That Friday Richie picked up Heather at her sorority house promptly at four
thirty.
"Dang," Monica, one of Heather's house sisters, smiled as she opened the door.
Richie shifted on the doorstep in his tux that he had asked Duncan to send down for the occasion. "Heather ready?" he asked.
"Almost, come on in."
'Figures,' Richie thought and took his usual seat in the common room as he waited for her to come down. Never before had he so much hated the 'no boys upstairs' rule. With twenty or so twenty something aged girls staring at him all he wanted to do was turn into a chameleon and blend in.
"What's with the duds?" Monica continued. "I knew Heather was getting all dressed up. I just figured you'd be in a suit. not this."
Richie shrugged. "That's what I was going for."
"Richie Ryan?" Heather's voice giggled from the doorway.
Richie grinned and bowed deeply as he had seen Duncan do to Tessa many times. "M'lady, will you do me the great honor of escorting me for the evening?" he asked in a surprisingly good English accent. Heather giggled again as he kissed her hand. "Is that a yes?" he asked hopefully back to using his usual boyish charm.
"I'd be delighted," she answered putting Richie's accent to shame.
"Good."
Richie took her to see a professional performance of her favorite opera (which he had grilled Duncan about the night before so he would have something intelligent to say during intermission), then to dinner and dancing at the ritziest ballroom in the area.
"How are you going to top this next year?" Heather asked as he walked her to her doorstep early the next morning.
"I already have plans for next year," he assured her. The anniversary was going to be quaint and romantic. but graduation was what was going to top this night. "M'lady," he bowed again and kissed her hand. "I have never had such company and never shall again. Good night, adieu, fair the well. and blah blah blah." He slowly backed down the walk toward his car. "You coming to the game?" he called to her.
"Shh! You'll wake everybody," she hissed.
"Are you-" he started yell.
"Yes! Shut up!" she smiled at him.
"Good night, my love!"
"Go away!"
. . . . . .
Richie was still grinning as he worked on his accounting assignment trying to get it done before the game.
"Ryan?" There was a tentative knock on his bedroom door.
"Yeah?" He put his pencil down and turned to face the door.
"Can I talk to you?" Young, a sophomore, opened his door.
Richie frowned at the boy's expression. "What's up, man?"
"I need help," Young said uncomfortably. "I'm this close to dropping below Coach's grade standard."
Richie nodded. He had never been in that situation, but he was still inexplicably paranoid about it. "Did you just find out?" The sophomore nodded. "What class?"
"Calculus."
Richie smiled slightly. "Then you came to the right guy; I'm a total math nerd." Richie inclined his head towards Young's book bag. "If you have your stuff we can get started and I'll give you a ride to the game."
For the next hour, Richie and Sean Young worked on his math, making a slight improvement.
"You have plenty of time," Richie reminded him as they got out of the car at the gym. "You have about half a semester to get it up. I can't promise you an A, but I can promise that I'll do everything I can to help."
"Thanks, Ryan. You know, for a guy who can be a real authority hog. you're an okay captain."
Richie laughed and opened the back door to the locker room. "Is that your way of telling me to take it easy in practices?"
"I'm sure it's why Coach made you captain."
"I like to think so. But just the same, I'll keep the complaint in mind. Try and give you guys a break. But if we start losing. I'll be a real hard- ass."
. . . . . .
"There he goes," Joe laughed as Richie shot across the big screen in a purple and green blur.
"He's a show-off," Adam mumbled. "You should really teach the kid the meaning of the word humility, MacLeod."
"Richie does just fine," Joe defended. "He's a real team player. Besides what I gather off that Coach Roberts is that he would never let anyone show off."
"Look at him!" Adam protested. ESPN was showing a slow-motion replay of the Cougar's latest play. Two players one from Missouri and one from Arizona were wrestling over the ball when seemingly out of nowhere Richie slid across the floor between the pair dislodging the ball and sending it a few feet to a fellow teammate. "That's not showing off?"
