Love Lifted Me (17 page)
“Did you think I'd make fun of you?”
“Not really, just maybe that I couldn't communicate what was so special to me.” Emotion watered his voice. “I never knew God loved me so much.”
“Remember when I finally told you about having an abortion? And how I finally confessed it to Jesus and He forgave me? I lay facedown in the backyard of Miss Linda's bed-and-breakfast while fireballs burned away every bit of shame.”
“I remember.”
“You responded with kindness and understanding. How would I not do the same for you?”
“Because since then you learned I was far from the stellar man I pretended to be.” He smiled a slow smile.
“Tell me.” Jade slipped her hand into his and rested her head on his shoulder.
Max said nothing for a long moment. Jade thought she could hear his whispered prayers. “I'd been at the Outpost for about a month. I was mad, cranky, giving Axel a hard time. His method of rehab was pointing ranch residents to Jesus and the cross. Every time we got offtrack, he'd turn us around to face the cross. âAll the help you need is right there.'
“My progress was slow. Then Axel called a fast. Three guys bolted that week and I almost went with them. But I thought of you and Asa, and I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Axel had a crude cross on the property that I could see from my bunk. During the fast, I'd lie on my side and watch the moon pass over the cross. One night while my stomach was growling, I started praying, âLord, heal me. Fix me. I'm a wretch and a wreck.' I realized that was the point of the cross. To be free from myself. A man can't live free if he's in debt to sin, and I was up to my eyeballs in debt.”
Jade listened, brushing away her tears.
“I started to cry. Just watery eyes at first, then sobs. I buried my face in the pillow to keep from waking the others. I wanted to slip out, but I couldn't move. I felt like I was lying in a bed of warm oil. The more I wept, the thicker and warmer it became. I swear I heard Jesus say to me, âI have things for you to do. Come, follow me.' Then He poured more oil. I couldn't keep my eyes off the cross, weeping, soaking in that oily sensation. By morning, I thought it was all a dream. But over the weeks at the Outpost, I knew it was real. No more pains, real or phantom. No craving for meds. Love met me and lifted me out of my sin. I look back at the addicted Maxwell Benson and wonder, âWho
was
that guy?'”
Jade lifted her chin to his shoulder and started to speak. To say she believed him, that she loved him, and that she had something to tell him.
But no . . . not tonight. Not while they had moonbeams in their hair and the hum of the stars in their hearts.
At five 'til seven Tuesday morning, Max left the field house for the field. Dawn had just broken with a clear blue sky and the promise of a warm day.
Max gripped the Warrior duffel bag in his right hand, ignoring the chilly wash of nervous tension in his veins. He resettled his Warrior cap. The confidence and excitement from last night's spontaneous booster party faded the closer he got to the field. Drifted away on the breeze with the last scent of spicy barbecue.
Max broke into a jog as he passed through the gate, anticipating a handful of boys on the field. He came around the south end of the home side bleachers. His coaches should be on the field. He crossed the running track. A ping of excitement trumped the nervous twist in his gut. He stepped onto the field.
And stopped.
Max was the first to arrive.
I can do this, Lord. I can do this
.
He ran to the fifty yard line, dropped his duffel with an exhale, and waited. Seven o'clock and he remained alone.
Seven-o-five.
Seven ten.
Seven fifteen.
Max jogged across the field to the parking lot. Nothing. He ran the other way and surveyed the field house. He caught no movement.
Seven twenty.
He glanced down at the duffel bag. He'd planned to get the boys' names and positions. Talk about goals and what it meant to really win. He was going to pass out the Warrior T-shirts he'd found in his office closet. That little room was a treasure of Warrior gear.
Seven thirty. Max reached down for the duffel, his heavy heart crashing against the walls of his chest. Did he really expect the boys to come? New coach, second day in town?
Yeah, he really did.
He expected his coaches to show up. Even Bobby Molnar, who'd yammered on and on last night over a plate of tangy pulled pork about how he expected Max to do great things.
As he turned for the field house, an abrupt, “Coach,” arrested his next step. A stout man wearing a worn Aggies hat jogged onto the field, huffing and puffing, and when he got to Max, he dropped to one knee, gulping for his next breath, his massive chest swelling.
“Sorry I'm late, Coach. It won't happen again.”
“Late? You saved me from complete humiliation.” Max offered his hand. “Max Benson. And you are?”
“Coach Howard Hines. But folks call me Hines. Or Coach. I'm here to help, do whatever you need me to do.” An African American man, dressed for a day of coaching, approaching sixty-five or seventy, was the first ray of hope in Max's short football coaching career.
“How'd you know about this?”
“Word's out. New coach is in town. I'm the chief volunteer.” Hines rose to his feet. “I retired from coaching four years ago myself and the wife wanted to return to Colby. We grew up here.” He gestured toward the stands. “I was a Warrior back in the day. Played on two state championship teams. Fullback.
'59 and '60. Course we didn't have nothing near as grand as all this.” Hines propped his hands on his hips as he gazed around. “We used to run the cow pastures for PT. Lifted hay bales, tossed bags of feed. We were tough as nails.
The field turned to a mud bowl if it so much as sprinkled rain. The bleachers were half what you see here. But folks drove in from all over to watch us play.
Stand right along the field in their coats and hats until the final whistle.”
“So what happened to Warrior football?”
Hines jutted out his chin. “Got cocky. You start winning championships two or three times a decade, folks start expecting it. Demanding it. People moved to Colby so their boys could play for Coach Burke.” The old coach squinted at Max. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Burke was your age when he took over,” Hines said. “Twenty years later he was dead.”
“Are you saying coaching killed him?” Max absently ran his hand over the spot on his back where his phantom stress pains lived.
