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“The problem is, I also coach volleyball and field hockey. I can’t always be here just for basketball. Sister Sheilah said that you’d enjoy coaching and that you were good with the kids. I guess you’d have to be if you’ve got ten of your own.”
I liked this young woman who said what was on her mind. “In your opinion, how are the girls’ skills?”
She hesitated. “About what you would think they’d be. Except for your daughter Fiona. She’s shown some real ability.”
“Really? That’s good to hear.”
“Not only does she have a decent jumper, she also goes to the basket hard. She’s fearless.”
I smiled as I looked over at my beautiful daughter talking with her friends on the team. “She gets that from playing hoops with her brothers. They don’t cut her any slack. She wouldn’t survive if she didn’t throw the occasional elbow or take a hit once in a while. If she wasn’t tough and aggressive, she’d hardly see the ball.”
I got the girls together and started some simple drills. First, they warmed up by dribbling all the way around the edges of the court three times. Then we did a few shooting drills. Sister Elizabeth was right. I was impressed at how Fiona confidently handled the ball. Then she started sinking everything from twelve to fifteen feet out. How had this slipped my notice until now? The boys always said she was okay. Not great. Just okay. Had she been holding out on them? She was smart. Maybe she’d been trying to sandbag them for some big reveal down the road.
I enjoyed seeing the girls concentrate so hard. After a while, I noticed my grandfather at the very top of the bleachers, watching the practice. Even with ten great-grandchildren, the man managed to show up for almost every function.
I felt a wave of melancholy as I thought about poor Suzanne Morton. It can be easy to get sucked into an endless loop of despair and hopelessness with this job. Early on in my career, a senior homicide detective told me that no matter what I see on the job, life goes on. I was trying to honor that sentiment right now. But watching these girls laughing and playing made me think of how many things Suzanne would never again experience.
All I could do was prepare these girls to play as best they could. That’s what “Life goes on” means.
Chapter20
I WAS HAPPYto get back to the apartment a little earlier than usual. Today hadn’t been as long as yesterday, but it was still trying. Thank God I’d had the chance to spend some time with Fiona and the basketball team. I was still amazed at how good Fiona was. The whole team had some skills. Sister Elizabeth had done a great job teaching them the basics of the game.
I see rudderless kids on the street with no direction, no adult to encourage them, and no real interest in most activities. I learned when I was a kid that sports provide a place to have fun, get some exercise, and give some focus. I feel it’s important for kids to keep busy. I’m lucky that I’ve never had to force any of my kids to join a club or try a new activity. They all seem pretty interested in a lot of different things.
From arts and crafts to cooking, each of the kids has a serious interest. Juliana has her acting. Jane writes in her journals and is a phenomenal student. My oldest son, Brian, is working hard at straightening out his life and is enjoying his job at an air-conditioning repair company.
I found Mary Catherine in the kitchen. I was excited to tell her how well Fiona had played. I really felt like basketball could be Fiona’s “thing.”
I swept my wife up in a hug but instantly felt something wasn’t right. I took a step back, looked at her, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
She led me by the hand to the living room, where Ricky and Eddie were playing a video game. A video game during daylight hours? Usually that would be a rule infraction. But Mary Catherine eased up on the rules when the kids weren’t feeling well or had had a bad day.
I didn’t see any fresh cuts or bruises.
Mary Catherine said, “The same boys bothered them again today.”
I looked to Eddie to tell me the whole story.
He started up instantly. “Dad, we weren’t causing problems. We went down the street to the other basketball hoop. Trent was going to meet us after he put something in his locker. Before we even got to the court, I heard someone say, ‘Look, the little Christians are back.’ It was the same two boys, and they had another boy with them. When Trent wandered up and asked what was going on, one of the boys punched him right in the face.”
I glanced around the apartment. “Where is Trent now?”
Mary Catherine said, “He’s cleaning up in the hallway bathroom.”
I broke off from our conversation and rushed to the bathroom. Trent was sitting on the edge of the tub, holding a washcloth to his nose. It wasn’t a lot of blood, but any blood coming out of your kids is too much.
“You okay?” I tried to keep my voice calm. Inside I was burning up.Someone punched my kid!
“Feels like the time I fell off the skateboard and landed right on my face.” He didn’t sound mad. That was Trent. He tended to go with events rather than fight them.
I sat there with him for a couple of minutes. He said he hadn’t seen the bullies until it was too late. I listened, then we both went back out to the other boys to hear the rest of the story.
As we walked into the living room, Mary Catherine said, “You haven’t heard the worst of it yet.” She turned to Ricky and said, “Tell your father what happened just before you went back to Holy Name.”
Ricky said, “The guy who punched Trent lifted his shirt. He had a pistol stuffed in his waistband.”
“What kind of pistol?”
