Coach Maddie and the Marine (2 page)

Worrying about your sister was one thing. Worrying about your mother was quite another. As often as she’d tried to empathize with Andrew’s feelings, she always missed the mark.

He sat up, the pillow falling behind him, and looked out the window. “No. It’s not that. I mean, I miss Mom, but that’s not it. It’s football. Our coach got sent overseas and we can’t play without him.”

“I’m surprised the league didn’t send out a letter or something to the parents. Are they trying to find someone?”

Andrew looked sheepish. “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” She might be relatively new at surrogate motherhood but she knew that was a loaded phrase.

“We told Mr. Watson, the man who runs the league, that we already had a new coach.”

“Let me guess. You guys were going to convince Lieutenant Sterling to be your coach.”

Andrew nodded. “I thought it would work. Harper’s dad works with him. That’s how we found out he was at Fort Wilson.”

Shaking her head, she said, “You’re in over your head, buddy.”

“We were going to surprise the parents with a rock-star coach.”

“I see.”

Andrew and his friends took sports very seriously. While she was surprised the league took the boys’ word for it when they claimed they had a new coach, she wasn’t surprised that they’d tried to find a way to recruit an athlete they all knew and admired.

“I know, and now, with practice starting on Tuesday, it’s too late to find someone else.”

“I wish you’d talked to me before you took matters into your own hands.” She squeezed his shoulder.

“What are we going to do?” Andrew’s voice reached a full-blown whine.

“We’ll figure something out, buddy. I promise.”

“It’s too late. We probably won’t even get to play this year.”

“Why were you so set on having Lieutenant Sterling as your coach?”

Andrew turned from the window. “You don’t know?”

Maddie shook her head. “Know what?”

“He was one of the greatest college football players of all time.”

She pointed toward the living room. “The man in the living room?”

Andrew nodded. “David Sterling. He played for Ole Miss. He was a star.”

“How did you know he’d be at the track?”

Andrew shrugged. “Harper’s dad runs with him sometimes.”

“I really wish you’d talked to me first,” she said.

“I do, too.”

“We’ll find a coach. I’ll make some calls around the neighborhood tonight. Maybe Tommy’s dad will agree to coach. Honey, this is not a big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal,” Andrew said.

“Why can’t one of the moms do it? Surely one or two of them know football well enough to coach.” She liked the sport herself. She kept up with her own college team during the season every year and she usually watched the Super Bowl. “How hard could it be? I mean the rules are pretty basic, right? Ten yards for a first down, six points for a touchdown, four quarters.”

“If one of the moms coaches, we’ll be the laughingstock of the league.”

“I’m surprised at you. Girls can do anything that boys can. Look at your mom. If I can’t find anyone willing to step up, then I’ll coach your team myself. In the meantime, you need to go into the living room and apologize to Lieutenant Sterling.”

Sterling. Just saying it aloud was a shock to her system. How many times had she read that name in the newspaper accounts of Frank’s death? How many times, soon after he died, had she wished she could talk to Sterling, ask about Frank’s last words?

How many times had she cursed Sterling? Wondered why it had to be Frank instead of his commanding officer?

But now, things were different. She’d worked hard to get past the pain and the grief. The last thing she needed was something, or someone, to bring it all up again.

Andrew hung his head. “I can’t. I know I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

“How about I go apologize for you and explain what happened? Just this once.” She should make Andrew apologize, but it was clear he worshipped Lieutenant Sterling. If he went back into the living room, the man might stay longer.

She wanted Lieutenant Sterling out of her house and off her mind as quickly as possible. Just his presence threatened to undo all the hard-earned progress of the past few years.

“Would you do that for me, Aunt Maddie?”

“I’d do almost anything for you, kiddo.” She ruffled his hair and placed a kiss on the crown of his head. “I’ll check on you in a few minutes, okay?”

Lieutenant Sterling was standing near the fireplace, looking at the framed, triangular American flag above the mantle when she returned to the living room. “Is he okay?” he asked, turning to face her.

She nodded. “You were right. The coach was deployed and Andrew and his teammates decided you would be the perfect replacement. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. I had no idea any of this was going on. The kids told the league manager they had a new coach and that’s why I didn’t hear anything about Coach West’s deployment.”

