Blind Your Ponies Page 16

  “Rob and Tom, see this: they isolate on the side. Tom, you come up and put a body on Rob’s man. Now, see that, see that.”

  Sam rewound the tape and showed it again, Magic Johnson and James Worthy running the pick-and-roll.

  “You play it by ear. If they switch, Tom, you back off straight for the hoop and Rob fires you the ball for a layup you’ve got them no matter what they do. Watch it again.”

  Sam reversed the tape and ran it again, becoming irritated with their lack of focus. Damn it, didn’t they have any heart for it left? He noticed the boys exchanging glances as though they knew the house was on fire and he didn’t.

  Heavy knocking sounded at the door, and Sam stopped the tape and flipped his clipboard onto the floor. He regarded the boys, who were smiling slyly and ducking their faces. He pushed himself out of the chair, upset that someone had disturbed their concentration and interrupted their practice session, especially when the boys were already unfocused.

  On his way to the door an alarm went off in his stomach. George Stone-breaker! Could it be that brute standing at the door looking for Tom? When he inched the door open, Sam was startled. It looked like Olaf standing on the darkened porch, and Sam blinked at this Norwegian apparition, thinking at first it was a figment of his imagination.

  “Olaf!” Sam said, unaware that the team had moved to the door behind him.

  “Ya, hello.”

  “What are you doing here?” Sam said.

  “Dunking the basketball I am coming for. That is allowed.”

  “Yeah!” the team shouted.

  “You’re going to play?” Sam said.

  “Ya, yamming I am thinking to do.”

  “Jamming! Jamming!” Tom shouted, “you seven-foot cob.”

  Sam stood with astonishment catching in his throat, stunned into a momentary immobility. Then he gathered his senses and capitulated to a giddy lightness of spirit.

  “Come in, come in, we have a lot to do before Tuesday.”

  Sam shut the door and followed the six boys into the front room. “Gee, if I knew you were coming, Olaf, I’d have bought five more pizzas.”

  They huddled around the TV in earnest, a joyful glow in their young unshaven faces reflecting a common warmth in their hearts. They were back together and they had dreams to chase.

  CHAPTER 26

  Diana was surprised by Andrew Wainwright as she poked around in the grocery store in Three Forks. She had been trying to decide between a frozen TV dinner or throwing together some stir-fry, but realized her heart wasn’t in either.

  “I saw you through the window,” he said, looking elegantly out of place in his gray three-piece worsted suit and tasteful soft orchid tie. “What are you up to?”

  “Oh … just trying to decide on something to fix for dinner. I’m like a kid in a candy store. Some day I’ll starve to death in a supermarket making up my mind.”

  “I was on my way to Bozeman for a steak. Why don’t you join me?” He smiled warmly, and his invitation caught her completely off guard.

  “Oh, no. I … maybe some other time.”

  “I’m going to eat alone and you’re going to starve, so it’s fate.” He held his hands out in a supplicating gesture. “Come on, a steak and some good conversation.”

  She glanced down at her embroidered muslin skirt and bulky white Angora sweater under her open gray quilted down coat as if to recall what she was wearing. “I’m not dressed …”

  “From where I’m standing you look good enough to go anywhere and stand them on their heads.”

  “Well …”

  “Good, now all you have to decide is rare, medium, or well done.”

  He opened the passenger door of his white Lincoln for her and she slipped into the leather interior. As he drove out of town, she felt like Dorothy, suddenly no longer in Kansas, in a whirlwind swooped from the D & D grocery store, flying down the freeway in a luxurious Town Car with one of the most gorgeous eligible men in five states, and she hadn’t a clue as to what was expected of her.

  When he told her to buckle up, she pulled the seat belt across her lap and slipped the metal tongue into her purse. She didn’t notice what she’d done until halfway to Bozeman and was too embarrassed to correct it, hoping he’d never notice. She managed a calm front while her stomach was doing a song and dance.

