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“Daddy, Debbie doesn’t live far from us,” Brianna said.
“Mommy said it was ten minutes away,” Debbie specified. “I can’t come tomorrow. Maybe on Saturday during the day. I’ll ask Mommy.”
“Great. Now, we have to drive Debbie home. You girls can follow me to the garage and jump into the backseat. Make sure you buckle your seatbelts.”
Tim drove his daughter’s friend home, dropped her off in her driveway, and waited for her to run to the front door. She knocked. A young boy answered and let her in.
The following day, Erin Perkins called to thank him. “Debbie would love to have Brianna come on Saturday.”
“I don’t mind if it doesn’t bother you.”
“Not at all. Can she stay for lunch? I’ll bring her back around three on my way to the hospital.”
“Thank you.” It was a perfect arrangement that would allow him a few hours at his office.
Brianna and Debbie fell into the routine of getting together on Tuesday after school at his house, and on Saturday from ten to three at the Perkins’s house.
Two weeks later, on one of his drives to the Perkins’s home to drop off Brianna for the day, Tim noticed a boy sitting on the grass, his chin leaning on his raised knees, his shoulders shaking. Was he crying?
Tim slid out of his BMW and approached him. “What’s wrong?”
The boy’s head jerked back and he scrambled up, sniffling and rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “What d’you want?”
“I’m Brianna’s dad. Maybe I can help you. Are you Debbie’s brother?”
“Yes, I’m David Perkins. No one can help me now that Dad is gone.” His eyes filled with tears.
Poor thing, he sounded so miserable.
Where had his father gone? Had he abandoned his family? Was that the reason Erin Perkins worked the late shifts? Tim didn’t want to intrude into her personal problems.
“Why don’t you explain to me why you’re so unhappy? Maybe together we can figure out a solution.”
David peeked at him, giving him the once-over. “Are you good at basketball?”
Tim smiled. “I used to play when I was your age. Yes, I was good. Is that why you’re so upset?”
“I failed tryouts and didn’t make the team. I used to practice with Dad. Now, I don’t have any one to practice with, and I’m not tall. They chose someone else.”
Debbie had helped his daughter overcome her grief and acquire good habits. Tim owed it to the little girl and her mother to return the favor. “I’ll tell you what, David. Why don’t you come over to the house with Debbie every Tuesday? We’ll practice together.”
“Seriously, Mr. Kent?”
“Yes, you can call me Coach Tim.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “When you feel confident enough with your game, you can apply again to be part of the team.”
The boy’s eyes gleamed with gratitude. “That’d be wonderful. Thank you, Coach Tim.”
“Since I’m here now, go get a ball and let’s try a few passes.”
“Cool. Be back in a sec.” David ran inside the house and returned through the garage he’d left open. “I told my mom. She said I can go to your place on Tuesday with Debbie.” The boy grinned. “She also said, ‘Must be Dad who sent you.’ We’ll thank him tonight.”
Completely lost, Tim arched his eyebrows. “Is your father coming back tonight?”
“No, Dad passed away. We pray for him to protect us from up there.”
Trying to digest the news, Tim peered at the boy. “Oh. I’m sorry.” His heart filled with sorrow for the young widow, doing her best to take care of her kids on her own.
“I’ll shoot a basket.” David dribbled then threw the ball. “I missed again. I’ll never make it.”
