The Chance: A Novel (15 page)

“Where are you? Is he there?”

“We’re at the store. I told him . . . I had to use the restroom.” She sounded desperate and afraid and heartbroken. “I . . . I took some quarters from . . . from his nightstand.” She caught a few quick breaths. “If he catches me . . .”

“Ellie, this is crazy.” His voice was louder than before. “I’ll talk to him. Go find him.”

“I can’t.” Her voice got swallowed in her tears. “I have to go. I just . . . had to hear your voice.”

Panic squeezed his chest, pushing him toward the door as if he could somehow find a way to her. “Is he . . . Are you in danger?”

“No, nothing like that.” She was quick to respond. “I just . . . miss you.”

They needed a plan. Nolan hurried through a handful of options. “Give me your new address.”

“It’s changing.” She groaned. “We’re in San Diego, on the base. My dad says we could get our permanent housing any day.”

“Still, you can tell me. They can forward mail after you move. Hold on.” He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the closest drawer. “Okay, what is it?”

She gasped. “Nolan, I have to go.”

“Wait.” His panic doubled. “You know my address, right?”

“Of course: 392 Kentucky Avenue, Savannah, 31404. How could I forget it?”

Relief came over Nolan like sunshine. “Okay. So you need to write to me, Ellie. Find a way. In the letter, give me your address. Then I’ll write to you, and we can figure out how to call. Maybe a neighbor has a phone you can use.”

“Nolan!” Her voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “I have to go! I miss you.”

“I miss—” The phone went dead. Nolan hung his head and slowly put the receiver back. She must have spotted her dad.
At least we have a plan.
He exhaled, trying to feel good about it. She knew his address. Ellie was her own person. She’d find a way to write to him, no matter what her dad wanted.

The problem was he had no way to reach her until she did. Again one week became two without a word from her. Nolan spent the lonely days playing more basketball than he’d played in all his life. He would head home after school, check the mail, change into his gym shoes and shorts, and grab his ball. He wouldn’t come home until nine or ten; then he’d do his homework, fall into bed, and the next day do it all over again. Week after week after week.

The season was about to start, and he still hadn’t heard from her. Other than when he was on the court, he walked around in a constant state of worry. Fear, even. Ellie would’ve written, so what had happened? He had tried calling Camp Pendleton a few times, asking for a way to contact the Tucker family.

“That’s private,” he was told every time. “We don’t give out personal information.”

Tryouts came, and Nolan worked with a blind intensity. At the end of the three days, his name was on the list of varsity players. His father pulled him aside. “I set a higher bar for you than the other guys.” He grinned. “And you just flew over it. Congratulations, son. I couldn’t be more proud.”

It was what Nolan had been working for since sixth grade—the chance to play varsity as a freshman. But the news fell flat against the reality of missing Ellie. “You think she’s okay?” he asked his dad that weekend. “I mean, why wouldn’t she write?”

“Maybe her letter got lost.” His dad’s tone was always kind; he felt sorry about the situation for sure. “I do think she’s
okay.” He put his hand on Nolan’s shoulder. “You’ll hear from her. Let’s see if we can find her after the season if you haven’t heard from her by then.”

Nolan nodded. Maybe his dad was right. They couldn’t do much now. Besides, Ellie loved when he played basketball. If he played with his whole heart, he would feel her with him, in the stands, cheering for him, believing in him.

Almost like she was there.

The first contest of the season, Nolan lit up the scoreboard with twenty-two points and seven rebounds. The rhythm of the game, the motion of it, the speed at the varsity level were all as natural for Nolan as waking up in the morning. The win was only the beginning. One game blended into another, and he was the standout. But when the applause died down and the crowd went home, he would sometimes sit in the empty gym and feel her.

Just feel her there in the silence.

The way she sat at the edge of the bleachers when he played, leaning over her knees and cheering for him or standing, hands in the air, face intense. He could feel her tanned arm brushing against his as they ran along the edge of the river, hear her laughter and whisper in the summer night air beneath their oak tree.

Why won’t she write, Lord?
The question echoed through his mind, but there were no answers. No letters from Ellie. No communication at all.

One evening halfway through December, his dad hung around the dinner table after his mom and sisters had left. “Son . . . I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” Nolan found his smile as a way of punctuating the point. “I’m thinking about my game.”

“Your game’s perfect.” His father didn’t laugh. “You’re being too quiet. You’re not the same.” He waited. “It’s Ellie, I know. We’ll find her, Nolan. We will.”

