The Sacrifice (23 page)

“I wasn't sure you'd still be there,” she said hoarsely.

“Of course, I am,” Scott said.

Kay's lip trembled again, but there was nothing left. She reached in her pocket, took out a tissue, and wiped her eyes. “What's happening in the game?”

“I don't know. Would you like to leave? We could go somewhere else.”

“No, I want to stay. I needed to cry, but I don't want to wallow in my sorrows. The game will help me take my mind off myself.”

Scott was silent for a moment. “Would a fresh bag of hot popcorn help?”

A tiny smile appeared. “Yes.”

“And your own Cheerwine?”

“Only if it lives up to its name.” Kay retreated back into the shadows. “I'm sure I look terrible. I'd rather not get in the middle of the crowd at the concession stand.”

“I'll get it,” Scott offered. “You wait here.”

“Okay.”

Scott walked around to the home side of the field. He glanced back once and saw Kay standing where he left her. He walked further, and when he looked again, the glare of the lights didn't reach the place where she stood.

Although he'd been stoic while standing guard over Kay's sorrow, Scott was in turmoil. Part of him wanted to drive to Virginia Beach, track down Jake Wilson, and beat him to a bloody pulp. Kay didn't deserve what Jake was dishing out. Another part of Scott wanted to wrap a soft blanket around Kay and make her forget about rejection and pain, but he reminded himself of his conclusion while sitting alone in the courtroom after reading the divorce file. The wrong type of kindness from him would create its own confusion and problems. She didn't need it; he didn't want it.

Scott was jostled in the crowd as he stood in line for popcorn but didn't notice. He reached the front of the line where a frazzled female volunteer intruded into his thinking and asked, “What do you want?”

“Huh?” he responded.

The woman gave him an exasperated look.

“Oh, a large, buttered popcorn and two Cheerwines.”

The woman put the food in a flimsy cardboard tray. Scott held his elbows out to protect it as he pushed through the crowd. Retracing his steps, he saw Kay standing on the track behind the goalpost area. The Catawba team was driving toward that end of the field and had the ball on the Lincolnton fifteen-yard line. Scott stopped to watch. The home crowd was on its feet yelling as loudly as it could in an effort to disrupt the play. The young quarterback faked a run up the middle then dropped back for a pass. He looked to the right side of the field, but the receiver was double-covered. He ran to the left. The wide-out on that side of the line had drifted toward the end zone after helping block the defensive end. The quarterback tossed a wobbly pass that the player caught at the eight-yard line. The Lincolnton safety charged forward to tackle him, but the receiver deftly sidestepped the defender and scampered into the end zone for a touchdown. Scott couldn't clap or jump without having to buy another popcorn, but he cheered as loud as he could. Then he saw the number of the Catawba player. It was Dustin Rawlings.

Scott came up to Kay as Catawba was lining up for the extra point attempt.

“Dustin caught that touchdown pass,” he said.

“I know. I had a great view of the play.”

“Here's your popcorn and drink,” he said. “They guarantee that every kernel in the bag is popped and buttered.”

“Thanks. Where are we going to sit?”

Scott looked toward the visitor section. The stands were full, and there was less chance of a seat now than when he had arrived. “We'll have a picnic.” He set his drink on the ground and took off the black Windbreaker he was wearing. “You can sit on my jacket.”

Kay sat down, and Scott stretched out his legs on the damp grass. They shared the popcorn. Several times Scott's thick hand brushed against Kay's slender one as they both reached into the bag. The first quarter ended. They got up and Scott shook out his jacket.

“Let's walk back to our side of the field,” he said.

When they reached the edge of the stands, a female voice called out, “Mrs. Wilson!”

It was Yvette Fisher.

“Do you and Mr. Ellis want to sit down?” she asked.

“There's not enough room,” Scott said.

“It's okay. We're going to walk around for a while.”

