5. Chapter 4
Austin - The Past
The nice thing about this school is that it’s so small, you can’t really get lost in it.
After my final class of the day lets out, I head back to the gym and look for the coach’s office.
He’s apparently the head of every male sport at this school.
I find the hall and head toward the door with Sports Staff hanging over the door.
Knocking on the doorframe I peek into the small office, if it could be called that. It seems more like a closet. A few filing cabinets stand against the back wall. A floor lamp sits next to them, making the small room feel cozy.
The coach sits in a creaky office chair behind an old green metal desk.
“Young man. Come on in. I’m Coach Hernandez, but you can just call me Coach.
” He stands and leans over the desk, offering me a hand to shake.
It’s a firm shake, especially for his age.
His black hair is sprinkled with white, and the laugh lines around his eyes crinkle, giving him an old, but happy look.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I rock back on my heels. “I’m Austin Thomas. My mom spoke to you on the phone before we moved here. Asked about your baseball program.”
He nods his head. “Yes, yes. I remember. You’ll just have to remind me what position that you play.”
“I’m a second baseman. But I’m willing to try other positions if you already have someone on second.” Okay, that might be a bit of a lie. I want to stick to second base. But I’ll do just about anything to play in this cabbage-patch town.
Coach strokes his little white goatee. “I’ve got a second baseman position open. Tryouts next week, and the practice schedule will come out in February. If you’re into football as well, I’ve got room there also.”
“Baseball is super important to me. Will it be okay if I use the field and equipment to practice during the off season?”
“Absolutely.” He claps his hands. “Anytime you want me to pitch, or help you out, I’m glad to step in.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I’ve worked with coaches who only cared about the wins. “Do you have a weight room or anything where the players can work out?”
Coach chuckles. “You’d think with our size that we wouldn’t have one, but we actually do. It’s nothing pretty, but it gets the job done. Let me show you where it is.”
He shows me the modest weight room. It doesn’t have much, but it’ll do the job.
I head back out to my truck, sitting in the blast of the air conditioning.
The climate is similar to Atlanta, but it feels hotter—maybe that’s my attitude.
Letting the radio play for a while, I sit and think over the school day.
It’s just so different from school in Atlanta.
Less busy. Quieter. Thinking about Atlanta brings Dad and my old baseball team to mind.
It sucks. It really sucks.
I lay my head on the steering wheel. “Why!?” Everything was set in Atlanta.
I would graduate with guys I’d known my whole life.
Play with my team. But, no, Dad had to screw over our family.
And it’s not like my parents fought. Sure, they had times when they disagreed, but there was never any yelling or anything.
Mom was a good wife, from what I’ve seen.
I’ve been to friends’ homes where both parents were constantly losing their crap.
Mom’s opinion would differ from Dad’s here and there, but I thought they had a good marriage.
“Why, Dad?” I yell as I slap the steering wheel.
“Is divorce just the norm? Maybe most marriages and relationships aren’t meant to last?
” Not that I’ve got any experience. I’ve never dated.
Not that there weren’t girls that were interested.
I’ve just never been interested in anyone, not in Atlanta. Baseball always came first.
A tap on the window startles me, and I bring my head up sharply. Coach stands there peering in at me, a concerned look on his face. I probably do look a little weird, or maybe he heard me yelling. I hope he doesn’t think I’m doing drugs or something.
I crank the handle and roll down the window. It shudders and creaks under my efforts.
“Hey, Coach.” I do my best to keep my voice even, hoping that the anger and frustration I’ve been feeling don’t show.
“You doing alright there, Austin?”
I nod my head and clear my throat. “Yeah. Yeah.” I pause. “Peachy.” I finish out, shrugging. “Just doing some thinking.” I’m not going to volunteer any information. Hopefully he thinks it’s just about this ridiculous move halfway across the country.
He lifts a wrist to glance at his watch. “I’ve got some time, and I’m a good listener. You like coffee?” Coach leans in a little closer. He’s probably looking for any drug paraphernalia or sniffing for weed.
I twist up my lips and shrug my shoulders. “Um, yeah, I like a good coffee.” But just because a nice old coach offers me coffee doesn’t mean I’m going to give him my life story.
Coach thumps the trim around the car door with his hand. “Meet me at the Clear Creek Café on Main Street in fifteen.”
The roads are so wide here. It amazes me that I don’t have to parallel park, the parking spots are diagonal to the road and I just pull right in.
I rub my palms on my pants before exiting my truck.
Standing on the sidewalk, I take in the tiny town.
Mom’s house is on a side street right off this main thoroughfare.
Seeing all the buildings now… It’s not a cabbage-patch town.
There’s plenty here. Multiple businesses, trees along the sidewalk, and people walking happily and chatting with each other.
I stare at the café. What am I even doing? I don’t want any sort of relationship with this town. Not dating. Not friends. I’m going to finish high school, get drafted or go to college, and leave this cabbage-patch, er, dusty Texas town.
Stepping forward, I grasp the handle on the door to the café. Above my head hangs a teacup with the words Clear Creek Café . As I step in, my boots click on the cement floor and the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and chocolate chip cookies greets me.
The bell above the door jangles again and Coach walks in behind me, clapping me on the shoulder. “Have whatever you want. I’m paying.” I nod and step forward.
There’s a beadboard wrapped counter jutting out from the right side of the room.