"That's thinking on your feet," Duncan corrected finally entering the good- natured argument.
"Or, bum in this case," Adam mumbled into his beer.
"You're just jealous that he finally found something he can beat you at," Joe told him with a twinkle in his eye. "Here you are, living legend and for the life of you, you can't beat a twenty-two year old at a simple game of basketball."
"There's always chess," Duncan consoled with a smile. "He's not that good at strategies. yet."
"Geeze, look at him go," Joe smiled proudly at the television screen. Richie and his roommate had started up a game of money in the middle with an Arizona player as the monkey. Suddenly instead of tossing the ball back to John Richie pivoted and passed it in the other direction to number 18 who made a basket. Richie and John shared a great laugh at their monkey's expense until Coach Roberts shouted something that looked suspiciously like 'Stop playing games you two!'. "I remember when he used to tag along behind you all the time. And now he's off with his own life." Joe sighed and whipped at the counter.
Adam rolled his eyes. "You know it's bad enough MacLeod fancies himself the boy's father; do you really have to play the doting mother?"
Duncan laughed at Joe's horrified face as Adam started imitating him. "Back when he was just a kid he would sit on my knee and I would tell him bedtime stories. But now," he sniffed and whipped and imaginary tear from his eyes. "My little boy's all grown up."
"I don't sound anything like that!" Joe protested. "Just because you barely know the kid doesn't give you the right to say anything. Some of us happen to be attached to him."
"Some of us made a wonderful first impression by calling the cops on him," Duncan smiled. "He told me all about that."
"Oh and I suppose threatening to kill a seventeen year old out to make a buck is a great first impression, too," Joe shot back.
"Straightened him out," Duncan shrugged. "A little," he added at Adam raised eyebrows.
"I still say you need to stop babying him. If he wants to make it on his own, let him."
"Don't start that again," Duncan rolled his eyes and turned away from the TV as the commercials started. "Richie has no problem speaking up for himself. When he wants me to leave him alone, he'll tell me."
"But will you listen?" Adam challenged.
"Of course."
"As long as you agree with him."
"Well, I admit, if I don't think he's ready I'll have a harder time of it."
"Game's on," Joe interrupted.
They watched the rest of the game in periodical silence.
. . . . . .
Richie showered and changed with the rest of the team happily chatting about their triumph over Arizona State.
"Hey, Young, stay put, huh?" he suggested to the sophomore as he walked past on the way to his locker.
"Why?"
"I want you to talk to Coach," Richie told him stopping and turning around. "I think it would be a good idea."
"Can't we see how this all pans out, first?" Young asked coming up being Richie a few minutes later.
"Dude, trust me, okay? He'll be a lot cooler with you if come to him now." He smiled at the young man standing in front of him apprehensively switching his gaze from Richie to the closed office door. "He is a bit intimidating," Richie admitted. "But he admires guts and honesty. Maybe if we tag team him it might go better," he offered not wanting to insult Young unintentionally.
"You think so?" Young asked obliviously relieved by the offer.
"I've know the guy since I was eight," Richie told him. "I know so."
Richie and Young chatted about the game as the rest of the team slowly trickled out of the locker room.
"Ready?" Richie asked as he knocked on the office door.
"Come in," Coach Roberts called.
"Hey, Coach," Richie said opening the door. "Can we talk to you for a minute?"
"Yes, take a seat, boys." They sat. "What can I help you with?"
Richie looked at Young and nudged him with the toe of his sneakers. When Young didn't say anything, Richie spoke up. "He's having trouble in Calculus. He talked to his professor this week and got his current grade. He's concerned about it."
Roberts looked at the younger of the two sitting in front of him. "Is this true?" He nodded. "What is your grade?"
Young swallowed. "C, barely. I'm trying, Coach, honest," he added at the man's calculating look. "I'm just having trouble."
