Chapter Four
"Sit with me," Tami insists as Eric closes the dishwasher.
He sighs. It's not that he doesn't enjoy connecting with Tami over a bottle of wine (and especially the other connection that often follows), but her words do not appear to be a friendly request. And that means she probably has a matter of a business to discuss with him. Or, worse yet, she plans to inform him of some small way he has failed her as a husband.
He's not in the mood for either possibility, especially since he finally found Franklin Academy's game tape, which the last coach misplaced. The man was a disorganized mess, and Franklin hopes a new, experienced coach who has brought two teams from nothing to the State Championships might build up the Falcolns, if not to a championship, at least to a reasonable level of self-confidence. Franklin dedicates more money to sports than your typical private school, believing as they do that sports are especially important for integrating their students into larger society. Eric is not the first hearing teacher they've ever hired, but he's the first hearing coach.
"Eric," Tami says when he stays standing against this dishwasher. "Let's have some wine."
He looks about the kitchen as if scanning for reinforcements, but Gracie is in her bedroom reading as usual, and Liam has also retreated to his room to work on a summer assignment. When they enrolled the boy in Franklin Academy last month, Liam was given a packet of material. Eric grumbled that it was ridiculous to ruin a kid's summer with homework and that a boy's summer should be for earning some extra cash and playing sports and working up the courage to talk to girls, while Tami argued that Liam was entering high school, and learning was a life-long, year-round proposition, and maybe managing his time well enough to complete one research paper and a few math problems wouldn't kill him.
Dutifully, but not with a scowl, Eric assumes his spot at the kitchen table and pours the wine his wife sets out.
Tami looks at him with that counselor gaze of hers and starts speaking in that calm, counselor tone, which, frankly, aggravates him more than if she just said, "Hey, idiot! Listen up!"
She tells him, "You're spending a lot of time with Liam, and it's great that you two have started to connect and that he'll actually talk to you about some things. But I think it's important that you're careful not to forget your other child."
"I haven't forgotten Gracie. Gracie Belle Taylor. Ten years old." He raises his wine glass and takes a deliberately long sip and puts it slowly back down on the table. "See, I know her name and age and everything. Imagine that."
Ignoring his sarcasm, she continues evenly, "I appreciate that you stepped up to take in my cousin, and not just take him in, but that you even accepted a difficult job for his benefit. You're a good man, Eric." He hates it when she does this. Softens him up for an easy knock out. "You've been so selfless about all this, and so honorable."
She picks her words well. Honorable. He can feel the pride creeping up. Her admiration still means a hell of a lot to him, even more than it did when he was nineteen.
"But…"
Ah…he knew it. Here comes the but
"…now that Liam is beginning to adjust, I think you need to return some of your attention to your daughter."
"I pay plenty of attention to my daughter."
"When was the last time you took her on one of your daddy-daughter dates?"
He shifts in his seat and fidgets with his wine glass. "Not that long ago," he mutters.
"It was before Liam was here," she tells him. "Eric, keep in mind that Gracie was basically an only child before Liam arrived. This is a major adjustment for her." When he doesn't say anything, she continues, "Remember that time years ago when you told me Julie was jealous of the attention I was giving Tyra?"
"You mean that time you just blew me off?"
Tami purses her lips, but then she regains her calm composure. "Well," she says, "you were right. And I shouldn't have blown you off. I should have considered what you were saying sooner."
He takes another slow slip. "Glad you can admit that."
She levels her eyes straight at him, as if she's waiting for his admission.
"Gracie and I are fine," he insists.
Tami lets out a long, exasperated sigh, grabs the bottle by its neck, and says, "I'm finishing this wine alone in my bedroom. With a book."
"Our bedroom," he reminds her as she struts from the kitchen.
She pauses in the entryway, and with her back to him, says, "You're being defensive at the moment, but I know how this works. I know you." And then she keeps walking.
What's that supposed to mean? He doesn't think about it long. Instead, he thinks, Finally. Game tape time.
/FNL/
Fifteen minutes into the Saints vs. the Falcolns (that is, Philadelphia Christian Academy vs. Franklin Academy for the Deaf), Eric pauses the game tape. He leans forward in his recliner and studies the frozen image.
These Falcoln kids are small. Late try-outs are next week, and then summer training. There better be some bigger kids than this who show up. At least he's got Liam. The kid's skinny, but with some weight lifting and the way he's been eating lately, he'll fill out. That bike riding he does for over an hour a day won't hurt him either.
Eric looks at the paused picture again and rubs his eyes. They aren't just a small team, size wise. They're small in number. There are only nineteen kids on that entire team, on bench and field combined. At Pemberton, he had forty-six. How is he going to cycle through a team of nineteen? He's going to have to do some serious recruiting.
The Franklin Falcons are ranked second to last in their division, but that's not the thing that most worries Eric. He's pulled teams up from rock bottom before. It's that he has no idea how he's supposed to coach deaf kids. Everything he's ever done will have to change. Oh, he's been told about all the work arounds, and he's studied the color-coded sideline board system, but he's sure his old habits will die hard. Very hard.
He rewinds the tape and starts to watch it again, but he can't focus. He's not just concerned about his new job. Tami's words are bugging him, because, as usual, she's right. As usual. Not as always. That's an important distinction.
Eric clicks off the television, pops his recliner closed, and tosses his note pad on the coffee table. He begins to make his way upstairs towards Gracie's bedroom.