Title: An Occupational Hazard (1/6)
Author: Romantique
Email:
Classification: Eric/Tami pairing; plenty of angst.
Rating: M for suggestibility of adult situations. Not graphic.
Summary: Coach Taylor meets with an occupational hazard that could mean the end of the Dillon Panther's return to State.
Disclaimer: This Friday Night Lights fan fiction occurs during Season 2. Assumes Voodoo never happened.
Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.
Taylor Home
Thursday
October 14, 2008
11:00 a.m.
Ever mindful her baby girl was napping just down the hall way, Tami Taylor skillfully whisked a tea kettle off the front burner of the stove at the first toot of its loud whistle of steam. She poured its boiling contents into a large brown mug. With her free hand, she bobbed a tea bag up and down by its string, allowing the tea to steep in the steaming water. She placed the hot kettle onto a cool burner so as not to risk the sound of another, loud blast. Next, she drizzled in a generous spoonful of honey and the juice of a fresh squeezed lemon wedge.
"Here you go," she announced with her best game-face smile, carrying the hot, fragrant mug into the living room. "This is going to make your throat feel so much better," her voice lilted, as she handed off the mug to her husband.
Eric Taylor lay on the sofa, propped up on one end. As his wife, approached him, he sat up straight so as not to spill the steaming liquid at the handoff. He slowly drew the mug to his lips to take a sip and then, just as abruptly, pulled it away.
"It's too hot," Tami surmised with a wince of sympathy.
Eric gave her a little nod and placed the hot mug on a nearby coaster on the coffee table. Then, he crossed his arms before him, his mind clearly elsewhere.
By nature, Tami Taylor was a problem solver. It was that quality that made her such an effective guidance counselor. Her mind spun with ideas about how to manage the problem literally lying before her.
"Dr. Morgan said you shouldn't even attempt to talk, so I'm thinking you could borrow Julie's laptop when she comes home," she began. "That way, you can enter whatever you want to say," she offered. "In the meantime, here's a notepad." She placed a small tablet and a pen on the coffee table next to the tea, well within her husband's reach.
Still not paying much attention, Eric acknowledged the note pad with another distant nod. It had been only thirty minutes before when he and Tami and baby Grace arrived home from the doctor's office. He had been diagnosed with a severe case of laryngitis caused by overuse of his voice. The doctor told him he would have to go on 100 percent voice rest. Because this wasn't the first time this season he had lost his voice, the doctor also referred him to a specialist to have his throat scoped.
Laryngitis is an occupational hazard for any football coach, and Eric had crossed paths with this one many times before. It was both painful and frustrating. For those reasons, he always tried to keep his coaching voice in check. In fact, Dillon coaches used head sets on the field which had the side benefit of reducing wear and tear on the voice. Unfortunately, such preventative efforts do not always work.
During yesterday's practice, Eric all but lost it when players Tim Riggins, Matt Saracen, and Landry Clarke decided to show up late and drunk. Saracen, who had been nursing a broken heart, recently began to cut his afternoon classes to go with Riggins for a few beers before practice. Ever since Saracen broke up with Eric's daughter, Julie, the relationship between Eric and Saracen had become nothing short of awkward. But what really upset Eric was learning that Riggins was now corrupting a good kid like Landry, and he let Riggins know of his disapproval in no uncertain terms. It was bad enough Riggins was corrupting his quarterback.
By the time Eric arrived home last night, his voice sounded raw and shredded; his throat burned. By morning, he had no voice at all. Eric could not help but think that this was a big price to pay for yesterday's outburst. His doctor suspected damage to the vocal cords. Indeed, both Eric and his wife harbored unspoken concerns about the ramifications such damage could have on his coaching career.
Tami motioned for her husband to move his socked feet and make room for her on the other end of the sofa. Eric quickly complied by drawing his knees up, and she sat down.
"I called the school to let them know you'd be out tomorrow," she reported. Then, she took his feet in her hands and allowed him to stretch out his legs again with his feet in her lap.
Eric shot her a disapproving frown. He and Tami had been together for such a long time that they could practically read each other's thoughts.
"I know," Tami raised an eyebrow. "You don't feel sick. You're not an invalid. And you don't think you need to miss work today, much less for two weeks. If you insist on going to tomorrow night's game, as I know you will, you need to promise me that you'll rely on Mac to do all the heavy lifting for you in the talking and yelling department." She began to slowly yet deliberately rub his feet in an effort to bring him some comfort and perhaps become a little more receptive to what she was saying.