Roberts shifted his gaze to Richie who showed no signs of discomfort like his younger counterpart did. "He came to me today. I was hoping we could work something out."
"And what do you propose?"
Richie straightened his shoulders and sat up a little taller. "He's well above your standards in all his other classes. This one just gives him trouble. So, I was thinking that maybe." Richie paused to gather his thoughts. "What if when you're doing. uh, I mean, calculating his grades for eligibility you could exclude his math. And I can help weekly. more if he needs it. and as long as he's trying and passes he could still play?"
"And if he starts slacking because of his exception?"
"I'll bench him," Richie said resolutely. It was a power he had never threatened to use, he tended to lean toward physical punishments making his teammates run extra laps or run extra drills.
Roberts first studied Richie then Young then went to his computer. "You had trouble in math last year as well, correct."
"Um," Young shifted in his seat. "Yes, sir."
"And you'll meet with Ryan regularly?"
"Yes, sir." Young seemed to relax a little.
"And you realize that your eligibility is entirely up to your captain, now?"
"Yes, sir." The two players smiled at each other.
"And you're sure you'll be able to hold up your end?" Roberts asked Richie. Richie had talked him out of benching players all season.
"Yes, sir."
"I trust you, Ryan. We'll go with your plan. It had better work."
"Oh, it will," Richie assured him. "Math is my best subject. next to juvie law," he added with a sly smile.
"Thank you, Coach," Young said in all sincerity standing up to shake his hand. "I won't let you down."
"It's not me who'll be let down, son," Roberts returned nodding his head toward Richie.
"I swear, Ryan. This is going to work."
"It'd better."
The two looked at Roberts waiting to be dismissed. "Young, get out of here. I want to talk to Ryan."
"Thanks, man," Young said once more before hurrying out of the office.
"See ya," Richie called after him.
"Do you plan on striking deals for every player on the team?" Roberts asked once the door closed. Richie looked at him weighing his answers. He couldn't decide if he detected a hint of humor in the question or not. "I've only had one other captain fight to keep so many players on the court. I should have known you'd do the same." This time Richie could clearly see the smile on Roberts' face. "You're just like your father."
Richie grinned and blushed at the statement. "Thank you, sir."
"Well, let's just hope you'll be less trouble than he was. I'm glad you found me when you did, Richie," Roberts said once again adopting a serious tone. Richie cocked his head at the rare use of his first name. "There's a reason I made you captain. You're a great player and an even greater man. Your father raised you well. I knew you'd do anything for your team. I know it's early, but I want you to know that unless you do anything to change my mind you're captain next year, too."
"Thank you," Richie said again.
"But I'm not going to be here."
"What?"
"I'm retiring at the end of the season."
"Coach, you can't!" Richie protested. "You still have some years left on you."
"Richie, I've been holding out waiting for you to come play," Roberts told him. "When you're father left and lost track of you. I knew you'd come to me. I've done my part. When you were nine you said you were going to play for me and I told you some day you'd be my captain; you've done both. I broke tradition with you because I need someone to show the new guy the ropes and keep this team up to snuff when I'm gone. I trust you to do that."
"You're not talking about just leaving the team are you?" Richie realized. "Coach, what's wrong?"
"I have cancer, Richie. I've hid it for as long as I can. I can barely run the team now. I've been relying more and more on the captains. You have almost total control right now. You're still a student; you're busy enough without being a coach, too."
"But, Coach," Richie protested.
"No buts, Richie. I'm announcing it to the team before the Big Twelve."
"Extra incentive to make the Final Four?"
Roberts smiled. "Hopefully. You know, it's only fitting that my first Final Four victory was with your father and my last will be with you." Richie looked sadly at the only non-immortal mentor he had. The one who was leaving. "Richie, you can tell your father. But no one else. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," Richie answered.
. . . . . .