  He was as calm and at ease as she’d always found him in their brief social exchanges, and she realized she’d never been alone with him, not even for a minute. A mixed aroma of leather and something she couldn’t name embraced her, a sensuous, male scent. Whatever it was, she decided someone ought to market it.

  “I insist on going Dutch,” she said, checking him out as he drove, his graying temples, strong, square jaw, and obvious self-confidence.

  “If that’s what you want. But I’m on the school board and I know what you’re making and I see nothing wrong with taking our underpaid assistant basketball coach to dinner for a little encouragement and good cheer.” He laughed lustily with a deep resonance from the center of his chest.

  “Well, we could all use some of that. Losing last night at Harrison was so disappointing, so exasperating.”

  “We came close,” he said.

  “Coming close is even more maddening. I don’t know what got into Pete.”

  “He had a lot of turnovers,” he said, glancing over at her in the dark interior of the Lincoln.

  “Turnovers, forced shots, unfocused … not the kid I’ve seen in practice for a month.”

  “When Olaf fouled out I figured we were out of it, but the other boys really put up a scrap.”

  Traffic on the freeway was sparse and the lights of Bozeman grew brighter at the east end of the valley.

  “That’s our real problem: getting Olaf out of the paint in three seconds and teaching him not to shuffle his feet. If we could do that we’d be winning games.”

  “And keep him in the game,” Andrew added. “He’s too gung ho on defense, tries to block every shot. I imagine it’s really frustrating for you when you see the potential in that kid.”

  “Yes … I think it gives Sam nightmares.”

  She winced when she thought of Sam and felt a twinge of guilt. What would he make of this? Better still, what did she make of this? Just a friendly dinner between two adults or something with deeper overtones? She was flattered that this attractive, mature man wanted her company. Did he want more?

  They were seated at a cozy table at the Black Angus Restaurant and she felt an immediate intimacy with him, separated from other guests by smoked glass partitions and classical music softly blending with the candlelight.

  Andrew helped her decide on the type of steak, rib eye rare, and the waitress regarded them as though they were lovers when she poured the red wine. Diana handled the small talk well enough and couldn’t help but notice Andrew’s hands, appearing strong yet gentle, hands that told her they had worked hard and experienced much of life, hands that had learned to touch lovingly. She sensed he was a warm, kind, caring man, and though he was a generation beyond her, she was taken by his understanding. She felt he would have been able to handle her terrible failure, that he was the kind of man who would have been there for her no matter what she had done.

  Halfway through the meal she tiptoed out on fragile ground.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, you’re a real surprise in Willow Creek.” She quickly laughed. “What on earth are you doing there?”

  He looked at her calmly. “ I found the kind of a job I wanted with the talc company, and I looked around for something within driving distance: Bozeman, Manhattan, Butte. Then one day by accident I followed the little blacktop that meandered by the plant. I found Willow Creek and I immediately felt at home. Strange, huh?”

  “No, not so strange, it’s just that there’s nothing there.”

  “There’s more than you think.”

  “Maybe, but you don’t fit the mold.”

  “Do you?”

  “Touché. But don�
�t you want more of a social life than following the Willow Creek Broncs around?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “Have you ever been married?”

  He finished the last of his wine and set the glass down carefully, staring into the glass as though it contained old memories.

  “I lost someone … a long time ago. Before the war.”

  “Vietnam?”

  “Ha!” He broke the trance with a booming laugh. “What war do you think, World War II? Don’t be making me any older than I am, girl.”

  “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Pry away, my closets are empty,” he said, embracing her with forgiving eyes. “I was married, long time ago, and I wanted it to work, gave it my best shot, but I wasn’t any good at it, my fault … my fault, God knows.”

  “That’s refreshing,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Someone taking the blame for a failed marriage. I don’t hear that very often, usually just the opposite.”

  “It’s true. I couldn’t give her what she needed. We had two great kids, a boy and girl, who’re off in the world finding their own lives.”

  “Well, do you ever want to have someone, to be married again?”

  “I’ve tried with other women from time to time, but it was never any good.”

  “Given up?” she said softly.

