Chapter 26 Mason - Our Village
MASON Our Village
We had a sign hanging in the locker room that read: “Be the man on the field you want to be in the world.” It had been hanging for so long that the red lettering had faded, and the corners of the sign were chipping, and—let me tell you—when I was a student here, I had been great on the field and shitty in the world.
Arrogant and elitist, especially when it came to girls.
I’d like to say that I didn’t understand what I was doing, that I believed them when they said they didn’t want anything serious.
But I knew better. I knew that I had left some broken hearts and unmended fences out in the world.
But Drew? Drew had not. Drew was one of the good ones.
I looked down at my computer again, the cursor on the Excel spreadsheet blinking, reminding me that I had not even started the expense report that would take me roughly twenty minutes if I would just focus.
But I could not. Because my mind kept drifting to Sarah.
I sighed and checked my email. I almost deleted the message from Baseball Insider, but then I decided it was good procrastination. I was shocked to find it wasn’t a newsletter; it was a request:
Dear Coach Thaysden,
Congratulations! You have been chosen as one of Baseball Insider’s twenty coaches redefining the game. Would you have time for an interview next week?
All best,
Peter Preston
I felt really tingly for a moment. There was no way this was real.
I googled the name. Well, that was a real reporter.
Huh. What was happening? I mean, I was a good coach, sure.
And, yes, we were favored to win States and probably at least place at Nationals this year.
But three media requests in a matter of weeks? This was weird. I typed back:
Isn’t this usually sort of a professional coach thing?
The reply came instantly:
Sure. But we’re realizing that high school coaches are the ones professional players most often credit with molding them. You’ve got a hell of a team, there, Coach, in a tiny town. You’re making ballplayers, and we want to know how. Does next Thursday at 11 a.m. work?
I leaned back in my chair. Huh. Wow. I was really, really flattered. So I typed back:
Sure thing. Thanks for thinking of me.
I picked up my phone to text Daisy. But then I decided she’d had a tough night, and my good news wasn’t what she needed.
I’d checked in with her a few times. Sarah had been discharged around 2 a.m., and Daisy took her back to her place.
I knew she’d had a fitful night’s sleep, checking Sarah’s vitals and temperature every hour or two just to be safe.
I admired her dedication to other people, especially considering that DSS was arriving in just a few minutes, at 10 a.m.
You good? Anything I can do?
She responded immediately:
Just dropped Sarah off and am headed back home. You have done so, so much. I can never repay you.
As I read the words, my mind wandered to the night before, in my bedroom, to what almost happened between us, to what I really, really wanted to happen between us.
Daisy was beautiful and funny and kind, and I couldn’t quite predict what she was going to say or do next, which, I know, was kind of a game, but God help me, I loved it. I typed:
That’s what neighbors are for.
Then I wrote:
Hey, want to come over tonight?
I deleted that and changed it to:
Hey, want to hang out tonight?
She responded:
Sure! You, me, George, Greer, and Tilley? That’s what you meant, right?
I groaned. I’d forgotten she was babysitting. Talk about wrecking my plans. Punishing me years after I’d done anything terrible to him. Well played, Parker. The smarter brother really did win in the end.
Ah. Right. I’ll come see you guys! Bath time over there is a bitch.
I groaned again, wondering how I was possibly going to wait four entire days to be alone with her again.
“What’s wrong?” a familiar voice asked.
I looked up to see Andy Christianson, Drew’s dad.
He worked at a bank a few miles away and always wore a suit.
Note to self: Wear a suit. I practically leaped up from my desk.
Did he know? Had he heard? Had Drew figured out that his secret girlfriend had had his secret baby? And, if so, where did that leave Maisy?
“Andy,” I said, composing myself, walking around the desk to shake his hand. I’d finally dropped the “mister” act, considering that, despite the fact that they had matured much earlier than I had, these players’ parents were usually only about five years older than I was.
“Coach, I have some news,” Andy said.
Okay. He had some news. Well, that was good, right? If he had news, that indicated that he didn’t think I already knew the news.
“Have a seat,” I said, my mind racing. I decided to play dumb. My old chair squeaked as I sat down.
When Andy smiled, his face almost breaking in two, I was confused. Then it hit me that he probably wasn’t here about Maisy.
“We finally got the call,” he said.
I slapped my hands on my desk. I didn’t need to know what call.
Drew was being recruited by a lot of fine schools.
And I was careful—as were his parents—to make sure that we always emphasized how great his options were.
But Drew had his eyes on one prize, and, if I had to guess, I figured Andy, a fourth-generation Tar Heel, did too.
“Andy, man, that is awesome. I feel like I should hug you.”
“Oh, I think if anyone has earned a hug, it’s you.”
It was true that I had molded Drew these past few years, but I wasn’t the one who had coached his peewee league and spent hours in the yard throwing the ball with him. “Let’s just say it takes a village, and our village is freaking awesome.”
Andy laughed. “We aren’t in yet. The UNC coach wants to come talk to all of us.”
“All of us?”
Andy nodded.
“Wow. They really want him. This is good stuff, Andy.”
I tried not to get a pang for the days when I was going through this process, which was one of the most exhilarating, devastating, thrilling, and anxiety-producing parts of my life.
Going to exhibitions, knowing I had to play my very best every time, waiting for calls, getting passed over, getting offers.
To be wanted like that was a special kind of glory that doesn’t come often in a life.
At least, it hadn’t come often in mine. I missed that feeling of being chased, of being wanted.
Could I find that again, somewhere new? In a new field?
Or maybe it was my purpose to help mentor kids like Drew, the next generation, who, if I had anything to do with it, would model this time with a lot less bravado than I had.
And, of course, I couldn’t help but think of Maisy again. When they found out about her, would this derail everything we had worked for?
“Can I keep him after practice?” I asked. “Maybe an extra hour?”
“You can keep him all week if you think it will seal the deal.”
I wanted to work with Drew on his mental game more than his physical one. He had the goods, but being able to perform on command was always stressful. Drew did it better than most, but it had never been all on the line like this for him before.
I knew that all this could go away in a flash.
And I couldn’t bring any other issues to the forefront until the deal was done.
Nope. As a coach, it was my job to get my boy through his biggest game to date, and then I would worry about what to do next.
I took a deep breath, hoping that Daisy got to keep Maisy, at least for a while.
If she was safe with Daisy, I could put this decision off.
I’d never been much of a soccer player, but, in my real life, I was an expert at kicking the ball down the field.
Sometimes it had cost me. But that didn’t matter.
I had blown my own shot. I would do anything to make sure Drew didn’t blow his.