Richie stood outside the campus Synagogue as a thin stream of students filed out after Havdallah. Taking a deep breath he went in. He quickly spotted who he was looking for.
"Rabbi Gilman?" he asked tentatively stepping toward the man who looked not much older than himself.
"Yes?"
"Um, my name's Richie Ryan. and I was hoping I could maybe talk to you for a few minutes."
"Of course, Richie. Come with me." He led Richie to his office. "If you don't mind me asking. Richie Ryan doesn't sound very Jewish. Why'd you come here?"
"I am Jewish. kinda." Richie squirmed a little in his seat. "That's why I wanted to talk to you."
"This sounds complicated," Rabbi Gilman observed.
"It is," Richie answered. "That's why I need some advice." The rabbi nodded and Richie dove head long into his story omitting any immortal references. "So my girlfriend's dad gives me this talk out of nowhere and a week later Coach tells me he's leaving. which nobody's supposed to know by the way. and now. now I'm at a total loss."
Rabbi Gilman smiled slightly and leaned across his desk toward Richie. "Have you ever considered that this is all happening for a reason? That maybe all this happened at once to give you a push."
"Like, I'm supposed to be here.?"
"Maybe because something is going happen. Richie, I think it might do you some good to come to services. It might help clear your head."
"Probably," Richie agreed. "But like I said it's been fourteen years. I don't remember much."
"That's okay. A lot of the students here are exploring for themselves or coming with a friend just to check it out. You'll fit right in."
"There's a service Monday morning, right?" Richie asked suddenly after a near minute pause in which he had been going over his schedule.
Rabbi Gilman smiled. "Shall I expect you then?"
Richie smiled, too suddenly feeling significantly better. "Yeah. I'll be there. Thanks for letting me talk your ear off." He stood and shook his hand.
"Anytime you need to, you know where to find me."
Richie left the Synagogue with a slight spring in his step. A strange weight he had never noticed had been lifted and he felt he could face anything now. He was so absorbed in his happiness that he didn't notice the two immortals tailing him just out of range back to his car.
"Dang," Monica, one of Heather's house sisters, smiled as she opened the door.
Richie shifted on the doorstep in his tux that he had asked Duncan to send down for the occasion. "Heather ready?" he asked.
"Almost, come on in."
'Figures,' Richie thought and took his usual seat in the common room as he waited for her to come down. Never before had he so much hated the 'no boys upstairs' rule. With twenty or so twenty something aged girls staring at him all he wanted to do was turn into a chameleon and blend in.
"What's with the duds?" Monica continued. "I knew Heather was getting all dressed up. I just figured you'd be in a suit. not this."
Richie shrugged. "That's what I was going for."
"Richie Ryan?" Heather's voice giggled from the doorway.
Richie grinned and bowed deeply as he had seen Duncan do to Tessa many times. "M'lady, will you do me the great honor of escorting me for the evening?" he asked in a surprisingly good English accent. Heather giggled again as he kissed her hand. "Is that a yes?" he asked hopefully back to using his usual boyish charm.
"I'd be delighted," she answered putting Richie's accent to shame.
"Good."
Richie took her to see a professional performance of her favorite opera (which he had grilled Duncan about the night before so he would have something intelligent to say during intermission), then to dinner and dancing at the ritziest ballroom in the area.
"How are you going to top this next year?" Heather asked as he walked her to her doorstep early the next morning.
"I already have plans for next year," he assured her. The anniversary was going to be quaint and romantic. but graduation was what was going to top this night. "M'lady," he bowed again and kissed her hand. "I have never had such company and never shall again. Good night, adieu, fair the well. and blah blah blah." He slowly backed down the walk toward his car. "You coming to the game?" he called to her.
"Shh! You'll wake everybody," she hissed.
"Are you-" he started yell.
"Yes! Shut up!" she smiled at him.
"Good night, my love!"
"Go away!"
. . . . . .
Richie was still grinning as he worked on his accounting assignment trying to get it done before the game.
