Blind Your Ponies (45 page)

The diehard Willow Creek fans tried to energize their boys but their vocal assaults echoed hollowly in the sparsely populated arena. Sam paced in front of the bench, shouting encouragement and instructions, and Willow Creek held their own. Tom was hobbling on his bum knee. Dean never stopped running on defense. Diana caught herself holding her breath while kneeling on the floor in front of the bench.

With seconds to go and Willow Creek up by one point, a Harrison boy drove around Curtis and went up for a short eight-foot shot. Faked out momentarily, Curtis recovered in time to knock the ball away, but he fouled the boy as time ran out. The referee blew his whistle and raised his arm with two fingers pointing to the cavernous ceiling. Two shots!

The ref waved both teams to the bench. The game was over, all but the final score. The scoreboard showed Willow Creek 54, Harrison 53. A Harrison player named Jimmy Hobbs walked timidly to the free-throw lane. The ref handed him the ball and backed away. Jimmy looked small standing there all alone in his sweat-soaked jersey, gaping up at the basket and rows and rows of empty seats. He dribbled the ball three times, bent his knees, and quickly put up the shot as if he couldn’t stand the tension. It hit the back of the iron and bounced harmlessly away. Harrison fans groaned softly. Willow Creek fans gasped.

Diana gulped. Willow Creek was up by one point. One more shot coming. Overtime? She realized the whole team was on its knees beside her on the court. The Willow Creek fans were deathly silent, unable to raise a sound to distract the Harrison boy.

The ref gave Jimmy the ball. The huge arena was so quiet you could hear someone coughing. Little Jimmy Hobbs took the ball, bounced it three times, bent his knees, held his breath, and flipped the ball toward the rim, a shot he probably made a thousand times in the basket at the end of his barn.

Leaning forward with every muscle, Denise Cutter fell out of her wheel-chair while the ball was in the air, Diana later found out. Sam, next to her on his knees, set his jaw as if for a shotgun blast.

Seemingly floating suspended in midair, the ball descended toward the rim and net. But Jimmy Hobbs had thought about it too long, felt the pressure too heavy in his veins, and the muscles in his shooting arm went tight.
The ball hit the front of the rim and didn’t have the momentum to climb over. It fell hollowly to the hardwood floor, Jimmy’s prayer unanswered.

For an instant no one moved. The sound of the errant ball hitting the floor hollowly echoed through the breathless arena.
No one
in the civic center moved.

Then bedlam broke out.

Tom leaped to his feet and shouted, “Sancho, my sword, my armor!”

“Yeah, my lord!” Scott shouted back.

“For each time he falls, he shall rise again!” the boys shouted together and they danced in a joyful huddle.

The handful of Willow Creek fans joined the team in the celebration. Grandma Chapman broke into the team’s huddle, appearing pale, done in by the nerve-shattering game. “Guess who was in the Harrison stands, pulling bloody murder for Harrison?”

No one had a clue.

“The whole Twin Bridges team!”

“So?” Pete asked.

“Don’t you see what that means?” Grandma said excitedly. “It means they know
you’re still alive
and they’re scared to death of you.”

“We’ll be their worst nightmare!” Sam shouted. “Every time they turn around, we’ll be on them like a bumpersticker!”

Diana could see it in Sam’s eyes. She hoped he was back from the edge, that he and the team had stepped out of their deathbeds together and were ready to go on.

After the teams went through the line congratulating their opponents, Diana saw Sam, off with little Jimmy Hobbs, consoling the brave sophomore.

The team headed for the locker room together.

“We’re playing
Saturday!
” Rob shouted.

“We’re playing
twice
Saturday!” Tom shouted.

“Bodacious! We’re staying in a motel!” Dean shouted.

They checked into the War Bonnet Inn, a large motel just off the interstate on Harrison Avenue, about a mile from the civic center. After they got settled in their assigned rooms and checked out the War Bonnet, they found a restaurant near the motel and nearly overwhelmed the place. Pulling tables up to large booths, the team ravenously replenished their energy while surrounded by the loving support of their partisans, who looked more like members of a traveling road show. Andrew Wainwright told the boys to order anything in the joint, that they didn’t have to worry about the normally allotted five dollars. Sam had the feeling he was back in high school, and the Willow Creek bunch jabbered and laughed and celebrated as if there were no tomorrow—or as if they knew that by tomorrow this team would be history.

