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“I wouldn’t say everything’s lost. About five years ago, most of the important documents were scanned and saved on the school’s computers. Even the student newspaper went through archives and made an effort to preserve the most significant events for posterity. Unfortunately, at the time, preserving memories of Mr. Williams wasn’t on the radar.” She looked up and smiled. “Okay, everything looks good here. I think we’re ready to begin filming.”
She started with a few preliminary questions about the years he attended St. Andrew’s and how he knew Mr. Williams. He answered as she had imagined he would. He’d had Mr. Williams for English his freshman year, and later, Mr. Williams had been his soccer coach. Nothing particularly earthshattering. She needed him to dig for something more.
“You were the co-captain of the varsity soccer team two years in a row, weren’t you?”
“I was. Both my junior and senior year.” He sat up proudly.
“Who was the captain in your senior year?”
He looked down at his fingers, studying the cuticles. Even from behind the camera, Allie could see their raggedness. “Sam won out for captain my senior year.”
She straightened. “Wasn’t he a junior? I always thought the junior co-captain automatically moved into the captain role the next year. Why didn’t you get captain?”
“Guess even Mr. Williams had his favorites.” He raised his gaze to Allie’s and shrugged. “I didn’t mind so much.”
“Really? I would have been a little pissed off. It doesn’t seem fair.” She pushed him, hoping to see a drop in his jovial, off-hand manner.
“Nah. It was all the same to me. I love soccer. Always have. The title didn’t matter. Whether I was captain or co-captain, I still got an academic scholarship to Westminster. And a few dates when I was in a pinch,” he added with a smile. “Besides, Sam was better. He’d really kicked up his game that last year—no pun intended.” He laughed at his own joke, and she tried to join him.
She drew a long, mental line through Tim’s name on her list of suspects.
“What can you tell me about Mr. Williams? Was he well-liked by the guys on the team?” Maybe Tim didn’t resent Mr. Williams, but others may not have been so affable.
“Sure. He was a great guy. In fact—” His thick brows dipped down as he seemed to be remembering something. She didn’t dare speak and risk him losing the thin line to his memory.
“I remember our senior year when we took State. He was giving us all a pep talk before a game. We were all nervous—we didn’t want to mess up when we were so close. We didn’t want to disappoint our friends and family, the school, even him. He gave the speech about not letting the loss define us, just playing for fun, yada yada. You know the drill. Nothing unique. But it was the delivery. It really got to me and I’m sure every one of us. And we took the title. But even if we’d lost, he’d have been okay. He got us, you know?”
Allie nodded, imagining Mr. Williams, his brown, curly hair probably wind-blown and tousled, his dark eyes warm and friendly when he delivered those words of inspiration. Tim was right about one thing. With Mr. Williams, it was more than just the words. It was the delivery. He always meant what he was saying. It wasn’t lip-service.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked to avoid Tim seeing.
“That was perfect, Tim. I think I have what I need.”
…
“Eat two more nuggets, and I’ll let you watch some Netflix on my phone,” Allie told Violet later that night. They were seated with Laney around her sister’s kitchen table, munching from bags of Chick-Fil-A.
Violet shoved a full nugget in her mouth, eyes glowing in anticipation of the unexpected treat of Netflix on a school night. Two minutes later, after depositing her daughter’s plate in the sink, Allie settled Vi in a squishy chair in the family room watching repeats of Wizards of Waverly Place.
Leaving Allie and her sister alone to talk in the kitchen.
“I still can’t believe you brought him. I don’t think my grandma will ever forgive you,” Laney lamented.
Allie plunged a fork into a strawberry. She didn’t really think Ethel’s lack of forgiveness would be much loss but chose not to mention that to Laney. She bit into the j
uicy berry. “Mmm. These are good. You should try one.”
“Although…I suppose I would see his appeal,” her sister went on, ignoring Allie’s hint to change the subject. “There is something about him… I could almost see how you may have lost your mind and brought him over Saturday. He’s definitely your type.”
“My type?” Allie asked with skepticism, giving in. “And what type is that?”
“Oh, hello. Don’t pretend you haven’t seen every Colin Firth movie ever made—and own most of them. Sam has that good-looking-in-a-quiet-way thing going for him. Even if his face does seem a little more beaten up—rugged, I guess you’d say—compared to the guys you usually date. Hockey player?”
“Soccer, actually.”
Laney nodded as if that explained it all and pushed a tomato around her almost untouched chicken salad. “And he seemed to be into you. I can’t imagine any man sticking around for an extra helping of lime Jell-O unless he wanted to be there.”
“You’re definitely wrong about that.”