"Ryan?" There was a tentative knock on his bedroom door.
"Yeah?" He put his pencil down and turned to face the door.
"Can I talk to you?" Young, a sophomore, opened his door.
Richie frowned at the boy's expression. "What's up, man?"
"I need help," Young said uncomfortably. "I'm this close to dropping below Coach's grade standard."
Richie nodded. He had never been in that situation, but he was still inexplicably paranoid about it. "Did you just find out?" The sophomore nodded. "What class?"
"Calculus."
Richie smiled slightly. "Then you came to the right guy; I'm a total math nerd." Richie inclined his head towards Young's book bag. "If you have your stuff we can get started and I'll give you a ride to the game."
For the next hour, Richie and Sean Young worked on his math, making a slight improvement.
"You have plenty of time," Richie reminded him as they got out of the car at the gym. "You have about half a semester to get it up. I can't promise you an A, but I can promise that I'll do everything I can to help."
"Thanks, Ryan. You know, for a guy who can be a real authority hog. you're an okay captain."
Richie laughed and opened the back door to the locker room. "Is that your way of telling me to take it easy in practices?"
"I'm sure it's why Coach made you captain."
"I like to think so. But just the same, I'll keep the complaint in mind. Try and give you guys a break. But if we start losing. I'll be a real hard- ass."
. . . . . .
"There he goes," Joe laughed as Richie shot across the big screen in a purple and green blur.
"He's a show-off," Adam mumbled. "You should really teach the kid the meaning of the word humility, MacLeod."
"Richie does just fine," Joe defended. "He's a real team player. Besides what I gather off that Coach Roberts is that he would never let anyone show off."
"Look at him!" Adam protested. ESPN was showing a slow-motion replay of the Cougar's latest play. Two players one from Missouri and one from Arizona were wrestling over the ball when seemingly out of nowhere Richie slid across the floor between the pair dislodging the ball and sending it a few feet to a fellow teammate. "That's not showing off?"
"That's thinking on your feet," Duncan corrected finally entering the good- natured argument.
"Or, bum in this case," Adam mumbled into his beer.
"You're just jealous that he finally found something he can beat you at," Joe told him with a twinkle in his eye. "Here you are, living legend and for the life of you, you can't beat a twenty-two year old at a simple game of basketball."
"There's always chess," Duncan consoled with a smile. "He's not that good at strategies. yet."
"Geeze, look at him go," Joe smiled proudly at the television screen. Richie and his roommate had started up a game of money in the middle with an Arizona player as the monkey. Suddenly instead of tossing the ball back to John Richie pivoted and passed it in the other direction to number 18 who made a basket. Richie and John shared a great laugh at their monkey's expense until Coach Roberts shouted something that looked suspiciously like 'Stop playing games you two!'. "I remember when he used to tag along behind you all the time. And now he's off with his own life." Joe sighed and whipped at the counter.
Adam rolled his eyes. "You know it's bad enough MacLeod fancies himself the boy's father; do you really have to play the doting mother?"
Duncan laughed at Joe's horrified face as Adam started imitating him. "Back when he was just a kid he would sit on my knee and I would tell him bedtime stories. But now," he sniffed and whipped and imaginary tear from his eyes. "My little boy's all grown up."
"I don't sound anything like that!" Joe protested. "Just because you barely know the kid doesn't give you the right to say anything. Some of us happen to be attached to him."
"Some of us made a wonderful first impression by calling the cops on him," Duncan smiled. "He told me all about that."
"Oh and I suppose threatening to kill a seventeen year old out to make a buck is a great first impression, too," Joe shot back.
"Straightened him out," Duncan shrugged. "A little," he added at Adam raised eyebrows.
"I still say you need to stop babying him. If he wants to make it on his own, let him."
"Don't start that again," Duncan rolled his eyes and turned away from the TV as the commercials started. "Richie has no problem speaking up for himself. When he wants me to leave him alone, he'll tell me."
