Texas football had its share of corruption. And although Coach Eric Taylor largely kept his nose clean, he would be lying if he were to say he never turned a blind eye to something questionable in his Dillon days. But setting up mailboxes on empty lots or subtly stepping outside the recruiting rules is one thing; embezzlement is quite another. When his first season as the new head coach of the Pemberton Pioneers football team drew to a close, he began concentrating more on his secondary position as an assistant athletic director, and in the process, he unearthed a major discrepancy in the department's figures. Eric's boss, the beloved, five-time-championship winning basketball coach and athletic director - was skimming off the top.
It never occurred to Eric not to speak up about the discovery, and it never occurred to him that the administration and superintendent would turn against him if he did. Maybe the corruption crawled like a suffocating vine to higher levels than he imagined. He didn't know. All he knew was that his contract didn't get renewed, and when he put feelers out to other high schools in the district, he was met with closed doors.
By the time he realized his career was over in the Philadelphia school district, it was already June and too late to find a position in another one. All the contracts had already been signed. There might be some job openings, he was told, in Franklin Independent School District the next academic year, but he'd have to wait and apply in the spring.
Eric doesn't mind working in Franklin, if it comes to that. They live in Franklin's school district, after all, because the schools are better for Gracie, who is starting kindergarten next year, and the crime rate is lower. His commute would be reduced, and the kids are better behaved. But neither of the two high schools has a competitive football team. Three years ago, all four of Franklin's middle schools got rid of tackle football at the 7th and 8th grade level. Too many concussions led to worried mothers and declining participation. Now the schools offer only flag football. That means fewer trained players are feeding into the high schools, which still have real football teams.
Eric of course put out feelers for assistant coaching positions at the three nearby colleges and universities, including Braemore, which has a laughable football team, though he wouldn't exactly say that to Tami. But all of those positions were filled.
"You can always substitute teach," Tami tells him now as she snaps her briefcase shut on a late-June morning. "They never turn down subs."
"For $84 a day? I don't think so."
She fills her travel mug with coffee. "It's better than the zero dollars you'll be making come September." At least his salary doesn't stop until the end of August, because his contract was spread out over twelve months. But he's not even going through the motions now that school is out. He cleaned out his office two days ago. "You didn't work here long enough to collect unemployment."
"Well, you're making enough to support us both," he grumbles as he turns the newspaper to the sports section.
"Not in the manner to which you've become accustomed." She slides her hand over the granite counter tops before her.
"You wanted those. I could care less."
She points to the kitchen door that opens on the garage, where his new Ford pick-up sits, so big the hood touches the wall and the garage door can barely close without hitting the tailgate. It was Eric's gift to himself for agreeing to move to Pennsylvania. He's the penny pincher of the family, but with Tami's dean of admission salary, coupled with his head coach and assistant athletic director salary, he figured they could indulge, despite the high cost of housing in this suburb.
But soon he'll have no income. He doesn't like being reminded of that. He's bee the primary provider for most of their twenty-eight years of marriage. He didn't even particularly like it when Tami's salary as Dillon's principal matched his. He liked it still less when her dean of admission's salary exceeded his. But soon, to be supported by her? The idea deflates his masculine ego just a bit, but he doesn't see how substitute teaching for $84 a day is going to re-inflate it.
Eric rustles the paper. "I still have my pension." He worked for twenty-three years in four different Texas public school districts.
She puts a hand on her hip. "Not for nine years you don't." He's 48 now, and the rule of 80 (time in plus age) means he can start drawing his Texas state pension in just under a decade. "And it's only about a third of what you made last year anyway. Gracie hasn't even gotten braces yet. Car insurance follows, and then college."
Eric peers at the little parasite sitting beside him at the table. Good thing she's cute, now that she's grown into that head, and her blonde hair has thickened into a delicious curl around her elfish ears.
The little girl looks from her father at the table to her mother at the counter. "Are we poor?" she asks.
"God, no, Gracie we are far from poor!" Tami tells her. "I should take you down to the homeless shelter this weekend and show you what poor is."
"No thank you." Gracie clears her cereal bowl to the sink, the pink and blue milk sloshing in the bottom and threatening to slurp out. The bowl lands with a clutter against the stainless steel. She skips from the kitchen to the living room, which Eric and Tami can see from the breakfast nook, and the TV goes on, straight to the Cartoon Network.
"So what's your plan, exactly, then?" Tami asks.
"To keep looking for a real job. In the meantime…I guess we're saving on daycare for Gracie."
"So you're going to play Mr. Mom now?"
He peers at her over the top of the newspaper with cool, hazel eyes.
Tami smiles. "You're kind of cute when you glower." She comes over, leans down, and kisses his cheek. "I'm off to work. We'll discuss this more when I get home."
"I should have never said anything to the principal," he grumbles just as her hand falls on the knob of the kitchen door.
She turns. "You did the right thing, and you know it, and there's no way you would have kept that to yourself even if you knew it meant losing your job. Because you're a good man, Eric Taylor."
"Thanks," he mutters. The stroke to his ego is pleasant, but not nearly enough to inflate it to even half its former size. "Have a good day at work."
"I love you," she tells him. "And you're going to find a good job. And in the meantime…I guess it will be nice to come home from work to find dinner on the table. I want lasagna." She scurries out the door and slams it shut before he can reply.