“Pretty clever kids to try and recruit their own coach.”

Maddie exhaled loudly. “With practice starting on Tuesday, it’s going to take an Act of Congress to find someone to step in. I wish Callie were here. She would’ve seen this coming and already had a solution.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s not easy to step into someone else’s shoes, being mom and dad, while your sister’s deployed.”

“I never knew how tough this mothering gig could be.”

“He seems like a great kid. How long before your sister gets home?”

“Three months.”

“Only ninety days? That’s nothing. You’ve been through the worst of it. She’ll be stepping off the plane before you know it.” He smiled
.
It was open and sincere and it put her at ease.

“Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

He nodded and crossed his arms. “Andrew asked me to coach his team, but I don’t have any experience with kids, unless you count some of the guys in the barracks. I do know quite a bit about football. I’d be happy to answer any questions you have.”

“Lieutenant, that’s very kind of you, but it’s really not your responsibility.” The last thing she wanted was to ask Frank’s commanding officer anything. Ever. The longer he stayed, the more uncomfortable she became.

“Please, call me David. After today, it’s not like we can stand on ceremony.”

She felt a hot blush spread across her cheeks. “Then call me Maddie.”

“Andrew must be going through a lot right now. Helping the family of another soldier is the least I can do.” His voice quavered a bit.

“I really appreciate the offer but if one of the dads won’t step up, I’ll coach them myself.” She just wanted him to go.

“You know enough about football to coach a team?”

Her well-trained ears couldn’t tell if it was amusement or admiration she heard in his voice.

“They’re only eight years old. How serious can it be? I follow my college team, so I’ve picked up a few things. Touchdowns are still worth six points, right? Plus, I have experience. I was the center on my college team,” she said with a playful wink.

“Center, huh? Somehow you don’t look like you have quite the build for it. I don’t know many centers who are five foot three.”

She shrugged. “I can check out some books at the library or go online or something. Watch some films. Isn’t that what coaches do?”

“That’s what they say on ESPN. Good luck, Maddie. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”

“Your concern is noted,” she said, smiling.

He checked his watch. “I hate to be so abrupt, but I’ve got to get going. Thanks for the tea.” He placed the empty glass on the tea tray.

She followed him to the door. “Thanks again. Maybe next time we’ll meet under better circumstances.”

Maddie couldn’t imagine those circumstances. She hoped this was the last she’d ever see of Lieutenant David Sterling.

Just as she was about to breathe a deep sigh of relief, he asked, “When’s your first practice?”

“According to the sheet the league mailed to me, it’s Tuesday afternoon at four o’clock.”

“Maybe I’ll stop by to see how it’s going.”

“Thanks, but we’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then,” he said. “Good luck.”

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that he walked out the door before either of them mentioned Frank.

After checking on Andrew, who was already asleep, she paced back and forth across the width of the living room, and fought the urge to pull the scrapbooks off the top shelf.

She hadn’t looked through them in a long time. It wasn’t good for her and she knew it. Page after page of Frank. His graduation from Boot Camp at Parris Island. The both of them in fancy clothes for a military ball. Newspaper clippings from the local paper after his death. Looking at the scrapbooks depressed her.

But tonight, she rationalized it. She was only looking to see if the man who’d brought Andrew home was the man in charge when Frank was ambushed and killed.

Once she had the scrapbook on her lap, she couldn’t open it. Didn’t want to open it.

She’d never see the man again. What did it matter?

Frank was dead. That book was closed.

...

David had seen the flag. Lance Corporal Franklin Honeycutt Westerfield.

A name that was etched into his heart as deeply as his dead brother’s. A marine lost under his command. A life gone because of his own incompetence.

His own mother had a flag just like it—a crisp triangle encased in a frame, his brother’s name and rank etched on the brass plate mounted to the green velvet lining—perched on her mantle back home in Mississippi.

That piece of fabric was the only reason he’d traded in his football jersey for camouflage. He’d made a promise the day his brother’s coffin was lowered into the ground. He hadn’t known then the cost of a mission of vengeance, hadn’t known the cost of one flag was another.