“We’re number one!” Rip shouted without his teeth in place.

“Great game, great game!” Axel said.

Still with an ashen tone to her face, Grandma reached across people and a booth divider to grab Peter by the cheek with her thumb and finger.

“You were peaches and cream out there tonight, sweetheart.”

Then she bent over the other way and gave Olaf a big kiss on the forehead.

“You weren’t so bad yourself, honey.”

Olaf blushed.

By the time they were through eating—the boys putting away full dinners of steak or chicken, plus several desserts each—Rip was sound asleep in the corner of a booth. The party broke up, with most of them headed back to Willow Creek. The team and cheerleaders hoofed it to the War Bonnet Inn.

Sam decided they wouldn’t watch the Friday night games. He was afraid they’d be getting too much basketball, thinking about it too much and going stale. It didn’t matter who won that night, Willow Creek would be playing
the loser early Saturday morning. They knew the teams well enough, and he thought a relaxing night just hanging out, filling up on protein and carbs and forgetting about the games for a while, would be a healthy tonic. He planted Tom in front of a TV with ice on his knee and told him to stay put, that the boys would bring him whatever he wanted.

T
HEY HAD ADJOINING
rooms for the team, the four upperclassmen in one and Sam, with the dubious honor of rooming with Scott, Curtis, and Dean, in the other. Diana would bunk with the three cheerleaders. A little after nine o’clock, she walked through the open door of Sam’s room to find Curtis sitting on the bed watching a basketball game on TV.

“Who’s playing?” she asked.

“The Trailblazers and Sonics,” the shy sophomore said, glancing at her for a moment.

“Where’s Dean and Scott?”

“They went to get some pop.”

“Where’s Coach Pickett?”

“He went to round up the other boys.”

Diana sat in the chair beside the bed and regarded Curtis.

“Are you having fun?”

“Yeah. It’s scary, but I’m glad there are only six of us so I get a chance to play.”

“You’re doing great, you’ve improved so much this year.”

The boy averted his eyes.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Curtis?”

He blushed. “Naw.”

“Would you like to have one?”

He glanced into her eyes as if to see if she were kidding. “I guess so, but I’ll never.”

“Why not?”

“With
these
ears?”

Diana thought for a moment. “Have you ever seen Clark Gable?”

“Who?”

“Clark Gable, he was a famous movie star. A million women would have given their… well… would have given a right arm just to meet the guy. He
had ears that would make yours look microscopic. He had ears that could pick up messages from the moon. You go get rent one of his movies sometime and check out those ears. Then you’ll know your ears don’t matter to a girlfriend. They’re too busy looking in your eyes, and, Curtis, you’ve got great eyes.”

The boy’s face flushed as though he’d run a mile. He studied his large, bare feet. Before he had to speak, Scott came bowling into the room with several cans of cold pop, and right behind him came Dean, pushing Denise in her wheelchair. The girl was glowing, hanging out with her brother and his friends, grabbing a hold of this little chunk of life the best she could. Dean’s shirt was wet with perspiration, his face dripping.

“What have you been doing, Dean?” Diana asked.

“Racing. Denise and me are racing Scott in the halls.”

“Don’t you think you ought to rest… for the game in the morning?”

“I’m gettin’ in shape for the game. Denise is helping me.”

Diana knew when to let well enough alone. She stood and squeezed Denise’s arm.

“Thanks for all your help, Denise. We couldn’t win without you.”

Diana headed down the corridor knowing there was no more logic to all of this than the cow jumping over the moon. She didn’t know why, but Denise made her think of Jessica. Would she want Jessica to have survived the crash and be imprisoned in a wheelchair for the rest of her life? Selfishly, she’d take Jessica any way she could get her. But what would Jessica choose?

S
AM HAD TO
search the sprawling motel for the four older boys who had unceremoniously disappeared. He located them, and the three girls, lounging around the indoor pool and jacuzzi.

“Coach, we should have brought our swimming suits,” Rob said, he and Mary and Pete sitting with their bare feet in the jacuzzi.

“I’d rather not have you swim. Save your energy for the game,” Sam said.

Around eleven o’clock, Sam tiptoed out of his room and rapped lightly on the girls’ door. Diana came out quietly with her scorebook and they went
down to the lobby together. They settled in deeply cushioned chairs facing each other.

