“Hi boys,” she says, pulling Rawley first into a hug that he accepts but does not embrace. Next is Tanner, who she only carefully hugs, probably nervous to hurt him since he’s technically still in recovery. He, however, warmly hugs her back, despite her caution. Then they see me.
Rawley’s eyes narrow, but only for a moment. “Yo, Coach.”
Tanner only looks pleased, adding, “Coach! You’re here.Fu—damn, I’m glad to see you. I’m so ready to get back. I am so sick of not doing a damn thing.”
“You could clean up after yourself and help out around the house if you’re so bored,” Clara June counters. The moment offers a glimpse into her everyday—always asking the boys to contribute, always reminding them of what needs to be done. And all of this after double shifts at the diner, too.
“Hey Tanner, how are you feeling?” I ask, trying my best to assess his natural movements to see if he’s babying his head or collarbone. But he appears pretty much normal. Aside from being tired of the inside of his house and missing his friends, he looks good.
“Good, Coach. God these last few weeks are crawling by,” he says, flopping down on the couch where his mom was justsitting. He kicks his sneakers off, and one falls onto the table, the other on the ground. Rawley digs in his bag, dropping four heavy books onto the same table, which causes Tanner’s shoe to fall off onto the floor.
“Oh, so you got your books you were looking for,” Clara June says, sitting on the floor, pulled up to the coffee table, beginning to sift through the hardcovers wrapped in that loud plastic libraries always use. “Oh, it’s a history paper? I thought this was the English paper about the effects of violent video games on preteens.”
Rawley holds a single finger up, and then pulls a manilla folder from his backpack. I recognize that folder. It’s the Bluebell High graded work folder, what all of the teachers use to pass back final, graded and already recorded work in. That folder says: it’s done, it’s recorded, it doesn’t matter what you do with it now.
Clara June eyes the folder, clearly aware of what’s inside. She takes it cautiously, making Rawley taunt her by dancing his eyebrows.
“That was last week’s paper, Mom. And I got it back today.” He folds his arms over his chest,Modest Mouset-shirt rumpling slightly. Today he must’ve had clean laundry, as he’s wearing blue jeans, black boots, and a black t-shirt—no more hoodie and swim trunks.
Clara June opens the folder, reads for a moment, then closes it, looping her arms around Rawley’s neck. “I’m proud of you, son. And I’m sorry I forgot it was due last week. I’m still recovering from all these extra shifts.”
He smiles down at her before drifting into the kitchen. “No worries, Mom. I know.”
“Bring me a soda,” Tanner calls from the couch. Rawley appears in the doorway, drinking an ice-cold can of Coca Cola.
“If you’re going to play football in a few weeks, I think you’re well enough to get off your ass and get a can of soda.” Rawley sips and smirks, and it’s that precise moment that Archie runs inside, nearly tripping over the doormat as he rushes to slam the door closed. He presses his back to the closed door, palms splayed over the wood like he’s preventing a monster from breaking in. His little chest heaves, and orange marks the corner of his lips.
Rawley glances back at his little brother, then over at Clara June. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say Mrs. Salinger is going to be over here in less than one minute.”
Clara June gets to her feet. “Archie, I specifically told you?—”
There’s a violent knock at the door, one that rattles the inset glass and makes the window on the same wall vibrate. Clara June stands tall, tips her shoulders back, and opens the door.
On the other side, on the porch, wearing a house dress and not much else, a woman with silvering hair stands, hands balled in fists. “Clara June, I told you to keep that boy off my property!”
Tanner looks up at me. “That’s Mrs. Salinger. She lives next door. Archie eats her peaches. She hates us.”
“Who’s that? Who's saying those things?” Mrs. Salinger’s eyes narrow further, which I wasn’t sure was even possible, and she grips the doorframe, poking her head into the house. She locks onto Tanner. “Oh, it’s you.” She looks at Clara June. “How many kids are living here, anyway?”
Clara June is more patient than I’d be. Her smile is small but controlled. “I have three sons, Mrs. Salinger. It’s been that way for the last five years.
Thankfully, she turns around and takes a few steps downoff the porch. “I’m calling the police next time!” She thrusts a clenched fist into the air and waves it around. “You can bet!”
“Bet,” Tanner mimics, twisting her verbiage to fit the current slang.
“Ope, Mrs. Salinger says bet,” Rawley laughs, bringing his fist to his mouth to smother said laughter.
Clara June closes the door and turns to face me, that milky soft shoulder still on display. “Sorry about that.” She looks embarrassed but the last few minutes have been great. I love the feel of a busy house with lots of things going on, and this little beef with the granny next door? I love that, too. I mean, the lady is totally uncool because it’s clear that Archie is just a kid, but still. Being in this house with Clara June and the boys feels like opening up a really good book, and jumping into the pages at the best point mid-plot.
Clara June pulls open the door, and I put my hat back on my head. “Thanks for coming by.”
“Thanks for checking on me, Coach.” Tanner says, getting to his feet to stand at his mother’s side. “Do you think you could put a good word in with my doctor and tell him I’m ready to go back now?” Somewhere behind us, Rawley is taking Archie outside to pick up peach pits.
“You gotta hide your evidence, man. She wouldn’t even know but you’re throwing your pits over the fence,” he tells Archie, his voice low. “Rookie mistake.”
“What’s a rookie?” Archie asks, but then the door is closed and I refocus on Clara June and Tanner.
I clap my hand on Tanner’s shoulder. “I could do that. I could go down there and tell Dr. Denton that you’re up and about and all good. But if he signed off on you being okay, and you played this Friday in the game, and you got hurt? That would be my fault. And more than fault, it would be negligent to do so.” I glance at Clara June whose eyes twinkleas she listens and watches. “Don’t rush it, Tanner. You’ll be back the safest way possible in a few more weeks, okay?”