His quest, the eye for an eye bullshit, that had driven him to join the Marine Corps in the first place, had cost another life. The life of a man he was charged to command. A man, who over the course of the deployment, had become like a brother to him.

Frank Westerfield, the woman’s late husband.

It was a terrible thing to have in common with such a beautiful woman.

If circumstances had been different, he would have been attracted to her. Hell, there was no “would” to it. He was no different than any other red-blooded man when it came to curls the exact color of the copper penny he carried in his pocket—the one his dad had given him as a good luck charm before his first football game. And how could he not notice her lips? Full and pouty and perfectly shaped.

He didn’t have time to think about any woman, but he especially didn’t have the time to think about Frank Westerfield’s widow.

There were two things on his mind: making amends and finishing up his time in the Corps.

He only had a few months left before he became a civilian again. Then he could go back to Mississippi and live a civilian life, hundreds of miles away from the Marine Corps.

The last thing he needed was a woman who reminded him of the biggest failure of his life.

Chapter Two

Maddie and Andrew slept late the next morning. After cartoons, she cooked a big breakfast for the two of them and they took their time at the table. By the time everything was cleaned up, it was nearly one o’clock.

While Andrew watched his favorite episode of
Phineas and Ferb
in the living room, she pulled the football team list from the drawer and began dialing. Two hours later, she’d heard every excuse imaginable—some legitimate, some unbelievably weak.

She called the community center and declared her intention to serve as coach for the Camp Wilson Pirates.

Coach Maddie. It had a certain ring to it.

“Andrew,” she yelled into the backyard where he was busy building a fort using some discarded boxes. “Let’s walk to the library.”

He readily agreed. He was always eager to check out the new middle readers rack. They walked south down Verbena Lane, toward the library.

“How come we’re going to the library on a Saturday? We usually go on Mondays for Leaping Legos. Did you run out of those paperbacks with people kissing on the covers?”

She felt the heat of a blush. “I read more than just romance, Andrew. Anyway, they’re about more than just kissing. At least most of them are. I need to check out some books on football.”

“Football? Oh no. You haven’t decided to coach, have you?”

“I spent two hours on the phone and not a single parent stepped up to coach. I’m the only one who’ll take the job.”

“Aunt Maddie,” Andrew whined, “everyone’s going to make fun of me. We’ll probably lose every single game.”

“We are not going to lose every game. I could be a pretty good coach. Have some faith in me. Come on, kiddo, I can do this. You can help. Won’t it be cool to talk strategy over dinner?”

“No, it will not be cool.” He scuffed his feet as they walked along the sidewalk. “If you need to check out books about football, you definitely don’t know enough to coach. I want Lieutenant Sterling to be my coach. He’s the best.”

There was no way she was telling Andrew about his connection to Frank. There was no reason to tell him because, hopefully, they’d seen the last of Lieutenant Sterling.

“He’s not going to be your coach, Andrew.”

The child sighed deeply. “But he’s such a good football player. With him, we could win every game.”

“I’m the only choice you have,” she said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and turning to face him. “Thanks to Lieutenant Sterling, you got off easy last night. Don’t push your luck today. Your first game is in a few days, so I can coach and you can play, or I can refuse and you won’t be able to play at all.”

He contemplated in silence as they began walking again. His disappointment was obvious in the slump of his shoulders and the shuffling of his feet. Finally he said, “I guess a girl coach is better than no coach.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” she said.

Half an hour later, they left the library with a stack of books. She’d checked out thick volumes written by professional and college coaches. She was a fast reader and quick learner.

“What did you find?” she asked him. He held up the first book on his stack.
My First Book of Football
? Really?”

“I think you need to start with the basics.”

“What’s the next one?”

He held up
What is Football?

“That’s so insulting. Do you think I am completely clueless? Why did you check out all those little kid books?”

“You
are
clueless. You just don’t know it.”

“Okay, then ask me a question—any question—about the game and I’ll answer it.”

“How many players make up a team?” Andrew stopped on the street and looked up at her.

She placed her finger on her cheek and looked up into the sky. “Well, you’ve got the quarterback, the running back, those big guys that protect the quarterback, and I guess there are about four of them.” She paused and used her fingers to count. “A kicker, and a punter, those are the little guys, so all in all, I’d say you have about seven guys from each team on the field at once.”