"But will you listen?" Adam challenged.
"Of course."
"As long as you agree with him."
"Well, I admit, if I don't think he's ready I'll have a harder time of it."
"Game's on," Joe interrupted.
They watched the rest of the game in periodical silence.
. . . . . .
Richie showered and changed with the rest of the team happily chatting about their triumph over Arizona State.
"Hey, Young, stay put, huh?" he suggested to the sophomore as he walked past on the way to his locker.
"Why?"
"I want you to talk to Coach," Richie told him stopping and turning around. "I think it would be a good idea."
"Can't we see how this all pans out, first?" Young asked coming up being Richie a few minutes later.
"Dude, trust me, okay? He'll be a lot cooler with you if come to him now." He smiled at the young man standing in front of him apprehensively switching his gaze from Richie to the closed office door. "He is a bit intimidating," Richie admitted. "But he admires guts and honesty. Maybe if we tag team him it might go better," he offered not wanting to insult Young unintentionally.
"You think so?" Young asked obliviously relieved by the offer.
"I've know the guy since I was eight," Richie told him. "I know so."
Richie and Young chatted about the game as the rest of the team slowly trickled out of the locker room.
"Ready?" Richie asked as he knocked on the office door.
"Come in," Coach Roberts called.
"Hey, Coach," Richie said opening the door. "Can we talk to you for a minute?"
"Yes, take a seat, boys." They sat. "What can I help you with?"
Richie looked at Young and nudged him with the toe of his sneakers. When Young didn't say anything, Richie spoke up. "He's having trouble in Calculus. He talked to his professor this week and got his current grade. He's concerned about it."
Roberts looked at the younger of the two sitting in front of him. "Is this true?" He nodded. "What is your grade?"
Young swallowed. "C, barely. I'm trying, Coach, honest," he added at the man's calculating look. "I'm just having trouble."
Roberts shifted his gaze to Richie who showed no signs of discomfort like his younger counterpart did. "He came to me today. I was hoping we could work something out."
"And what do you propose?"
Richie straightened his shoulders and sat up a little taller. "He's well above your standards in all his other classes. This one just gives him trouble. So, I was thinking that maybe." Richie paused to gather his thoughts. "What if when you're doing. uh, I mean, calculating his grades for eligibility you could exclude his math. And I can help weekly. more if he needs it. and as long as he's trying and passes he could still play?"
"And if he starts slacking because of his exception?"
"I'll bench him," Richie said resolutely. It was a power he had never threatened to use, he tended to lean toward physical punishments making his teammates run extra laps or run extra drills.
Roberts first studied Richie then Young then went to his computer. "You had trouble in math last year as well, correct."
"Um," Young shifted in his seat. "Yes, sir."
"And you'll meet with Ryan regularly?"
"Yes, sir." Young seemed to relax a little.
"And you realize that your eligibility is entirely up to your captain, now?"
"Yes, sir." The two players smiled at each other.
"And you're sure you'll be able to hold up your end?" Roberts asked Richie. Richie had talked him out of benching players all season.
"Yes, sir."
"I trust you, Ryan. We'll go with your plan. It had better work."
"Oh, it will," Richie assured him. "Math is my best subject. next to juvie law," he added with a sly smile.
"Thank you, Coach," Young said in all sincerity standing up to shake his hand. "I won't let you down."
"It's not me who'll be let down, son," Roberts returned nodding his head toward Richie.
"I swear, Ryan. This is going to work."
"It'd better."
The two looked at Roberts waiting to be dismissed. "Young, get out of here. I want to talk to Ryan."
"Thanks, man," Young said once more before hurrying out of the office.
"See ya," Richie called after him.
