A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (61 page)

All of it—the evenings spent working player parents, the after-hours meetings, the discussions with Herman Lutz—was going exactly as Parker planned, and not once had he had trouble sleeping.

Until the accident.

There had been two articles in the paper since then. The first was factual. It told the story of the street racing and the seriousness of Coach Reynolds’s injuries. There had been a chance the man would die. Of course, like everyone else, Chuck Parker prayed Coach would live. And like everyone else, he was relieved when Monday’s article said his condition had improved.

But that wasn’t all Monday’s article had said.

The reporter had gone into the hospital waiting room and interviewed as many kids as he could find. It was
their
story—along with Coach being at school so late that night—that Chuck found most troubling.

According to the article, the kids at Marion High loved Coach Reynolds as much as they loved football. One player said that football and Coach were one and the same, and would forever be for anyone who called himself an Eagle.

Their quotes told the story.

“Some Saturday mornings he shows up with bags of breakfast burgers, enough for the whole team.”

“Coach cares about more than football. He’s someone you can talk to and he’ll always have the right advice. A lot of us think of him like a second dad.”

“Every season we go to Coach’s house for his famous Backyard Barbecue the night before one of the home games. He treats every one of us like sons. The thing with Coach is he loves us.”

The kids’ statements felt like they were written in permanent ink across the stone tablet of Chuck Parker’s heart. If Coach Reynolds was so wonderful, why hadn’t Casey done better?

Coach’s answer never changed on the matter: Casey had an attitude problem. Chuck had always dismissed that. His son was just intense and competitive.

But ever since the accident, Chuck wondered if maybe . . . just maybe . . . Coach was right.

After all, what was Casey doing racing in the first place? The way the story went, Casey and Jake exchanged words at a party, and Casey challenged Jake to take it to the streets. The boy had been honest with the police, at least. It was his idea to race, his idea to beat Jake Daniels in at least one thing. And if it meant breaking the law, then so be it.

Talk about a bad attitude! A defiant, privileged attitude that couldn’t possibly help Casey succeed in life.

All of which left Chuck wondering if maybe he’d been wrong about Coach Reynolds. There was only one reason Chuck could think of to be at the high school after midnight on game day. Reynolds must have been catching up on whatever it was teachers do when they’re not coaching. Writing assignments . . . planning class time . . . correcting papers. Something like that.

It was something Chuck hadn’t ever considered. Coach Reynolds was just a hardworking, honest, devoted guy . . . and Chuck had spent all season trying to undo him. He knew there wasn’t one stitch of truth in what he’d wanted people to believe about Reynolds. The truth was there in the article.

No wonder he couldn’t sleep.

It was Tuesday morning, and after another sleepless night, Chuck was so tired he felt drugged. He stumbled out of bed, splashed cold water on his face, and found his way down the stairs to the front porch. The newspaper was his window to the world these days. Casey was back at school, but he’d been kicked off the football team and couldn’t drive. He was useless at providing Chuck with information about the case.

But the paper would have something. The story had played on the front page each of the past two days. There was bound to be another update that morning. He picked up the paper, shuffled into the kitchen, and spread it out on the counter.

The headline at the top of the page caught him cold, stopped his heart for more than a beat, and turned his stomach:
Marion High
Coach Paralyzed in Street Racing Accident
.

There had to be a mistake. Reynolds was in great physical shape. The guy was tall and built, probably as strong now as he’d been in his college heyday. A man like that couldn’t be paralyzed.

Chuck read the article.

Doctors announced Monday that Marion High Coach John Reynolds
sustained a permanent spinal injury when his car was hit by a teenage
street racer early Saturday morning. The injury has left Reynolds paralyzed
from the waist down.

Chuck pushed the newspaper away. His stomach lurched and he bolted for the bathroom. There he fell to his knees and retched. Again and again his insides convulsed until he felt like his gut was turning inside out.

He fell back with a groan. What kind of creep was he, leading a charge against a man like John Reynolds? Coach had only done what was best for the kids at every turn. Even Chuck’s own son.

His stomach heaved again.