“Worse than I thought,” he said, shaking his head. “There are eleven, exactly eleven, players from each team on the field for each play. The punter and the kicker, they’re only in the game sometimes, like when you need to kick. Ever heard of special teams?” Andrew asked with the perfected sarcasm of a much older child.

“I was kidding. I know there are eleven. I was just making sure you were paying attention.”

“This is going to be the worst season ever.”

On the way home, Andrew’s friend, Tommy, was in his yard, so she agreed to let her nephew stay and play for a couple of hours. Back at home, she dumped the books onto the kitchen table.

“No time like the present,” she muttered, plopping down in a chair and reaching for the first one.

They were dreadful, page after page devoted to things like the proper four-point stance or the importance of reading the other team’s defense. The pictures were even worse.

After an hour, she could take no more. Thinking that watching a game might help her grasp some of the finer points of the sport, she programmed the DVR to record a couple of early preseason games.

...

David should’ve already learned that there was no way to turn a wrong into a right.

When his brother, Robert, an unarmed chaplain had been kidnapped, held for ransom and then killed by militants in the Baghdis province of Afghanistan, he’d joined the Corps to avenge his brother’s murder.

The pain of his brother’s death was still as sharp as it had been then.

But Robert’s killers had never been found. As far as he knew, they were still operating in the same region, spreading terror and murder in the name of religion.

Not only had he been unsuccessful in his quest to avenge his brother’s murder, he’d ended up costing another man his life.

His grand plan was a miserable failure.

Now, nearly eight years later, he was ready to wave good-bye to the USMC and his misguided mission. Not only had he failed, he’d made matters worse for another family.

A family here in Fort Wilson.

Just down the street, there was a beautiful young woman who had become a widow before she even finished college. All because of his incompetent leadership.

He’d wanted to tell her, before he left her house. He’d tried.

He felt the desperate need to apologize, explain. Something.

After years of practicing what he’d say to her, he had been frozen, paralyzed. He never imagined he’d meet her while dressed in a T-shirt and running shorts, an eight-year-old boy standing between them.

He didn’t give a damn what the brass said. Since the beginning, they’d insisted he’d done his best, followed orders. No one could’ve anticipated the ambush. But he wasn’t buying it. Frank was under his command. His responsibility. Killed on his watch.

He’d never accept it as just a part of war.

She was a beautiful and vibrant woman who shouldn’t be a widow.

Emotions weren’t his thing but he couldn’t ignore the sorrow lodged deep in his heart. He also couldn’t ignore the need to make things right.

Maybe he’d help with her nephew’s football team. Maybe if he spent some time around her, he could gather up the courage to talk to her about Frank, find a way to apologize to Maddie and ease some of the weight of the guilt.

Who was he kidding? She probably wouldn’t let him help. He was a reminder of everything she’d lost.

On the other hand, if Frank were here, he could’ve coached Andrew himself.

He couldn’t let the kid’s team suffer. He’d just have to convince her that he was the man for the job.

Maybe this was one small thing he could make right.

...

Andrew sat silently in the backseat of the car as they rode to the practice field Tuesday afternoon. The sky was bullet gray and Maddie had been praying for rain all day. Unfortunately, it looked like the precipitation was going to hold off just long enough to get through the first practice.

A binder crammed with notes and photocopies on positions, formations and strategies she’d prepared over the past few days sat on the passenger seat. She’d watched a handful of football games, and even though she was terribly nervous, she was prepared. She’d even stopped by Jerry’s Bakery and bought a tray of cookies and treats for the boys.

She and Andrew were the first to arrive at the field. After unpacking the car and piling the balls on the corner of the field, she placed the cookie tray on the sign-in table beside the carefully arranged football-themed napkins. From her tote bag she pulled the sheet of name tags she’d made for each player. She opened her binder to her roster, and tucked the football motif ballpoint pen she’d bought just for the occasion behind her left ear.

The boys began to arrive. She stood behind the table and gave each boy their name tag, with instructions to wear it on their left side, and a cookie when they checked off their name on the roster. With the last boy checked as present, she took a deep breath, cleared her mind and prepared to step into her new role as Coach.