“What do you think about Tom’s knee?” Sam asked.

“First, I want to apologize. I’m sorry if I went too far last night—”

“No… you don’t need to, really. You made me do a lot of thinking.”

“But it’s not my place—”

“It’s your official place, as assistant coach, to tell the head coach when he has already taken to the lifeboats. Thanks for having the guts to tell me. I don’t think you said a word that wasn’t the truth.”

He smiled at her and she felt herself relax.

“I wish we’d reserved an extra room,” she said.

“That would be nice.” Sam said, trying to hold off his aching longing for this woman. “Now, what about Tom’s knee?”

“Let’s pray his knee will come around in eighteen hours. We’ll keep it iced off and on, but I don’t know if that will do it. It must hurt a lot. We can’t beat Shields Valley without him.”

“They don’t have anyone who can stand up to Olaf,” he said. “Wasn’t he something today? Only two personals, several blocked shots, and seventeen points. And how’s this for balance?” She ran a finger down her scorebook. “Pete thirteen, Rob eleven, Tom nine, and Curtis four.”

“How many did Jimmy Hobbs have?” he said.

She turned her scorebook over. “Eleven.”

“That poor kid won’t sleep tonight. That’ll be with him the rest of his life. We don’t warn kids enough about the possible consequences. About what they might have to handle.”

He looked into her eyes and paused.

“
Why
did Jimmy Hobbs miss both of those free throws?” he said.

“Why? Because the pressure was too much for him,” she said. “Because he didn’t practice enough? Because he was scared? I don’t know.”

“Do you ever think that—”

Andrew Wainwright came in the front door in a snappy-looking nylon sweat suit and jogging shoes.

“Hey, you two. Can’t sleep either? What a game, great coaching job, just great.”

Sam and Andrew exchanged a glance.

“Are you staying over?” Diana said.

“Yeah. That’s half the fun. I’ve already got reservations in Helena for next week.”

“I hope you won’t be up there alone,” Sam said and laughed.

“You have them ready, coach. Those poor Harrison boys never could figure out which gate our kids were coming out of next, at least until Pete fouled out.”

“We were lucky,” Sam said.

“Maybe yes, maybe no. We were the better team,” Andrew said.

“The good teams win the squeakers. If that kid made both free throws, it would have been a tragedy.”

“We were just talking about that,” Sam said. “Why didn’t he make those two simple free throws?”

“We’ll never know that,” Andrew said. “Just our good luck. Anyway, sleep well, a big day tomorrow.”

Andrew hurried across the lobby.

“You too,” Sam called.

“Now there’s a man I can’t figure,” Diana said. “Why doesn’t he have a woman in his life, a wife or something? He’s kind, intelligent, well-heeled, and he’s gorgeous.”

“And he enjoys looking at you.”

“At me?”

“Yep. He’s single, alive, and a man. In his situation I’d be looking at you, kid.” He smiled at her. “Only a blind man wouldn’t.”

Without hesitation she kissed him at the door to her room.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she said softly.

He drew her close. “No, we need to be wakened before the chances are gone, before there’s nothing left but regret, before Lazarus is rotten.”

He kissed her deeply.

“God, I wish we had our own room,” she said.

“Me too.”

She opened the door, and a chorus of male and female voices greeted her with sing-song mockery.

“Where have you
been,
Miss
Muurphy
?”

S
AM FOUND NO
healing for himself, waking suddenly from his recurring nightmare, covered in sweat and gasping. He was in the sawed-off school bus, parked across the street from the Blue Willow. The door was jammed and he couldn’t get out. Amy had gone into the restaurant to get the French fries. A Hamm’s Beer truck stood around the back and Jimmy Hobbs was practicing free throws on a basket at the side of the Blue Willow. Sam frantically called to the boy, begging him to run into the building and warn Amy, warn her to flee! But Jimmy wouldn’t quit shooting, missing free throw after free throw. “I have to practice!” he called back. “I have to practice until I make two in a row.”

The dull, thudding detonations went off inside the Blue Willow like the sounds of Jimmy’s poorly inflated basketball hitting the backboard. Sam was shouting, “No, no… please!” when he woke in the unfamiliar bed and darkness. From the trace of light coming at the edges of the heavy drapes, he could see Dean, sleeping next to him in the king-size bed. For an instant he thought it was Jimmy Hobbs.