The disapproving frown on Eric's face turned into more of a pout.
Tami could almost feel what her husband was feeling. Eric Taylor had never been one to stay home from work and rest or take it easy. He loved his job and needed to be with his boys. And the most important aspect of his job was to be able to communicate with his team, his staff, the community, and even the press whom he did not particularly like. Then, there was the ever-present elephant in the room: He must win games to retain his coaching job. Tami feared the elephant in the room would trample over everything the doctor ordered.
The next couple of weeks would not be easy. She felt now was the right moment for some loving, straight-talk.
"Promise me you'll put yourself first, Hon … because I'm in possession of your doctor's note to be off from work for two weeks," Tami said, as she looked her husband straight in the eye and made the hand gesture for the number two with her index and middle finger for emphasis. "Don't make me have to turn that note into the school. You know how the District is about liability."
Tami knew Eric had no intention of turning the note in, but at least she could demand some ground rules. And he could tell she meant business.
"It's my way or the highway on this one, Babe," she almost playfully threatened, while continuing to massage the soles of his feet with her thumbs. "You're going to have to ask for help with the team and risk giving up some of your authority and your pride … and just get through this."
There. She said what she had to say and even managed to say it in a very controlled and even tone.
Tami was right. Eric listened to every word his wife said. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. He took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and acknowledged her little speech with a tight-lipped nod.
"By the way, I acquired all that wonderful negotiating knowledge from you," she winked with a smile.
Eric managed to return a smaller smile.
"The tea should be cooled by now," she suggested. She continued to slowly massage the ball of his foot, near the base of his toes.
The massage felt good. Eric reached for the mug. Drinking lots of liquids to keep the larynx moist was part of his doctor's instructions. Tami had been right again; the honey and lemon felt good sliding down his painfully inflamed throat.
They sat there in silence for a time on the sofa, where Eric drank the tea and Tami continued to rub his feet. He leaned back, closed his eyes for a moment, and began to relax a little. When he was finished with the tea, Tami broke the silence.
"You and I didn't sleep very well last night, and Gracie Belle is down for the count. How about you make some room for me on this sofa, and you and I take a nap?"
Eric answered Tami through smiling eyes. He rolled his body onto his side, moving his back closer to the back of the sofa. Tami grabbed a nearby chenille throw, stretched out beside her husband, and carefully covered the two of them. Tami laid her head on top of her husband's outstretched arm, as he drew her closer to him. Face to face, the couple gazed into one another's eyes and then, shared a long, unhurried kiss. The sweet taste of honey melted from his tongue onto hers.
"You're going to be okay," Tami whispered in soft, low voice. She reached up and brushed a lock of hair away from her husband's worried forehead and gently took his face in her hands. "All you need to do is exactly what the doctor says and have some faith." After a beat, she added, "I love you."
Eric leaned in and gave Tami another long, passionate kiss. His body's stirring response confirmed he did not feel sick nor was he an invalid, and he proceeded to make love to his beautiful wife. In the afterglow, they closed their eyes, and drifted away together into an unheard of weekday nap.
Thursday
4:30 p.m.
Julie Taylor arrived home from school after dance practice.
"Whoa," she remarked as she bounded into the kitchen, only to stop in her tracks. "Who turned our house into a drug store?"
She could not help but notice the medical inventory on their kitchen counter: a thermometer, inhaler samples, throat lozenges and sprays, vitamins, bottles of juice and honey, medical papers, and insurance forms. The air smelled of menthol as a humidifier hummed from the corner of the living room.
"Is Dad contagious?" Julie asked her mom who was on the other side of the kitchen counter. "I can't afford to get sick with the dance recital coming up." She made her way around to the sofa where she dumped her books and purse. "I could go stay with Tyra?" Julie was now talking loudly from the other room.
Tami hurried into the living room to ask Julie to keep her voice down, so as not to wake her sister and her father. Earlier in the afternoon, Eric had taken a prescription for pain and gone to bed.
"No, he's not contagious," Tami continued, keeping her voice down as an example. "He did a number on his vocal cords this time and is on total voice rest."
"Not surprised," Julie replied in a snarky tone. "At school, I heard Dad really lost it at practice, yesterday," Julie reported. Frankly, she was embarrassed to hear how angry her Dad was at school, and how she had to hear about it for days.
"And from whom did you hear that?" Tami wanted to know.
"From Tyra," Julie reported. "Dad really went off on Landry, Matt, and Tim. Tyra heard some of the guys on the team say they have never seen Dad so mad."