Used
to live.
“In a manner, yeah. He retired. Was dead two months later. The stress took its toll. The game becomes about everyone but you and the boys. It becomes about the school, the boosters, the community, then the biggest sin of all sets in. Pride. And that one gets in your bones and don't let go. The more successful Burke became, the more stressed he got. Money poured into this place. I watched it all from my program in Georgia.” Hines flashed Max a fat, white smile. “I won a few state championships myself.”
“So why aren't you coach instead of me?”
Hines laughed. “I told you, I retired. I like helping out these days. Besides . . .” The old coach glanced over his shoulder. “They're . . . well . . . looking for a man like you, Max . . . Coach Benson.”
Max stared toward the field house. What did Hines see? Or not see? “What kind of man is that, Hines? Exactly?”
“You.” Hines widened his stance and folded his arms over his chest. He wore a red Warrior pullover and coach's shorts. “First year the wife and I were back in Colby,” he said, “I enjoyed watching football from my easy chair. But then I got to itching to be around the boys, on the field, under the Friday night lights.” He popped Max on the back. “Besides, volunteering keeps me out of the house. And a happy wife is a happy Hines.” His chuckle rolled and billowed, and felt far away from Max.
“Tell me why we're the only two here, Hines. If you heard about it, why didn't the kids?”
“Would you come if you were in their shoes?”
“Yeah, I would . . . well . . . no, maybe not.”
“These boys have been burned and bruised. Coaches come and go.” Hines peered toward the field house again. “Five coaches in six years? What's to say you ain't number six?”
“So how do we build a program without kids?”
“Guess we roll up our sleeves and beat the bushes. Don't wait for the boys to come here, we got to go there.”
“You'd go with me?” Max faced Hines head on.
“I know most of the kids. Been volunteering for three years now. I want to see you succeed, Coach. I'm tired of watching these kids suffer 'cause some eggheads back up in them offices are playing tug-of-war.”
“Tug-of-war? What tug-of-war? Hines, do you know something?” Jade's voice echoed across Max's mind.
If it's too good to be true .
. .
“I only know what my heart sees. I'm not in the inner circles. Just an old retired volunteer. But something's not right when a program can't find a good coach and keep him. I mean, look at this place. I did ten times more in Georgia with ten times less. We should be funneling players all over the NCAA. But we're not.” Hines edged his tone with frustration.
“You want a job, Hines?” If he was hired to build a program, might as well start from the ground up.
He regarded Max. “You offering?”
“I'm going to need coaches who can show up when I ask. You want offense or defense?”
“I know a great D coordinator so I'll take the O. Run it with you, then help out on special teams. We running the spread or the option?”
“If I can get Calvin Blue, the option.”
Hines laughed. “You know ol' Cal? He's a good kid. Quick as a greased lightning but about as mule headed as they come. But surely he'd make our offense come alive.”
“So let's convince his mule head to play for us.” Max tugged his duffel off the field and started for the field house. Hines fell in step with him. “I could use some help getting set up, then we can call some boys.”
Max liked Hines, sensed a kindred spirit. Not only a love for football but a love for the One who was true light. They'd make a good team.
Holding open the field house door for Hines, Max composed his dismissal speech for Lars Martin and Kevin Carroll.
When Jade arrived at 1207 Gallia Street in historic Colby, Kathy Carroll met her in the middle of the green lawn. A bright, rainless sky blanketed the day and a swelling heat kissed the early afternoon hours.
“So glad you could make it. Welcome, welcome.” Kathy was petite and trim with mounds of coal-colored ringlets bouncing about her face and shoulders.
“What? Miss a playdate and a stroll through a vintage lover's candy store?” Jade laughed. “Not on your life.” She let Asa slip to the ground, then took his hand.
“I thought that'd hook you.” Kathy threaded her arm through Jade's and guided her up the walkway to the Victorian house. “I told Kevin on the way home last night, âI've got to hang with that girl.' Our husbands will be absorbed by the game and we'll be football widows, comforting each other. We'll be the best of friends. This is the first time a head coach has had a wife.” Kathy reached for the door. “Who knows, in twenty years or so, your son might just grow up to marry my daughter.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan.” A dig-deep-roots plan. The idea grounded Jade. Four days in Colby and she'd already made a few new friends and arranged a marriage for her son.
It'd been years since Jade had ventured out beyond Daphne and Margot, her college friends. But now she had her first
mom
friend, and a whole new luxurious world opened to her.
Jade paused in the foyer, a burst of glee on her lips. “Kathy, this is amazing.” The high walls were textured, bordered by etched, gleaming trim and molding. Her eye landed on a Victrola and what appeared to be an original Tiffany lamp. Even the air seemed to be from the nineteenth century.
“When you said you sold vintage clothes and what all back in Tennessee, I said to myself, Jade has got to see Nana's house. You should see the clothes in her attic. I'm not sure they're worth anything, but when we were kids, my cousins and I used them for dress up. What a hoot.”
Who knew the vintage mother ship had landed in Colby, Texas? Jade pressed her hand over her heart. “This is fabulous. Are you sure your nana doesn't mind?” She held Asa's hand tighter as she followed Kathy through the house. No way would she let him loose in this place.
“Nana and Gramps Vance moved here in '32. A year after they got married. This was the original house of the family's ranch. In the late '30s Gramps started selling off the land because he wanted to make more money and work less. He died in the early nineties, but Nana still lives here. She'll be a hundred on her next birthday.” Kathy turned into a grand, sunny kitchen. “Nana, this is Jade Benson. The new coach's wife.” Kathy bent down to the woman pressed into a brown mohair chair. She had a cloud of fluffy white hair and a teacup in her hand.