The students left, and Scott and Kay sat down to watch the action on the field. The tempo was opposite to the game the previous week. Both teams seemed able to score at will, and by halftime the score was 28-21 in favor of Catawba. While the bands were on the field, Yvette returned and squeezed in next to Kay. Scott left to find the rest room.

“Are you enjoying the game?” the dark-haired student asked.

“Yes. I like it when they pass the ball and score a lot of points,” Kay answered. “If there isn't much offense, I lose interest.”

“Me, too. Scoring is my favorite part.” Yvette shifted in her seat. “May I ask you a personal question?”

Kay glanced at Yvette's slightly upturned nose. “That depends on how personal it is.”

“Someone told me that you dated Mr. Ellis when you were in high school.”

“That's a statement, not a question.”

Yvette frowned. “Okay. I'll try again. Did you date Mr. Ellis when you were in high school?”

Kay stood up. “I'm not going to answer. It's too personal.”

The teacher left for the rest room. While she was gone, Scott returned and sat down next to Yvette. He opened a bag of peanuts and offered her one.

“Thanks,” she said. “Are you enjoying the game?”

“Yeah, but I really enjoyed the game last week; it was hard-nosed football. I played linebacker in high school and appreciate good defense.”

“I like a defensive struggle, too,” Yvette said. “Too much scoring is one-dimensional.”

Scott glanced sideways to see if the student was teasing him, but her face revealed nothing. “That's an interesting way to put it,” he said.

Yvette gave him her best smile. “Didn't you graduate from Catawba High?”

“Yes.”

“Is it different now?”

“Not really.”

Everyone stood up to cheer as a Catawba running back broke into the clear and ran seventy yards for a touchdown.

After everyone calmed down, Yvette asked, “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Did you date Mrs. Wilson when you were in high school together?”

Scott leaned forward for the extra point attempt that was tipped at the line of scrimmage and sailed wide.

“Off to the left,” he said. “Yeah, we dated for a few months when I was a senior and she was a sophomore.”

“So, she's younger than you are.”

Scott smiled. “Yeah, but she's always been mature for her age.”

“Where would you go on dates back then?”

“We didn't have cars so I'd ride my horse over to her family's log cabin. We'd sit on the front porch in rocking chairs and talk.”

Yvette frowned, and Scott decided to give her a few tidbits of information she could share with her friends. “We went water skiing once on Lake Norman when the water was freezing cold. I took her to the junior-senior prom. Do you know Perry and Linda Dixon?”

“The man who owns the gym?”

“Yes. We ate dinner with them at a fancy restaurant in Charlotte before going to the dance.”

“You must have really liked her a lot.”

“Yes, if I hadn't gone into the army after graduation—” Scott stopped. It was time to divert Yvette's curiosity. “How is she as a teacher?”

“She's popular with most kids. What were you saying about the army?”

“Yvette, you're doing a fine job cross-examining me, but this is not mock trial practice. That's all I have to say about dating Kay Wilson in high school or beyond. Would you like another peanut?”

“Uh-huh.”

Scott handed her a few more peanuts.

Yvette cracked one open. “Here comes Mrs. Wilson. I'll let her sit down.”

Yvette walked over to her friends and engaged in an animated conversation. Scott chuckled.

“What's funny?” Kay asked as she slid in next to him.

“Yvette was grilling me about our relationship in high school.”

“She tried that with me but didn't get anywhere. What did you tell her?”

“Not much. I mentioned water skiing and that I took you to the prom.”

Kay shook her head. “That's plenty. By Monday morning the school gossip line will have us taking a romantic boat ride on the lake then breaking up after a horrible fight after the dance.”

The Lincolnton side of the field erupted in cheers as their corner-back intercepted a pass and ran it back for a touchdown. The touchdown barrage continued into the fourth quarter. With two minutes left in the game, Catawba was behind by four points and had the ball on their own thirty-yard line. The visiting team drove down the field on a combination of runs and short passes. On fourth and four, Dustin caught a crucial pass for a first down and ran out of bounds to stop the clock. With fifteen seconds left, the Catawba fullback ran into the end zone for a touchdown. The game ended with Catawba on top 52-49.