Whistle around her neck and digital watch on her wrist, she yelled, in her best authoritative voice, which she’d practiced in the bathroom mirror, to the boys, “Okay, boys, line up on the fifty-yard line.”

“We don’t have a fifty-yard line, lady. Do you see any lines on the field? When’s your husband showing up so we can get started?” a surprisingly deep voice asked. She looked down to find a boy with a very solemn face looking up at her.

She glanced up at the field. No lines. All the books had yard lines. All the fields on television had lines. In hindsight, it would have been a good idea to check out the field
before
practice. The tone of the kid’s voice suggested the team was already close to mutiny and she hadn’t even introduced herself yet.

“I know there are no lines.” She looked for the boy’s name tag. “Hey, where’s your sticker?”

“Hey, where’s our coach?” the boy shot back.

She couldn’t back down now. “I’m your new coach. My name is Maddie Westerfield. I’m Andrew’s aunt. You can all call me Coach Maddie.”

“I’m not playing with a girl coach.” This time it was a different voice. “I’m quitting.”

A chorus of “me, too” followed.

Great.
I should have known I couldn’t coach this team.

She looked to the bleachers where a handful of parents sat, their eyes on the boys. She could not, would not, let these boys quit the team with all those parents watching.

“Here’s the deal. Your coach was deployed and I begged other parents to help out and coach the team. Since I didn’t have any takers, I’m your only choice.”

The boys stared at her, silent. She pivoted on her heel and walked away, hoping her attempt at “take-away” psychology would work.

She heard murmurs behind her. She kept walking. Halfway across the field, a small hand tapped her on the shoulder.

“Coach Maddie?” the voice asked tentatively.

She turned to face the boy. “Yes?”

“We’ve decided that we’ll give it a shot. We want to play.”

“What’s your name?”

“Henry. Henry Travis.”

“Okay, Mr. Travis. Let’s go back and get this practice underway.”

...

At a quarter past three, David closed his office door behind him and jiggled the doorknob to make sure it was locked. He saluted the guard on duty at the front door and walked across the parking lot to his car. As he pulled out of his spot, he ran over the list of errands he needed to run—grocery store, drugstore, and finally to the dry cleaners to pick up his uniforms.

But first, he had football practice. He maneuvered onto the main road leading through post and drove toward the main gate. Football practice. Despite the circumstances, he grinned. It had been a long time since he’d been to one.

Most of his fondest memories were of playing football with his brother, Robert. Only two years apart in age, their earliest games were played in the front yard of his parents’ home in Mississippi. After an injury sidelined Robert in high school, only David went on to play in college.

But those weren’t the best games of his life. The best ones were the ones his father coached, when they were boys, when he and his brother were on the field together.

He missed Robert. Every day. Every hour.

He’d been his first and best friend.

These boys deserved the same kind of memories.

By the time he was halfway to the main gate, he was second-guessing himself. Showing up at practice probably wasn’t the best idea. She’d said she didn’t need his help. She didn’t invite him.

He was probably the last person she wanted to see. Probably, hell. He
was
the last person she’d want to see.

It was foolish to think helping out a team of eight-year-olds would do anything to ease his guilt.

Or help her move forward.

He didn’t have to spend a whole season coaching a team to find the time to apologize to her. He could call her on the phone, ask for a meeting. For that matter, he could email her.

But that would leave the kids without a competent coach.

He made a left turn and drove through Officers’ Housing. There was nothing he could do to bring Frank back. There was nothing he could say to explain his failure to Frank’s widow. But the need to try was overwhelming.

He turned the car around and headed in the opposite direction, back toward the dry cleaners.

On the other hand, he was the reason Maddie was a widow. She needed help, even if she didn’t realize it, and football was something he knew. Her sister was deployed. She was alone.

All alone, because of him.

He owed her. Big time.

It was only football. It had nothing to do with how beautiful she was. Nothing. He barely even noticed. He’d have done the same for any soldier’s widow.

That was a lie. Every cell in his body noticed Maddie Westerfield, but he was old enough to understand the difference between attraction and compatibility. The two of them weren’t compatible. There was no way they could ever be together.

Football. He steered his mind to first downs and punts.