A large chalkboard on the wall behind it showcases the various flavors of coffee and baked goods available.
A display case of goodies attracts my attention.
No one mans the counter, but a doorway behind it clearly leads to a kitchen, and I can hear dishes clanking and someone humming.
The humming stops as an older lady walks out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
She has dark hair streaked with gray, complimenting her olive skin.
She reminds me a little of my grandma. She smiles at me then focuses on Coach, her laugh lines crinkling and her brown eyes twinkling.
She doesn’t say a word, just steps around the counter and plants a kiss on his lips.
I don’t know what to do, other than to jump back in shock.
My eyes bounce around the room. Is this allowed?
Is this one of those kissing cousins towns?
I stare to my left at a small space with a bookshelf with games and books.
There's a sign above it, telling customers to take a book and leave a book.
Once the PDA is finally over, Coach turns to me, his arm around her waist. They both laugh at the shocked look on my face. “Meet my wife, Rosa.” He motions between the two of us. “Rosa, Austin.”
Rosa grins as she continues chuckling. It’s a warm sound, soothing in a way. “Nice to meet you. Welcome to Clear Creek. We’re so glad to have you here.” She speaks with a melodic Spanish accent.
“Thank you, ma’am.” I clear my throat. I don’t think I’ve ever said ma'am before.
“Well, Austin, you let me know what you want, and I’ll have it right out.” She flashes me a welcoming smile and slips back behind the counter.
“I’ll just have a strong black coffee.”
“Oh, you need something sweet, too.” She waves a hand toward the case of pastries. “You look like a guy who likes his chocolate chip cookies straight from the oven,” she says with a wink.
The corners of my mouth automatically lift up in a smile. The warm atmosphere and kind words have done something to me. “I won’t pass them up if you happen to have some.”
“There will always be fresh chocolate chip cookies in this café,” she says with a wide grin.
Coach leads me to one of the wrought iron tables after asking for a black coffee with a splash of cream for himself.
Ms. Rosa brings our coffee and cookies to us as Coach picks a table looking out the front windows.
After we’re situated, he bites into a cookie and groans in bliss.
“Doesn’t my Rosa make the best cookies?”
I take a bite. They’re warm and the chocolate chips are just the right level of gooeyness, melting on my tongue. I nod and wait to speak until my mouth is clear. “I don’t know that I’ve had better. My mom isn’t much of a baker, so I can’t compare them to hers.”
Coach jumps right in and asks a direct question, skipping any small talk, “So, why’d y’all move out to little ole Clear Creek?”
I expected him to ask at some point, but not right from the get go.
I stutter a little as I answer. “Uh, yeah. So my dad…” I clear my throat.
“Um, my Gram grew up here, so my mom figured after the divorce this would be a good place to start over.” I take a sip of my coffee.
Not scalding, but hot enough to sting and wake me up, and force the thoughts about my dad into a dark box.
“Mom was able to get a job here, so here we are.”
Coach sets down his half-empty coffee cup. His eyes are thoughtful, and he strokes his chin. “Do you do anything besides baseball? Any hobbies? What about church, or anything like scouts?”
I shift forward, setting my elbows on the table.
“Well, baseball is my only sport. I never got into football or anything. I went to a lot of Warriors games growing up. My, uh…” I stare down at what’s left of my cookie.
“My dad gave me the truck out there a few years back.” I motion with my thumb towards my truck.
“I really enjoyed fixing it up. I play a little guitar, and I try to spend time doing things with my little sister, but other than that I don’t do much. ”
Coach’s eyes light up as he looks out at the truck, “You did most of the work yourself?”
“I refurbished the truck with the help of some of the guys on my ball team.” Sure, Dad gave me the truck, but he only offered me a pinky sized amount of help.
I wish my truck didn’t make me think of him.
A wave of disgust makes me crinkle my nose.
He should’ve been the one to do all of it with me. But he was busy. Doing… Other things.
“I’m impressed.”
I duck my head, feeling my cheeks heat up. “Thank you. I just wish it didn’t always make me think of my dad.” I shouldn’t have said that. Now he’ll ask more questions about my dad.
Coach cocks his head, his brows dipping toward each other.
“You mad at him?” I open my mouth to answer, but he holds up a hand, telling me not to speak yet, then rubs his chin.
“I understand if you are, and I hold no judgment. You’re a human, and when someone hurts you, or hurts someone you care about, you can’t help but feel angry and hurt.
” He gives me a serious look, his thick black brows arching downward.
“Just don’t let it consume you. You’re obviously already redirecting it with baseball.
But maybe something more would help. A job?
A little horse-riding on a ranch? Maybe some roping? ” Coach’s look turns mischievous.
“I’m not sure I’m the best guy for a ranch job.” I’m willing to give it a try, but I have a feeling I’ll fumble most of the jobs and be stuck constantly mucking stalls.
“Oh, you’ll do just fine.” Coach smacks his thigh with his palm.
“Let's get you a job at one of the ranches around here and see if we can give you some place to direct that anger.” He grins at me. “I also happen to lead the youth group at Clear Creek Baptist. I’d love to see you there on Wednesday nights.”
I exchange numbers with Coach before I leave. I’ve got baseball, met a cute girl, and a lead on a possible job. I refuse to hope for anything but an MLB career, but maybe this cabbage-patch town won’t be so bad after all.