There was a silent pause eventually interrupted by Julie. "Mom, I know I shouldn't say this, but it'll be kind of nice to know Dad can't yell for awhile."
Tami responded to her daughter in an unexpected and unsympathetic way. "Jules, promise me you won't give him a reason to raise his voice until we see the specialist in Austin next week and find out what is going on. Can you do that? It's really important."
The look on Julie's face suddenly became stricken. "I thought Dad lost his voice from yelling too much at football practice. A specialist in Austin … is he really okay?"
Tami attempted to explain further, "Oh, yes. It's just that there may be some damage to his vocal cords, and he needs to follow up with a specialist. And it's not because your Dad raises his voice at you sometimes. It comes with coaching sports." Then, she tried to reassure her daughter. "We'll know more, next week."
A big pot of homemade chicken noodle soup was simmering on the stove. Tami thought that the soup would be good for her husband's throat, plus she could freeze portions for him to eat over the next week. The kitchen smelled of the simmering broth and spices.
"Would you keep an eye on the soup so that it doesn't bubble over? I'm going to feed and change your sister," Tami was clearly preoccupied. "And the doctor called in more prescriptions for your Dad I need to pick up."
"Sure Mom," Julie said.
"You're a love," Tami said with a lilt in her voice, as she kissed her daughter on the top of her head.
Although her mom went out of her way to explain things and reassure her, Julie couldn't shake a feeling that there was more going on than she was being told.
Thursday
6:00 p.m.
Still groggy from the pain pills, Eric stumbled into the kitchen in his socked feet over to his wife and gave her a warm, sleepy hug from behind. Then, he noticed Gracie Belle nearby in her infant seat playing peek-a-boo with her older sister. The sight made him smile.
Julie told her Dad he was welcome to use her laptop. She was charging the battery near the coffee table in the living room. Eric turned to his oldest daughter and silently mouthed the words, "thank you," and he gave her a little smile.
"You're welcome," Julie silently mouthed back, returning the smile.
"I called Mac, and he said he could be here tonight at 8:30 to go over Friday's game with you," Tami told Eric who was still standing behind her as she finished dinner.
That news made Eric feel a little more in control of the situation, and he gave his wife's arm a soft squeeze of appreciation.
Tami grabbed a basket of fresh, crusty French bread and herded everyone out of the kitchen and towards the table for dinner. Eric picked up Gracie Belle and moved her closer to the table so that she could see everyone. He then took his seat while Tami ladled him a big bowl of the homemade soup. It smelled good, and he was hungry.
Julie volunteered to say grace before dinner. Afterwards, Eric looked up and smiled warmly at his oldest daughter. He couldn't help but notice how especially sweet his girls were today. Taking his first sip of the soup broth, he abruptly dropped his spoon on the table and grabbed for his throat.
"Oh, Honey," Tami was suddenly alarmed and up on her feet. "I made sure your soup wasn't too hot."
Eric's hung his head down in an effort to hide his tearing eyes, and he made a writing gesture up in the air with his hand. Tami grabbed for the pad and pen and passed them across the table.
"Water," he scribbled as soon as he had the pad. "COLD water" with an emphasis on the word, "cold."
Julie uttered, "I'll get it." She quickly moved to the kitchen.
A concerned Tami stood next to Eric and rubbed small circles on his back in an effort to ease his distress. She made the soup to make him feel better, not to hurt him.
Julie returned with a glass of ice water, and Eric slowly swallowed a few sips of the cold liquid, wincing in pain. Tami continued to rub his back in a circular motion. After a moment, he seemed to be breathing easier.
During the commotion, Julie left the room and quickly returned with the laptop. It was all charged up. She opened WordPad and set the font to a larger point size. She brought the computer to her Dad. "Here you go. You can say whatever you need to say to us here. The program is set up on the desktop. You just need to double click to open it. You can name and save conversations by date if you want to."
Eric nodded to show he understood. He typed the following message, "I'm ok. Just woke up. Throat is dry. It Burns. 1st swallow is hardest." And he turned the screen toward Tami for her to see.
Tami gave him a relieved hug and then, sat back down at the table. "Do you need to take another pain pill? You can have one if you need one."
Eric typed, "No. Need to stay awake for Mac. Will take 1 after he leaves." And he turned the laptop screen around.
Tami nodded after reading his entry. "I picked up some more prescriptions that were called in for you. There's an anesthetic throat spray on the counter. You may want to use the spray during the day and take the pain pills at night to sleep. There's also a steroid inhaler for the inflammation. I bought another humidifier to set up in our bedroom. You need to be sleeping in cool, moist air."