He leaned his head on his arm, drawing in deep breaths. Coach Reynolds wasn’t the problem. Casey was. Casey and Billy . . . and most of all himself. He had used his charm and influence among the parents to convince them of lies, to sway their thinking and basically ruin a man who had given sixteen years of service to the Marion High football team. A man who had built the program with nothing but hard work and determination.

The spasms in his belly finally stopped, and Chuck Parker struggled to his feet. As he stooped to wash his hands and face, he was certain a mountain had sprung up between his shoulder blades.

How much of what had happened to Coach Reynolds was his fault?

If he’d listened to Coach, if he’d done something about his son’s attitude a few years ago, maybe Casey wouldn’t have challenged Jake to a race. Maybe today they would merely be another high school about to enter the district play-offs, instead of front-page news, with a coach who could no longer walk.

It was all his fault.

Not only that, but he’d been responsible for making Coach Reynolds’s last season with the Eagles nothing but a nightmare.

Chuck dried his hands and turned away from the mirror. He couldn’t look, couldn’t face the man he’d become. But there was one thing he could do, something he should have done at the beginning of the season. And in that instant he made the decision to do it.

He would call in sick and spend the day making sure it happened.

If he hurried, it might not be too late.

Jake Daniels was arraigned before a judge in juvenile court. He still wore the jailhouse blues, and because the hearing required a public appearance, the escorting officer made certain he was cuffed.

The moment Jake stepped into the courtroom he knew something was wrong. His mother and father sat almost together on one of the benches, but as he entered, they barely looked at him. His dad had paid for an attorney, some slick dresser named A. W. Bennington, who had an office downtown and a reputation for getting bad guys off easy. The kind of man Jake wouldn’t have associated with—until now.

“The judge will read your charges and ask you how you plead,” A. W. had explained when the two of them met on Monday afternoon. “You’ll plead not guilty. I’ll do the rest.”

“Will they keep me here?” Jake didn’t know why he asked. He didn’t really care. Where would he go if they let him out? Not to the hospital with his other teammates, who’d been holding vigil there. Not to Coach Reynolds’s room. Hardly. And not back to school. He’d be a freak, someone the other kids whispered about and mocked and downright hated. Coach Reynolds was easily the favorite teacher on campus. Loyalty for him might have been shaky among the Eagle parents, but it was stronger than cement among the kids on campus.

Besides, Jake belonged in jail.

But A. W. had shaken his head. “You’ll be out as soon as the hearing’s over.”

His mother and father had taken turns visiting him after the attorney left yesterday. They knew he’d be coming home, so why did they both look like they’d been handed a death sentence?

Jake was led into the courtroom and took a seat at a long table. A. W. was already seated, looking far more dressed up than any of the other adults. No telling what his father had paid the man. Anything to keep Jake from spending a decade in prison.

A. W. frowned at Jake and leaned close. “The coach is paralyzed. Your parents said it was in the paper this morning. Could make things a little tricky.”

Jake spun around and found his mother. She was watching him, and as their eyes met, he saw she was crying. Slowly, firmly, she nodded her head and mouthed something Jake couldn’t understand. He shifted his glance to his dad, who only bit his lip and looked down.

The muscles in Jake’s neck unwound, and his eyes found their way back to the front of the courtroom. He wanted to die, to simply hold his breath and let God take him away from the horror of living.

Coach Reynolds was paralyzed. No, that wasn’t it at all. He’d paralyzed Coach. That was the truth of the matter. He’d seen the pickup truck turn in front of him that night, hadn’t he? He could have jerked his steering wheel and flipped his car. Sure, he might have died, but Coach would be fine. He’d been a selfish jerk, driving the car smack into the pickup. Now a man’s life was ruined. A man Jake looked up to and respected, a man who was a hero to a thousand kids at least.

Coach would never again take a lap with them or run plays with them or lead them in drills. The guys would never see Coach—his equipment bag slung over his shoulder, baseball cap low over his eyes—walking across the field toward practice. Never again.

