Devil Moon (10 page)

And Pam had remembered. There had been good times, high hopes. Days of excitement and nights of passion. God, she missed the glory days. Maybe she could ride Phil back to easy street.

Lord knows her last relationship, if you could call it that, had been a dead end. She been dumped by a Florida linebacker and would have been living in her car with Melissa if she hadn't had this crappy house in Beaver Cove left to her by her parents. She'd barely had enough money to ship her precious things won from the divorce back to Arkansas.

So the former cheerleader returned home with a kid to feed and nothing to show for her efforts but a meager support check from Phil. Her job at Wal-Mart was a total bummer. But now with Phil getting his act together and pushing so hard to see Melissa, maybe she could parlay his guilt into a little gold for her.

When Melissa had secretly read the article about her dad, the puzzle pieces in her mind regarding her parents shifted. The guy described in the paper was so different from the jerk her mom complained about.

The part that really got her was when the reporter asked why he'd come back to Beaver Cove. "I have an eleven-year old daughter that lives here. I want to spend as much time with her as possible."

Melissa never cried, but her throat had tightened up and she'd blinked really hard. Maybe her dad wasn't the world-class asshole her mom made him out to be.

Coming back to reality, she yelled at her mom, "We're going to miss the kickoff!"

Pam turned off the bathroom light and walked down the hall. "All right, all ready. Let's go."

Melissa tapped her foot as she watched her mom slip on a jacket in the neat little living room of the tiny house. Melissa hated having to be so careful around all Pam's fancy stuff that she'd gotten from the divorce. Her mom had a cow over the vases, candles, figurines and fussy tables. Her dad must have only been left with his toothbrush, sweats, and old bomber car. She was starting to see a lot of things differently than her mother painted them.

* * *

Excitement in the locker room gave off a definite aroma. Male sweat and hormones created an atmosphere that lifted spirits high, putting the braggarts and jokesters in rare form. The timbre of teenage voices, the clang of metal lockers banging open was music to Phil's ears. These kids were all hopes and potential.

Phil finished taping up an ankle for a linebacker, gave last minute instructions to Stu and conferred with the referees. Then it was time for The Speech.

Standing ready in their uniforms, clasping helmets, the team stood at attention before their coach. "All right, listen up. You've made a lot of progress in a short period of time. Use your brains, play smart, no hot-dogging. Remember, no one player is more important than the team. Work together as a solid unit, do the things you've been taught and we'll send the Tigers back to Bender with their tails between their legs. Tonight you're going to show them–Beaver Cove High is back!"

The boys shot onto the field like rapid-fire bullets from a gun as the band blared the school fight song. Phil paused for a moment in the dark passage before he followed them, sending up a prayer to that Higher Power they talked about in AA. "Please, God, help these hammerheads play a good game. Amen."

* * *

Wade raced the truck toward Beaver Cove High, dimly aware of a half-moon hanging in the sky. He glanced up, glad to see stars and no damn sign of rain to keep his customers away. His eyes widened at the sight of a packed parking lot.

He fishtailed into a space and whistled low. "Holy shit, your pa is gonna make out tonight. Listen, sister, you go find your friends and don't get in no trouble. I want your butt back to the truck at the start of the fourth quarter, got it?"

"Sure, Pa." Reba hopped from the truck and ran to the entrance.

Up in the bleachers above the fifty-yard line, Maddie and Randy sat munching popcorn and drinking Coke. He bought her a
small
one, which she ungraciously accepted. He could be such a mother hen. Really, she knew her limits.

The Beavers won the coin toss, the ball sailed across the field for the kickoff and the game was on. Maddie watched Phil pace the sidelines, making remarks to his players as he passed them. She wished she could hear his comments. He held his ground on strong, muscular legs. He motioned his arms in the sharp, distinctive secret signals of coaches. She found herself lingering on the man instead of the game and forced her attention to the field.

