Chapter Eleven

Tami Taylor doesn't drink whisky on weekdays, and she doesn't drink wine before three in the afternoon. But it's after four thirty now, so she's cracked open a cool bottle of Chardonnay. Philadelphia summers are nothing like Texas summers, but she's lived here for long enough to adjust to a new weather pattern, and it feels hot. She had a morning meeting and then did a little gardening in the back yard. She was never much of the gardening type in Texas, but she's taken up the hobby here; it allows her a quiet, reflective break from her busy career and the constant hum of sports tape inside.

But now she has some paperwork to do, so she's opened her laptop, filled her wine glass, and taken up residence at the dining room table. The dining room opens onto the living room, and she can see Liam and Gracie there, standing between the couch and the coffee table, playing the Xbox. Gracie has to put down the controls every now and then to sign an explanation of the game to Liam.

Gracie likes video games more than your typical girl, which has always surprised Tami, since she's such an intellectual sort. Then again, these games today are complex in their story lines and involve a lot of problem solving, and maybe they make Gracie feel less lonely. Except today she's not alone – Liam is playing with her, and Tami's glad to see that the kids seem to be hitting it off. Maybe Liam will be seamlessly integrated into the family. In two years, Gracie will think of him as a brother.

Tami sips her wine and sets it down. "Liam didn't go to try outs?" she asks, projecting her voice across the short distance between the two rooms. She can't ask Liam directly, because she's behind him at the moment.

Gracie turns her head back in the direction of the dining room. "He's not interested in playing football," she says and returns to her game.

Tami raises an eyebrow. Eric was clearly under the impression the boy was trying out, and she wonders how he took it when Liam didn't show up. Try-outs should be about over by now and Eric should be –

The front door swings open. They can all hear it, except Liam, who continues playing. There's a slam and then the stomp of feet and then keys hitting the coffee table. Coach Taylor takes the controller out of Liam's hand and tosses it on the couch. "Where were you?" he asks when he Liam's attention is on his lips. "Did you get suddenly sick? I thought you were riding your bike over later."

Liam doesn't hold Eric's gaze as he signs, "I never told you that."

"Well, that's a'ight, son. Come on down with me now. We can extend the try outs. My assistant coaches are still there." He only has two assistants, volunteers, with no stipends.

Liam shakes his head lightly while Gracie watches. By now, Tami is in the living room, and she notices how flustered her husband looks. She knew he'd be disappointed by Liam's choice, but he looks more than disappointed. His hair is arrayed as if it's being drawn to some stress magnet. Every nerve in his jaw is tense, and a single line jumps. He's wound tighter than on the morning of a State Championship. It shouldn't surprise her. In the past few months, he's started a new job, learned a new language, grappled with a new way to play an old game he used to know like the back of his hand, enrolled his daughter in a new school, helped Matt and Julie avoid foreclosure on their house, moved his mother to Phili and put her in a home for Alzheimer's patients, and found himself a new father to a new son. It hasn't precisely been an easy three months.

"Son, go on and get in the truck," Eric says.

Liam is barely looking at Coach Taylor when he replies, "I don't want to play football."

"Why the hell not?"

"I never played really," Liam sings. "Other than tossing the ball around with you. I barely know the rules."

"Well you can learn them," Eric says. "Rules are the easy part. We'll watch some more games, I'll talk you through."

"I don't know how to – "

" - You'll learn. That's what practice is for. You'll learn."

"I don't want to try out."

"Liam, I've seen you run, and I've seen you jump, and I've seen you catch a ball." They'd tossed one around enough over the summer. "And I know you'll be a good player. Probably one of the best on the team."

Liam shakes his head.

"Maybe quarterback one day."

Liam shuts fast his eyes. Tami can see he's not having this argument. He stands, there deaf and blind to what's going on around him.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Eric shouts. Liam must sense the vibration of the sound, because he shuts his eyes even tighter. "I swear to God, son, you are trying out, or we're not paying for you to go to school."

"Eric! What is wrong with you?" Tami's eyes are a hot blue. Eric can be brusque, she knows, and he can say and do things he later regrets, but in the end, he's a good father. She wouldn't expect him to drag Liam kicking and screaming into his interest, let alone to make such a threat.

"Tami, this doesn't concern you."

She takes her husband by the elbow and steers him outside onto the back porch. The grass is growing high along the wooden stair case that leads down to the yard and against the house. Eric's been studying sign language, learning the adaptations for the game – he hasn't had time to edge.

He rips his hat off his head and throws it over the porch railing and onto the grass below. Then he leans with his palms flat against the rail, pushing himself forward and back, like a drunken man trying to decide whether or not to vomit over the side of a ship.

"Eric!" Tami says, "you cannot say that to him. How could you possibly think of telling him we wouldn't pay for his school if –"

He pushes himself up right, whirls, and faces her. "Because I won't have a job if he doesn't join!"

Eric is breathing hard, in a way she's only seen him breath after running.

"Do you know how many kids came to try outs?" he spits. "Seventeen. That's it. I had no choice but to take every single one of them. But do you know what the minimum is to field a team? It's not 17, Tami. It's 18. If I don't get one more – I don't even have a goddamn team!"

Tami crosses her arms over her chest, a posture of both irritation and forced patience. She's waiting for him to calm down.

"If I can't come up with one more player, they're just going to cancel the program and let me go. No tuition waiver. Where the hell are we going to find an extra $20,000 a year to spend on high school? After the money we gave Matt and Julie to get them out of trouble?"

The kids needed two mortgage payments when Julie got laid off, to avoid foreclosure. Reluctantly, and after exhausting every other avenue, Julie asked her parents for a loan. Eric and Tami insisted it was a gift.

"After what it costs to pay for Mom's home?" Eric's mother has some income, but they're footing the rest of the bill for the nursing center. "And Gracie's tuition." He takes in a deep, shaky breath. "I know I didn't handle that right. You don't have to tell me. I know that. But I don't have a team. And when I quit my other job, you know I burned some bridges." He'd been itching to say some things, for years, to certain boosters. He'd loved his job, but there were thorns in his side.

"You signed a contract with Franklin. They can't just – "

"There's a…clause. I didn't…I maybe didn't read all the fine print."

"Eric!"

"All either of us heard was tuition waiver. Best school for the deaf on the entire east coast. That's all either of us heard."

"You'll fill the team, Eric. It doesn't have to be Liam. You'll –"

She stops because Eric's breathing is growing even raspier. He grabs at his burgundy polo shirt at the front of his chest. It crumples into a ball in his fist.

"Hon? You okay?"

"Daddy?" Gracie has opened the screen door. Liam looms above her from behind. His eyes, wide and worried, are fixed Coach Taylor. Eric's slumped against the porch railing now, holding onto it for support, gasping as if he can't catch his breath.

"Gracie, honey," Tami says, "call 911."