And it was all Jake’s fault. He dropped his head in his hands. What had A. W. said a moment ago? It could make things a little tricky? He gritted his teeth. Was that all that mattered to these people? Didn’t they understand what he’d done? What he’d stolen from Coach Reynolds?

“All rise.”

The judge was a formidable looking woman with white hair and a pinched face.
Good. Maybe she’ll lock me up forever.

A. W. was on his feet. He motioned for Jake to do the same.

“Jake Daniels, you are being charged with a series of crimes that include the following.” She read the list, but there was nothing new. Same things the officer had told him and his mother, the things A. W. had gone over with him yesterday. “At this point we are treating you as a minor. How do you plead to the charges?”

Jake said the first words that came to mind. “Guilty, ma’am.”

“Just a minute, Your Honor.” A. W. took a giant step in front of Jake and held up his hand. “May I have a word with my client in private?”

The judge’s forehead lifted. “Hurry. This is a busy place, counselor. Your client should have been prepped before coming here this morning.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” A. W. sat and took a firm hold of Jake’s blue cotton sleeve, pulling him down as well. He moved his lip almost on top of Jake’s ear and hissed at him, “What’re you doing?”

Jake wasn’t as careful about being quiet. “She asked me how I wanted to plead.”

“Keep your voice down.” A. W. glared at him. He was so close it looked like he had one giant eyeball. “You’re supposed to tell her, ‘Not guilty.’ Remember? Like we talked about.”

“But I
am
guilty. I did it. I hit Coach’s car, so why lie about it?”

Jake was pretty sure A.W. was going to have a nervous breakdown. Sweat was beading on his upper lip. “We aren’t talking about whether you hit the guy. We’re talking about what sort of crime you should be charged with.” A. W.’s hands were shaking. “What we’re saying today is that we don’t think you’re guilty of felony assault with a deadly weapon.”

The words swam around in Jake’s head in no certain order. It felt like everyone in the room was staring at him, including his parents. Whatever the hearing meant, he had no choice but to cooperate. He sat back in his chair, his arms crossed. “Whatever.”

A. W. stared at him a bit longer as though he wasn’t quite sure Jake was ready to speak the right answer. Then he gave a slow turn to the judge. “We’re ready now, Your Honor.”

“Very well.” The judge looked bored. “Will the defendant please rise?” She paused for effect. “Again.”

Jake stood.

“How do you plead to the charges leveled against you?”

He cast a quick glance at A. W. The man was staring at his notepad, refusing to watch. Jake looked at the judge once more. “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

“Very well. You may be seated.”

Immediately the other guy, the district attorney, rose and approached the judge. “The state would like to request that Jake Daniels be tried as an adult, Your Honor. He is seventeen years old, mere months away from the legal age of adulthood.” For a brief moment, the state’s lawyer hung his head. When he looked at the judge again, he almost looked like he was going to cry. “We learned this morning that the victim in this case was paralyzed in the accident. His condition is permanent, Your Honor. Therefore, because of the severity of the crime, we are convinced Mr. Daniels should be tried as an adult.”

Jake wasn’t sure what the difference was, exactly, only that A. W. didn’t want him tried as an adult. Jake didn’t care. The other lawyer was right. He wasn’t a little kid. He’d known exactly how dangerous street racing was, but he’d done it anyway.

The judge said something about making a decision in two weeks as to whether Jake would be tried as an adult or not. Then it was A. W.’s turn again. He asked that Jake be released to his parents because he was really, basically, a good kid. No prior record, no alcohol in his system the night of the accident. Just a stupid mistake with tragic consequences.

“I want his license revoked immediately.” The judge made a notation on a pad of paper. “Also, I want him enrolled in a continuation school so that he isn’t attending classes with the other young man involved in the case. With those stipulations, your motion is granted, counselor. Mr. Daniels may be released to his parents pending the outcome of his trial.”

The hearing was over as quickly as it had begun, and a uniformed man approached Jake. “Turn around.”

He did as he was told, and the man removed the handcuffs from Jake’s wrist.

A. W. smiled at Jake. “You’re going home, Jake. You’re a free man.”