As a result, he was about to fail my class.
“What about him?” I asked.
“Your class is tanking his grade average, but I need him on the field. He’s the only thing that holds my defense together.”
I let out a sigh. “I’m not sure what I can do for Connor.”
“Can’t you give him some extra work,” Evan suggested, “something he can do for bonus credit to improve his grade?”
I thought about it. I didn’t feel comfortable treating a student differently just because he was a star player on the soccer field, but then again, I was asking Evan for the same favor. And maybe Connor would really profit from doing a little bit of extra work.
I took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to Connor about what he can do to improve his grade. ”
Evan nodded with a smile. “I’ll put Sebastian back on the pitch. For now. If his grades look this miserable next trimester, he’s out.”