Seeing the quarterback toss an interception that caused a turnover, she moaned loudly, just like the thin girl sitting next to her. They frowned at each other in commiseration.

"He looks a lot better in practice," the girl said. "He's just nervous."

Maddie's eyebrows lifted. "You've been watching the practices?"

"Yeah, my dad's the coach."

"Really? You must be...Melissa?" Maddie remembered the name from Phil's personnel file.

Melissa looked up in surprise. "Yeah."

Maddie put out her hand. "I'm Miss Harris, the assistant principal. How do you do?"

Shaking the offered hand, Melissa replied, "Want some M&M's?"

Maddie peered into the fragrant opening of the king size bag sitting on Melissa's lap. Merry little colors: bright green, red, blue, yellow, winked at her looking so innocent. Just a handful would taste so good, melt in her mouth. Her fingers sank into the bag and she took a fistful.

"Thank you." She would savor each one, taking her time and enjoy that
one
handful.

Gaining possession of the ball once again, the Beaver receiver found a hole in the defense, making a thirty-yard run on the fourth down for the first touchdown. Maddie and Melissa shot to their feet, screaming. Maddie tossed all the candy in her mouth. When the kicker made the extra point, she happily dipped her hand in the bag for just a little more.

A blonde with big hair wiggled her way up the steps carrying two huge drinks. Maddie saw her surveying the crowd, winking at people she knew. She stopped at Maddie's row, worked her way toward the empty seat next to Melissa and lowered her tightly clad rear end onto the bench.

Handing the drink to Melissa, she said, "I can't believe the nerve they have to charge three dollars for these."

"Get over it, Mom," Melissa replied as she took a big gulp.

Maddie eavesdropped on the conversation. Phil's ex interested her greatly. She told herself it was professional duty to know as much background information about faculty members as possible. The woman's name was Pam and as far as Maddie was concerned she looked like ten pounds of mud packed into a five-pound bag. Pam squealed a hello at some people, stood and waved at others.

Pam said, "Baby, I see some friends I'm going to go talk to. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

Keeping focused on the game, Melissa replied, "Whatever."

Just then the Tigers made it into the end zone past a clumsy attempt at defense by the Beavers, leading Melissa and Maddie to groan again.

Maddie sucked the dregs of her Coke, causing a gurgling sound. "Your dad's team is going to have to do better than that."

Melissa offered a slug of her mega drink. "Tell me about it."

Randy tapped Maddie on the shoulder. "I see the Finn girl with some friends. I want to talk to her about transferring into my Intro to Drama class. I'll be back."

Maddie nodded, getting more wrapped up in the game. The caffeine and sugar seeped into her bloodstream, rhythmically pumped by her heart toward her brain. Her attention riveted on the playing field and a sense of anxiety began to overtake her.

The game took on tremendous importance, its outcome crucial to the future of Beaver Cove, perhaps the world. As the Beavers began their next drive, she emotionally struggled with them as they fought for the next ten yards.

A Tiger illegally grabbed a Beaver facemask. She turned to Melissa. "Did you see that?"

Melissa shrugged. "Yeah, the refs are dorks."

Maddie stood and yelled, "Penalty! Penalty!" but the game went on.

Sitting down, Maddie grabbed the drink from Melissa, took a huge swig and fisted another handful of M&M's. The new pals gulped, chewed and cheered until the halftime with the score tied 14-14. Far too antsy to stay seated in the bleachers, not to mention too full of liquid, they made a dash for the ladies room. Returning to the area in front of the first row of benches, they paced the concrete and discussed strategies for the second half.

"I think Dad should switch receivers," Melissa said.

"Somebody should do something about those biased referees. They're letting the Tigers get away with murder," Maddie replied.

As the band left the field and the players returned, the two fans cheered and whistled their team back onto the sides. Phil looked up into the stands, recognized the boisterous boosters and gave a small salute. Maddie and Melissa waved back enthusiastically.