  “I guess you’d have to say I still cling to a very battered and trampled hope, but—”

  The young waitress interrupted him, asking if they wanted anything more. He waved her away.

  Diana recognized a hunger in his eyes she’d seen in other men, and she also knew her body had a power to draw men, caught them drinking her in, and she dressed to counter that to some degree. Did he want to be her lover or was this nothing more than he’d claimed, a little cheer for the assistant basketball coach? She tried to pay for her meal, as if that would neutralize their time together, but he convinced her it was not important and she relented.

  She was thankful they could jabber about the team on the way home and that he hadn’t asked her why she was in Willow Creek.

  “Thanks for being a good sport,” he said as he turned off the freeway at Three Forks. “I’m glad we got better acquainted.”

  “Yes, thanks for the lovely dinner and for saving me from my indecision.” She spoke more rapidly than usual and hoped he didn’t pick up on it.

  “Well,” he said, “if you ever need someone to spend time with … or help with your indecision …”

  She didn’t know how to respond and tried to sort out the ambiguity in his words. She considered asking him if he’d like to stop at her place on the way home, for coffee or something, but then asked herself what she was doing. Had he touched a longing in her she didn’t want to admit? She thought of Sam.

  Andrew pulled in beside her car in front of the deserted grocery store. Out of the Lincoln quickly, he came around to open her door. She stood beside him and unlocked her car. Her hand trembled. Her throat went dry. She turned toward him and he stepped closer.

  “Thanks, Andrew. I’m ready to take on Olaf and the boys again.” She tried to laugh. “Thanks for the encouragement and cheer.”

  She felt an excited warmth rush to her face and hoped in the dimly lit street he wouldn’t notice. In that moment she felt this solitary man’s loneliness and was on the verge of offering to comfort him.

  “Maybe we’ll do it again some time,” he said lightly and he held her door.

  She slid into the car, catching her breath. He leaned toward her. “Good night, Diana.”

  He shut the door and stepped back. She started her car and drove away, watching him in the rearview mirror as he stood in the street. An avalanche of feelings overwhelmed her, frightening her. Driving the narrow blacktop toward Willow Creek, she watched for his headlights behind her, but they didn’t appear. She felt like a grade school girl on the playground with a high school boy showing interest, but she had the strange intuition that he wasn’t available, except maybe for a brief affair, and that his heart was irrevocably taken.

  When she turned in her gravel road, she was confused to find tears in her eyes. She thought of Jessica and began to cry. She sat in the Volvo in front of the dark, lonely house and sobbed loudly until she could sob no more.

  CHAPTER 27

  Drained physically, as though he himself were out on the basketball floor, Sam agonized through another game Thursday night.

  In addition to their eleven-man team, a few carloads of parents and students had traveled the hundred-and-forty-some miles from Lima, a small town that hung its hat in a high, expansive valley in the southwestern tip of Montana. But being a weeknight, the gate on both sides of the court was thinner than usual.

  Kneeling in front of the bench, he caught himself vacillating between a cool detachment from probable loss to supplicating the gods for victory. And then quickly, Willow Creek climbed back to within three points with just over a minute to go. The scant weeknight crowd held its collective breath. Sam fought back hope that kept rearing its head, unwilling to set himself up for the disappointment he was used to.

  Earlier, with three minutes to go, Olaf punched a ball into the bleachers when Joe Kelly tried to put one past him, and the ref called a foul, Olaf’s fifth. Dean looked as though he wanted to crawl under the bench rather than go out on the floor and entertain the crowd with his glaring blunders and miscues, and Olaf folded his frame onto the bench beside Miss Murphy. He had played fiercely but was still a liability, in the paint more than three seconds many times and shuffling his feet while handling the ball. Sam cringed when, twice, Olaf dunked the ball only to have it waved off because he traveled.

  Now, down by three, with one minute left, Sam watched as the Bears brought the ball up and Garth McDonald, with Pete’s hand in his face, missed a jump shot from the side. Curtis grabbed the rebound and threw a perfect down-and-out to Pete as he raced along the sidelines. Grandma Chapman’s pride and joy streaked to the backboard and laid it in as Troy McDonald collided with him from behind.