"Do you plan on striking deals for every player on the team?" Roberts asked once the door closed. Richie looked at him weighing his answers. He couldn't decide if he detected a hint of humor in the question or not. "I've only had one other captain fight to keep so many players on the court. I should have known you'd do the same." This time Richie could clearly see the smile on Roberts' face. "You're just like your father."
Richie grinned and blushed at the statement. "Thank you, sir."
"Well, let's just hope you'll be less trouble than he was. I'm glad you found me when you did, Richie," Roberts said once again adopting a serious tone. Richie cocked his head at the rare use of his first name. "There's a reason I made you captain. You're a great player and an even greater man. Your father raised you well. I knew you'd do anything for your team. I know it's early, but I want you to know that unless you do anything to change my mind you're captain next year, too."
"Thank you," Richie said again.
"But I'm not going to be here."
"What?"
"I'm retiring at the end of the season."
"Coach, you can't!" Richie protested. "You still have some years left on you."
"Richie, I've been holding out waiting for you to come play," Roberts told him. "When you're father left and lost track of you. I knew you'd come to me. I've done my part. When you were nine you said you were going to play for me and I told you some day you'd be my captain; you've done both. I broke tradition with you because I need someone to show the new guy the ropes and keep this team up to snuff when I'm gone. I trust you to do that."
"You're not talking about just leaving the team are you?" Richie realized. "Coach, what's wrong?"
"I have cancer, Richie. I've hid it for as long as I can. I can barely run the team now. I've been relying more and more on the captains. You have almost total control right now. You're still a student; you're busy enough without being a coach, too."
"But, Coach," Richie protested.
"No buts, Richie. I'm announcing it to the team before the Big Twelve."
"Extra incentive to make the Final Four?"
Roberts smiled. "Hopefully. You know, it's only fitting that my first Final Four victory was with your father and my last will be with you." Richie looked sadly at the only non-immortal mentor he had. The one who was leaving. "Richie, you can tell your father. But no one else. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," Richie answered.
. . . . . .
Richie stood outside the campus Synagogue as a thin stream of students filed out after Havdallah. Taking a deep breath he went in. He quickly spotted who he was looking for.
"Rabbi Gilman?" he asked tentatively stepping toward the man who looked not much older than himself.
"Yes?"
"Um, my name's Richie Ryan. and I was hoping I could maybe talk to you for a few minutes."
"Of course, Richie. Come with me." He led Richie to his office. "If you don't mind me asking. Richie Ryan doesn't sound very Jewish. Why'd you come here?"
"I am Jewish. kinda." Richie squirmed a little in his seat. "That's why I wanted to talk to you."
"This sounds complicated," Rabbi Gilman observed.
"It is," Richie answered. "That's why I need some advice." The rabbi nodded and Richie dove head long into his story omitting any immortal references. "So my girlfriend's dad gives me this talk out of nowhere and a week later Coach tells me he's leaving. which nobody's supposed to know by the way. and now. now I'm at a total loss."
Rabbi Gilman smiled slightly and leaned across his desk toward Richie. "Have you ever considered that this is all happening for a reason? That maybe all this happened at once to give you a push."
"Like, I'm supposed to be here.?"
"Maybe because something is going happen. Richie, I think it might do you some good to come to services. It might help clear your head."
"Probably," Richie agreed. "But like I said it's been fourteen years. I don't remember much."
"That's okay. A lot of the students here are exploring for themselves or coming with a friend just to check it out. You'll fit right in."
"There's a service Monday morning, right?" Richie asked suddenly after a near minute pause in which he had been going over his schedule.
Rabbi Gilman smiled. "Shall I expect you then?"
Richie smiled, too suddenly feeling significantly better. "Yeah. I'll be there. Thanks for letting me talk your ear off." He stood and shook his hand.
"Anytime you need to, you know where to find me."
Richie left the Synagogue with a slight spring in his step. A strange weight he had never noticed had been lifted and he felt he could face anything now. He was so absorbed in his happiness that he didn't notice the two immortals tailing him just out of range back to his car.