"Go Beavers!" they said simultaneously.

As the third quarter progressed, Maddie got into full fan-from-hell persona, her concentration becoming intense, obsessed. Tunnel vision focused only on the ball, players and refs made her oblivious to her surroundings or the effect of her cat-calls on innocent bystanders.

"What kind of call was that? What are you, BLIND?!....Come on, defense. Don't be a bunch of pantywaists!"

Phil sent Stu over once requesting that she tone down her enthusiastic cheering.

Shocked at the reprimand, Maddie replied, "Of course. I'm simply rooting for the home team."

But like a four-year-old told to shush, Maddie's exuberance could not be contained. She cheered; she moaned; she made loud comments about the intelligence of the referees and the dirty playing of the Tigers.

When the Beavers got penalized five yards for holding, Maddie yelled, "Oh right! Call that one, but let that punk Tiger fullback do all the clipping he wants! Who's paying you off, anyway?"

Melissa piped in. "Yeah, who's paying you off anyway!?"

Phil decided enough was enough. He gave Stu a couple instructions and marched over to the railing where the girls stood above him.

"Miss Harris, a word with you please?" he said, hands on hips.

Maddie gripped the railing and bent over. "Yes, Coach you're doing a fine job, but I can't abide the prejudice of these officials."

He stepped closer, crooked his finger, which made her bend over even farther. "Would you do me a big favor?"

"Of course, anything."

"Shut the hell up!"

Maddie blinked her eyes. "Well! You don't have to be insulting." Glancing on the field, she glimpsed a Tiger viciously knee a Beaver, or so she thought. "I saw that!"

Taking a step up onto the first rung of the railing, she continued her tirade. "You blind, cross-eyed, stupid refs!"

As the Tiger quarterback sprinted into the end zone, Maddie let loose of the top railing, raised her hands in the air and exclaimed, "Oh no!"

Phil noticed the stream of kids and parents on the sidewalk behind Maddie snickering at her exuberance. At that moment a passing fan carrying two tubs of popcorn bumped the small of her back, perhaps intentionally.

She wobbled, a look of panic overtaking her face. Her hands grabbed for thin air as she proceeded to tumble head first over the railing.

"Shit," he muttered as he put his arms out to cushion her fall. Her head crashed into his chest, knocking him down as his arms fastened around her and they both rolled onto the ground.

Coming to a stop in a tangle nose to nose he said under his breath, "You are a pain in the ass, Miss Harris."

Hands from various sideline players pulled them up. Phil dusted himself off as Maddie straightened her clothes, making little grunting noises.

"Are you all right?" he asked

"Of course, I'm perfectly fine," she said, taking a step wherein her ankle completely buckled beneath her. "Ow!"

"Great," he muttered, scooping her up before she hit the ground again. Taking long strides toward the locker room, he held her firmly in his arms.

"Where are we going? Put me on the side with the team. I can watch the game from there," she said.

"Not on your life." He headed into the concrete passageway, turned left and kicked open the door to the men's room. Elbowing his way into a stall, he knocked down the lid with his foot and dumped her on the closed toilet seat.

Standing like Goliath in the lavatory opening he said, "You stay there until the game is over. You'd better be here when I get back."

Gripping the cold enamel of the bowl she sputtered, "But…"

He was already gone.

Standing briefly, pain shot up her leg and she immediately sat down again. Suffering had a sobering effect. Surrounded by the beige metal walls of the stall, the fluorescent beams from the light bulbs hurt her eyes. She leaned her cheek against the cool metal, curled her feet up and hugged her knees.

Good Lord
,
I've done it again
.

She sat quietly on the stool, feeling her heart pound as the cola/sugar high began to wind down. A line from
A Midsummer Night's Dream
drifted across her mind,
Oh, what fools these mortals be
. Inhaling large calming breaths, her blood sugar descended as insulin pumped from her pancreas. Soon her eyes felt heavy and her chin drooped to her chest.