For the Children. Tara Quinn Taylor

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      “Good footwork, Blake. Now watch Shane’s ball-handling. Shane, you watch Blake’s feet.”

      Valerie observed. Assessed.

      And waited.

      During the last fifteen minutes of the hour, Kirk Chandler split the boys into two teams and let them scrimmage with each other while he walked up and down the sidelines taking notes and yelling out to them. Only encouragement at that point—earning him Valerie’s begrudging admiration. This was the man from the crossing corner. Compassionate. Dedicated to the children he was there to serve.

      Abraham Billings was everywhere. He made more shots than any of the other boys combined.

      When practice ended, the entire squad gathered around their coach, faces eager, all eyes pinned on the man before them, all ears tuned to whatever he was saying. The gym was silent except for the hum of his voice. He was grinning, nodding and sweating as much as any of them. Fair in all her judgments, Valerie had to admit that from what she’d seen, Kirk Chandler was a good coach. Maybe even a great one.

      And after watching the time and effort he’d spent on her son, she was fairly confident Brian would get his place on the team.

      She met her boys at the side of the court as they walked off with the coach after everyone else had left through the far door of the gym.

      Brian, lagging behind the other two, with his dark curly hair plastered to the sides of his head, looked from his mother to Kirk Chandler and grinned.

      “So I’m on the team, too?” he asked Chandler.

      As Blake moved beside his twin, nodding and staring up at their coach with adoration, Valerie held Chandler’s gaze.

      Don’t let me down, she told him as forcibly as she could although she didn’t say a word.

      He’s just a little boy who’s struggling with things that are bigger than he is. She knew better than to try to appeal to the man in front of her with that sentiment.

      After long seconds, Chandler broke eye contact with her and glanced down at her son, a hand on Brian’s shoulder, a ball wedged between his other wrist and his hip. “How many times were you first down the court today, Brian?”

      “None.” Brian continued to gaze up at the coach, his green eyes earnest.

      “How many times did you have to stop because you couldn’t keep up?”

      “A couple.” The boy’s expression changed from rapt to tentatively hopeful.

      Valerie’s stomach tightened. The bastard wasn’t going to do it.

      “And how shaky were your legs when we finished?”

      Brian looked down at the offending appendages. Bony-kneed and far too skinny, his little boy legs stuck out from beneath the silky silver shorts she’d bought them the weekend before for tryouts. And then he turned his attention back to his coach. “Pretty shaky,” he said with a shrug.

      He knew what was coming. Valerie blinked back a surge of emotion. Why did life have to be so damn difficult? Her sons were good boys. They tried hard and stayed out of trouble. Was it so wrong to want this break for them?

      “I’m not on the team, am I?” Brian asked, his voice perfectly even.

      “Do you think you’re ready?” Chandler asked. He held the ball between both hands, lightly spinning it.

      “No, Coach.”

      “I don’t think so, either.”

      Brian nodded, chin jutting out, maintaining eye contact with Chandler, obviously trying to take it like a man.

      “Come on, Bry, let’s go get our stuff.” Blake elbowed his brother, and the two boys headed across the gym floor to the locker-room door. Valerie didn’t miss the quiver in Brian’s chin as he turned away.

      “How can you be so cruel?” Valerie asked softly. She didn’t get it. Tough love was great in a lot of circumstances. Not this one. “Do you honestly not realize that I’m not a parent who just wants to see my son play basketball? Or even a mother who wants her son to get his own way? Can’t you see that what I am is a parent who’s found a way to help her son be healthy when nothing else has worked?”

      “Has Brian been in counseling?” The ball between his hands was still.

      “Yes, they both have. Their father’s unexpected death left some unresolved issues.”

      His life had left some, too, although the boys weren’t yet old enough to understand the extent of the damage their father’s neglect had caused. Still, they’d been awakened more than once in the middle of the night to the sounds of horrendous drunken yelling.

      “What about now, for the anorexia?”

      “That’s all part of it, but yes. Specifically for the anorexia for the past six months.”

      He paused, and Valerie thought, once again, that he was finally going to do the right thing. He had to redeem himself. He was the crossing-guard man who’d done more to lift her spirits with his morning smiles these past months than anyone else she could think of.

      Purse slung over her shoulder, arms around her waist, she waited.

      “Have you talked to his counselor about basketball? Or his doctor, for that matter?”

      “I called both. They were encouraging, hopeful that the basketball experience would help.”

      He dropped the ball he’d been holding, stepped closer as he bent to pick it up, leaving Valerie with a whiff of his musky scent. Sweaty though he was, he didn’t smell of it.

      Closer now, he nodded at her, but didn’t say anything else. Infuriating man!

      Silence seemed to be typical for him. And left Valerie with too much to say and a need not to say it.

      “You may know basketball, Mr. Chandler.” She said it anyway. “But I know my son. If you allow him to play, he won’t let you down. But if you don’t, you’ll be letting him down.”

      He rested the ball against his side, tucked beneath his elbow. “Have you ever been a man, Ms. Simms?”

      “I don’t know, Mr. Chandler. I’ve never done a past-life regression.”

      It was his emphasis on the Ms. that had taken a lot of the anger out of Valerie’s reply. That and the quietly serious light in his eyes. He was making a point. She didn’t get it. And she honestly wanted to understand what he was thinking. Why he was being so difficult? He was an intelligent man. He cared about the kids. What was she missing?

      “The way I understand things, it’s not a need to play basketball, in particular, that’s the problem here. It’s Brian’s self-esteem.”

      “That’s right.” She nodded. “But basketball is the issue, too. It’s the only thing that’s lit a fire under him in a long time. The boys’ father had a hoop installed for them СКАЧАТЬ