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If I had the answer, I probably wouldn’t be here with no contract babysitting my geriatric former coach.
A few minutes later, I find myself pulling up in front of Kodiak Camp.
Coach hoots. “The hell are we doing here?”
“Recovering.”
When I wheel Coach inside, the manager greets us each with a warm hug, then crosses to the doors and calls to some kids on the court.
“Counselors-in-training,” she explains.
I go outside toward them, wheeling Coach in his chair and pulling up at the side of the asphalt. Along the horizon, there’s the crest of the hill beyond which the lake looms where Nova and I went swimming. The cabins where we fooled around for the first time.
This isn’t why I came here, but it calls to me. It washes over me like a wave, the longing and the freedom.
The feeling of learning there could be more to my life.
Of being seen by a pair of bright blue eyes I wanted to live in forever.
A ball hits my arm before I can grab it out of the air.
“Sorry!” one of the kids calls.
I pass it back, and he takes another shot. It bounces the same way, and I grab it again, this time crossing to give it back to him.
“Wrist,” I say under my breath.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s your wrist. You’re involving it too early.”
He snaps me the ball, and I hesitate only a second before squaring up to the basket. I haven’t done this in months.
Maybe part of me thought I couldn’t.
I bend my knees, rise up, and follow through. There’s silence for one second. Two. The ball swishes through the net.
Hollers go up.
“Your turn.” I nod to the boy, and he takes the ball, tries it. Gets it on the second go.
“I hear you need a coach,” Coach calls.
The other team descends. “Hell yes.”
“Hell no.” I check my phone. “We gotta get back, old man.”
I go to get his wheelchair, and he lifts his legs, kicking me when I get close.
I grunt. “Jesus, Coach. We’ll both have bad knees after this.”
“Well, stop trying to make me do what I don’t want to.”
My guy sulks in the corner while the other team runs circles around him with the ball.
“I’ll play you for it,” I decide, praying I don’t regret this. “Underdogs, you’re mine.”
We organize the three-on-three match. It’s down to the wire when the call comes in from the care home.