Scott and Kay joined the crowd squeezing through the exit gate.

“Would you like something to eat?” he asked.

Kay hesitated. “Is this a sympathy offer?”

“No, I'm hungry. I remember a local pizza place not far from the field.”

“All right.”

“My car is down the street. That will help us beat the crowd out of the school parking lot.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were facing one another in a tiny booth for two at the local pizza restaurant. The small table was covered with a red plastic tablecloth and a candle in a red-colored glass container was burning in the middle. The place hadn't changed décor since it was built in the '70s.

“What do you like on your pizza?” Scott asked.

“I'm flexible.”

“How about zucchini, spinach, and goat cheese?”

“If that's what you want,” Kay said. “I would have guessed you were a pepperoni fan.”

“I am, but I eat pepperoni pizzas all the time at home. When I eat out, I like variety. Why don't we each pick two toppings and make it a joint effort?”

“Okay.”

They placed their order for a pepperoni, mushroom, green pepper, and extra-cheese pizza. The restaurant quickly filled up with students from Lincolnton. A few from Catawba also slipped in the door. The manager dimmed the lights.

“There's Alisha.” Kay pointed to the tall young woman who was with a taller young man. “She's with Devon Harris, a basketball player.”

The waitress set two small, white plates on the table. “Your pizza will be out in a few minutes,” she said.

Scott handed one of the plates to Kay with his right hand. In the flickering light of the candle, the scar across his palm looked inflamed.

“Scott, what happened to your hand?”

He glanced down at the deep indention and touched it with the tips of his fingers.

“It happened in the army.”

“You already told me that. It's not classified information, is it?”

“No, just very hard for me to speak about. I haven't talked to anybody in Catawba about it except Perry Dixon.”

“Oh, then don't—”

“No. I'll tell you. We're friends.”

Kay waited.

Scott took a deep breath. “I was part of a peacekeeping force sent to a small African country. It was not a public mission. We were trying to keep three ethnic groups from committing mass genocide against each other. Nobody really wanted us there because each little army thought they could win if we were out of the picture. One evening there was a bomb threat involving our camp. Bomb threats were common; it was a way for the locals to hassle us. We'd never found anything, but we had to follow procedure and do a sweep of the compound. Three of us were sent to a communications room to check for anything unusual. One of the men saw something suspicious behind a computer in one corner of the room and asked me to take a look. I'd had some training in explosives at Fort Benning.

“On the floor behind the CPU was a small black box about the size of a disposable camera. There were wires leading from the box to the computer and along the wall. There was a bomb specialist in the unit, but I decided to make sure this was not a false alarm and asked one of my buddies, a soldier named Steve Robinson, to help me. He traced the wires around the corner to an area where we stacked large metal trunks that served as supply storage. I decided to check it out. Everything looked normal, and I opened one of the trunks. It was fine, and I asked Steve to check another one. When he did, there was a loud click. I don't know what he saw, but he fell down on top of the trunk, slamming shut the lid.”

Scott rubbed his palm again before continuing. “The explosion killed him instantly. I was knocked several feet in the air. The metal trunk was blown to bits, and I had injuries from the metal casing to my hand, left shoulder, and left leg. I could have been killed or lost my sight, so I guess I was lucky. The other man in the room wasn't hurt.”

Kay's eyes were big. “I never imagined.”

Scott shook his head. “Steve was my best friend.”

He reached in his back pocket and took out his wallet. He flipped it open and handed it to Kay. There was a tiny photo of an African-American man in military uniform, a smiling woman in a yellow dress, and a baby in a pink outfit.

“That's Steve, his wife, Amy, and his little girl, Francie. It was taken about six months before he was killed. They shipped his body home. He's buried in upstate New York.”

Kay handed the wallet back to Scott.

“I went to see Amy when I returned to the States—” Scott stopped and squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a few seconds. “I've opened a bank account as a college fund for Francie. I put a little bit in it each month.”