Chapter Four

The barbecue went as well as could be expected. Eric only forgot two things, and he was able to run back to the store and get them in time. He and Tami only fought once, and they did it quietly, around the side of the house. Moss made some guys on the team laugh with some stories from his old school. He wasn't family yet, but he wasn't a stranger anymore either. Two nights later, Eric had Moss over for Tami's fantastic lasagna and quizzed him on the plays. He was dedicating all his time to his new QB1 and not worrying so much about his second and third string.

One morning at summer training, Coach Ramsey said to Eric, "You've really taken that boy under your wing. I like the improvement I'm seeing."

Coach Arnold, who was standing nearby, said, "Well, I told Eric to do that. I told him to put in the time," and then he walked over to correct one of the offensive linemen.

Eric felt a strong surge of annoyance, which he quickly suppressed when Coach Ramsey continued speaking to him. "I'm thinking of coaching my grandson in Pee Wee when I retire. You ever coach younger kids? Younger than high school?"

"Some. I've done some off-season training for extra cash." He'd had five young pupils over the years, but his favorite had been Jason Street. For three years, in the winter and spring, three days a week, he'd commuted an hour to a town named Dillon to coach the boy privately. But then he'd lost his teaching job and had to move east for another one, and the commute to Dillon had become unreasonable. He still kept in touch with Jason's parents, though, and he thought Jason had a bright future ahead of him. Maybe, if things didn't work out here on the Oliver Loving Owls, he could turn his eyes toward the Dillon Panthers. Jason would be on that team soon, and maybe he could put in a good word for his old coach.

"I've only ever coached high school," Ramsey said. He pointed at Moss on the field. "I firmly believe he's the right one for the Owls, and you've made some strides, but he still needs work."

"I'll get him there, Coach. I will."

[FNL]

Eric kept looking at the house as he walked toward it, glancing down at the address Moss had written on the torn sheet of paper he held, to make sure he was in the right place. Zoning laws were loose in this part of Fort Worth, and you could have a trailer next to a single family home next to a McMansion. Driving up here, he hadn't expected what he saw before him.

He'd left his pick-up in the circular driveway, across from the fountain. The truck looked out of place next to the Maserati thatwas already parked there. When he knocked, he introduced himself to Moss's father, only to find out the man in the suit before him was not Moss's father, but a servant.

Eric took his cap off in the great hall, and Moss met him and led him out back to the expansive backyard, which stretched three quarters of an acre and stopped at the fenced-off pool.

"Where are your folks?" Eric asked. "I was hoping to meet them."

"My dad's out of the country. He travels a lot for his job. My mom's dead."

"Damn, son, I'm sorry, I didn't know that."

Moss shrugged. "It's okay. I was four when she died. "

"So…you're here alone then?"

"I've got Hapi."

Eric scratched his head. "It makes you happy?"

"No, I've got Hapi. The guy who answered the door. He's been with my family for three years now."

Eric glanced back at the dazzling house, wondered if anyone else on the team knew how rich this kid was, and if that would make it harder for him to be accepted. Then again, if Moss threw a spectacular pool party while papa was away, it might work to his advantage. Not that Eric was going to directly suggest he do that.

Moss tossed the football up and then caught it. "Should we start?"

"Yeah," Eric said. "Let's get started."

They must have run a dozen plays a dozen times each. Eric was tired and sweating and his arm was aching when they were done. Moss offered him some ice tea. They sat on two bar stools at a counter overlooking a majestic kitchen with marbled countertops and all stainless steel appliances and the kind of counter and cabinet space Tami would die for. "This is where I usually eat," Moss said. "At the counter. It would feel weird eating in that dining room."

Eric could understand that. They'd walked through it. Twelve chairs had surrounded the sturdy, dark, solid wood table, and the room was filled with expensive looking displays of art, china, and pottery. "How often does your dad travel and leave you here alone?"

"He's gone a few days, back a few, gone a few , back a few….he's in the import business. Art, pottery, rugs, you name it. It's okay. I'm 16. And I've got Hapi."

Eric sipped his tea and winced.

"Something wrong with it?" Moss asked.

"Nah. Not at all. You don't happen to…to have any sugar I can add, do you?"

Moss brought him a sugar bowl. Eric knew it wouldn't be the same, added when the tea was cold instead of hot, but he made do. "They don't drink sweet tea in D.C.?" he asked as he stirred it in.

"They drink both sweet and unsweet. But you've got to ask for it sweet, usually. They don't just automatically bring it to you that way. We actually lived outside, D.C., in northern Virginia. It's got some southern traits to it, but it's also very…I don't know. My dad called it the United Nations."

"Were you born there?"

"I was born in England. My mother was born in America. My dad was born in Egypt." Eric actually had a relative who currently lived in Egypt, in an American-style enclave. He was going to mention the fact for the connection points, but Moss kept talking. "We moved to NoVa when I was three."

"Nova?" Eric asked.

"Northern Virginia. My mom was sick. She wanted to be near her extended family when she died. And my Dad…I guess he just decided to stay there when she was gone. Until we moved here for the lower cost of living."

"Which was just this summer?" Eric asked. Moss had walked on for summer try outs in June.

"Yeah, late May. I'd played football in 9th and 10th, and thought I might try it here. I didn't realize what abig deal it was. I mean, in NoVa, people are just as competitive about academics. Like… whose kid got what on the SAT, and whose kid is going to what college, and whose kid is taking the most AP classes, and that kind of thing. Sure, playing football makes you a popular there, but it's not like….I mean…like that professional photographer that came after training Wednesday evening?"

"What about her?"

"To take our pictures? For the collector's cards?"

"What about it?" Eric asked.

"It's weird."

"The elementary school kids love those cards. You visit a couple schools before homecoming, hand out your cards, sign them for the kids. It helps with ticket sales too. My wife had half a dozen of those cards when she was in fifth grade, all pinned up on her bulletin board."

Moss laughed and shook his head. "Well, if I thought it was weird before, now I really think it's weird."

"Look, son, you're just gonna have to get used to being something of a god. Trust me, it's not all bad. Sure doesn't hurt in the girl department."

"I'm not shopping the girl department." Eric shifted his cap, and Moss hastened, "I'm not gay! It's just, I have a girlfriend. Back in NoVa. We've dated two years. We're trying to do the long-distance thing."

"Ah." Eric didn't say what he was thinking, which was that long distance relationships seldom worked, and that Moss would not fit in well at the football parties without a girlfriend on his arm, or that it must be awfully lonely, with a father who was only home half the time, in a new town, with your only girl over a thousand miles away.

"I know what you're thinking," Moss said. "People think it's stupid. That I'm too young to be in love. But I do love her."

"I get that. Hell, I married my high school sweetheart. Of course, we were older when we started dating. We were almost 18."

"You didn't date anyone until you were almost 18?" Moss asked.

"No. I didn't date her until then. I dated other girls first."

"So, she wasn't really your high school sweetheart, then?"

"Well, one of my high school sweethearts."

"That's not really what the term high school sweetheart means," Moss told him.

"She was my college sweetheart, then. All I'm saying is, I get what it's like to be young and in love."

They talked for another fifteen minutes before Eric left. He felt good on the way home, proud not only of the progress he'd made on the plays, but of reaching that point where Moss seemed to trust him.

Trust. That was the breakthrough that was hardest – and most valuable – in coaching.