Eric typed, "Sounds good. Soup is very good," and he turned the laptop around so that Tami and Julie could see. Then, he typed, "Thank you, my girls, for all your help." And he turned the laptop around so that they could both see the screen.
"You're welcome. I love you, Dad,' Julie said. Though she tried not to show it, she was becoming more concerned. Her Mom wasn't doing a very good job of hiding her concern, either.
Thursday
8:00 p.m.
The doorbell chimed. Julie opened the door to find Landry Clarke standing at their doorstep. She could not help but notice his arms were full of wires and electronic equipment.
"Hey," Landry uttered. "Is your Dad here? I need to talk to him."
"Uh, yeah," Julie responded. "Wait here just a minute."
From the doorway, Landry could hear Julie telling Eric he was there to see him. In less than a moment, Julie reappeared and ushered him inside the house. Landry noticed his Eric was stretched out on the living room sofa in his sweats, his hair mussed. Eric began to sit up, a little more slow-moving than normal Landry noted.
Julie explained how her Dad could not talk because he lost his voice. But she told him that he could communicate using a laptop, and she pointed to it on the nearby coffee table.
"Yeah, Tyra told me about that," Landry responded. "It's my fault he lost his voice in the first place. She made sure to tell me what total low lives we are."
"Well, it's not entirely your fault," Julie quickly intervened. "Dad has had problems with his throat before. Let's just say what you did with Tim and Matt yesterday didn't help. Plus, they're equally to blame."
"Why do you think Matt has been drinking, Julie?" Landry retorted in his awkward way. "Because you dumped him, that's why. And I was drinking because Tyra dumped me. Now, I know that's not a good excuse, but it is why Matt and I felt the need to go and have a drink to drown our sorrows. As far as Tim Riggins goes, well, we all know he doesn't really need a reason."
Eric watched these two young persons in silence, taking in this conversation. Without taking sides, at least the truth was finally coming out. And his daughter was a far better facilitator than he had been yesterday.
Julie thoughtfully responded to Landry's emotionally charged statements. "I can't speak about what happened between you and Tyra. For me and Matt, there were reasons we needed to break up that are between Matt and me, but that is still no reason for him to be drinking and messing with his body and his future. You and I both know that Matt doesn't have any business drinking and showing up drunk to practice. His grandmother would be so disappointed in him. So am I."
Landry thought for a moment. "You're right, Julie. I apologize for getting into your business with Matt. I actually came here to apologize to you, Coach Taylor," Landry turned to face Eric. "I am truly sorry Matt and I showed up intoxicated to your practice yesterday. It was disrespectful to you and the team. It was pretty much my fault. I don't drink. I don't like to drink, don't need to drink. My Dad is in law enforcement, and underage drinking is against the law. I would never want to disappoint my Dad. I promise you it won't happen again."
Eric clenched his jaw, tightened his lips and gave a very definitive nod to the young player before him, indicating an acceptance of Clarke's apology.
"Coach," Landry continued in his intelligent but awkward way, "I still believe it's at least mostly my fault you are in this mess this week with a game scheduled for tomorrow night, and I want to help you. You know, make up for some of what I've done. May I show you what I came up with?"
Landry approached the coffee table and laid down his load of electronics.
"This is a wireless 3G set up where you can communicate from one laptop to another. I was thinking that you could text your plays to Mac during the game. I mean, you're already hooked up to headphones, and you can hear him. So, he doesn't need a way to communicate to you. You just need a way to communicate to him."
After listening for a moment, Eric motioned for Clarke to come closer to him, as he began typing into the laptop his daughter loaned him.
"I'm not fast on keyboard. I don't text. Mac is not computer savvy. Don't have time to learn before Friday. Plays in a game are fired off in a flash. Games turn on dime."
Eric then looked up at Clarke as he read his message.
Clarke asked his coach, "But don't your plays all have numbers and short word codes? You'll have some minimal inputting. You could make up a list of codes."
Eric thought for a second and typed in, "Yes."
"Dad," Julie piped up from the corner of the room. "It just might work," she said while giving her father an optimistic look. "You could at least think about it."
Eric motioned Clarke over to his computer again, and he began entering. "Lance, would you stay awhile? Mac is coming over in about an hour to go over a solution for tomorrow night. I'd like for you to explain to him all how this is going to work."
"I'd be happy to stay," he answered with a smile, satisfied that he might be on his way to making amends.
(Continued ...)