  One-shot foul, down 78 to 79.

  Sam knelt in front of the bench, chewing on his ballpoint pen. Inflamed by the boys’ grit and fanned by the cheers of the cheerleaders, the home-town faithful were on their feet. Peter Strong toed the line, took a deep breath, and flipped the ball with fingers and wrist into the utter silence. Like the Prodigal, the ball remembered the way home. Tie game! 79 to 79.

  The loyal Willow Creek crowd inhaled with an audible gasp, which was followed instantly by noisy cheering. Then, as if all sound had been sucked from the universe, the hometown supporters stood inanimate, limp, as the Lima team hustled into the front court, sure to deliver the doom that always befell Willow Creek in similar circumstances.

  Sam knew they’d go to one of the McDonald boys, but so did Pete and Rob. The Willow Creek guards overplayed the Lima sharpshooters, preventing them from getting the ball until finally, out of desperation, Glenn Turly, an angular forward, got off a shot from the side. The ball rimmed the iron and spun out, then was grabbed up by Rob Johnson.

  Eighteen seconds.

  Rob dribbled the ball upcourt and looked for an opening, but the Lima boys stuck to him like gumbo.

  Ten seconds.

  Rob started a drive to the basket, pulled up short, and lifted a jump shot over the frantic reach of the defender. The ball seemed to hang in midair. No one in the gym took a breath. Caroming off the backboard, the ball glanced down onto the rim and came off.

  Four seconds.

  Tom went high to snatch the ball above the others and descended to the floor in a crouch. Without hesitation he exploded back through frantically thrashing outstretched arms to kiss the ball off the glass. The leather Spaulding sphere, obedient to the natural laws of the planet, descended at the proper angle through the iron hoop and nylon netting just as the time drained off the clock.

  The nerve-jarring resonance of the buzzer—which had been the signal of merciful relief for so many years—was the first voice to pr
oclaim the unthinkable. The scoreboard followed suit, displaying an astonishing rarity in the record books of recent history: VISITOR 79, HOME 81.

  The miracle had happened! Willow Creek High School had won a basketball game after ninety-eight tries. Sam exploded from his prayerful crouch and raced onto the floor, embracing his exhausted cowboy forward as though he were a father welcoming a son home from war. Rob converged on them, and the two seniors nearly crushed Sam between them. They seized each other, pressing their foreheads together and emitting animal sounds, bellowing, howling, releasing four years of frustration and bitter disappointment, ending four years of indignity, shame, and humiliation. They were like grizzlies after a long winter’s hibernation, young eagles leaping from the nest in first flight, wolves reunited after years of separation.

  Then the trio was engulfed by the team and student body and those staunch townsfolk who rushed onto the floor to join in the mugging celebration. Diana found Sam and hugged him with abandon.

  “We did it! We did it!” she shouted, and in the midst of this spontaneous outpouring, he felt her tantalizing firmness against his chest.

  The teams shook hands in line on the court and exchanged brief recognition and comments, which were good-natured, if sometimes forced. The Willow Creek boys, with bright happy faces, huddled on the floor with their coaches, chattering and praising one another.

  Hazel happily forked over the locally famous ten bucks by slapping it into Grandma Chapman’s hand, these two women a part of the small loyal bunch that had witnessed the seemingly insignificant victory of one small-town school team over another. Undoubtedly others would raise an eyebrow when the score appeared in the Bozeman Daily Chronicle the next day, thinking it typo.

  Truly Osborn caught Sam heading off the floor. “Well done, Sam, well done! Now that we’ve won a game, we can get back to some semblance of sanity around here.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Osborn.” But you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

  Sam walked into the noisy locker room, and amid the moist odors of sweat, tape and exhaustion, he could smell the rare sweet fragrance of triumph. The boys, unlacing their dissimilar shoes and stripping off their soggy uniforms, had for the first time tasted the pure, intoxicating nectar of victory. Sam hoped they would soon become incurably and absolutely addicted.