Nolan nodded, and when they stood, his dad gave him the kind of hug he used to give when he was a little boy. The kind that made the world feel whole and safe and right. But as Nolan walked upstairs for bed that night, he missed Ellie so fiercely he couldn’t draw a full breath. Maybe he would get on his bicycle and start riding, head west. As far west as he could get. He actually stopped halfway up to his room and gripped the stair rail. The pull toward the front door was that strong.

Some days he thought about going to their tree and digging up the box and reading her letter so he’d know how she really felt about him. The temptation was never stronger than the night of the team’s first loss. He had been in a funk, unable to hit even a simple layup in the fourth quarter.

Throughout his late dinner and homework up in his room alone, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, even after his parents and younger sisters were asleep. He stood and walked to the photo Ellie gave him. The one of the two of them.
Where are you? Why won’t you write?
Was she in high school on the base? Or was she at a private school somewhere nearby? Suddenly, he wanted to read her buried letter more than he wanted air. He crept downstairs, grabbed a flashlight and the small shovel, and jogged across the street.

But when he reached the spot where the box was buried, as he stooped down and touched the blade to the hard-packed earth, he stopped. He couldn’t dig up the box, couldn’t read her letter early. That wasn’t the plan. Plus, they’d made a promise. If he broke it now, then what would happen to their meeting?
He wouldn’t have a reason to show up here in eleven years, and they might miss their one last chance.

He stood slowly, staring at the spot where the box was buried. He didn’t need to read the letter to know how she felt about him. She loved him, same as he loved her. They might not have all the answers, all the details figured out. But there was no one they cared for more than each other. He would find her after basketball season, and they would write to each other. And when he got his license, he would drive out west, and they would laugh and take walks on the beach and figure out when they could see each other again.

Even if he had to wait eleven years to see her, he was sure of this much: He loved her. Time couldn’t change that, no matter how much passed between now and the next time he saw her.

Nolan walked back toward home, and halfway there, he saw a shooting star. He froze, looking up.
Do you see it, too, Ellie? Wherever you are?
He sighed and kept walking.
God, please, let her know I’m thinking about her. Help me find her.

He prayed that way often as the season continued. He turned sixteen in January and earned his driver’s license just as play-offs were starting. Every day on the way to school, he felt compelled to get on the highway and head west. And every day, instead, he poured all his emotion and intensity and passion into playing basketball.

Savannah High made it past the first three rounds of playoffs with huge wins against the top schools in Georgia. The state semifinal game was a challenge, but Nolan’s thirty-two points gave them the edge, and they pulled out a four-point victory in the final minutes. And just like that, they were in the state play-off game—the first time in fifteen years.

If Nolan hadn’t been so busy perfecting his jump shot and
increasing his free-throw percentage, he might have been more concerned about the way his dad looked, how he seemed more tired and pale after practice. But Nolan’s thoughts were consumed with hoops and Ellie, and he chalked up the changes in his dad to stress over the play-offs.

On the last day of February the team traveled to Atlanta for the state finals. Nolan sat by his dad on the bus ride. They talked about their opponent and ways to get around the other team’s big man, tricks that would work best for defense. Halfway there, his dad turned to him and smiled, the sort of smile that came from deep inside his soul. “No father could ever be more proud of his son.” He patted Nolan’s knee. “I couldn’t let today get away without telling you that.”

Nolan let the compliment work its way through him. “Thanks.” He grinned at his dad. “You, too. You’re the best coach ever, Dad. I mean it.”

His father elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “I had a little help, son. Your ability is God-given, but your work ethic is . . . well, it’s unlike anything I’ve seen.”

Nolan nodded slowly. He could credit at least part of his hard work this season to Ellie. He played so he wouldn’t miss her. All the hours he otherwise would have spent with her amounted to more hours of practice than ever in his life. “I have a question.” The other players were talking quietly, sitting in groups of two or three, game faces on, concentrating on the upcoming contest. No one seemed to notice Nolan and his dad caught up in their conversation.

“Shoot.” His dad leaned against the window of the bus so they could see each other better.

“Do you think I have a chance? I mean to play in the NBA someday?”

“Son.” His father smiled. “You
will
play in the NBA.” He raised his brow. “You have it all. Talent . . . dedication . . . grades. And you have your faith.”

Nolan felt the weight of every word. In that moment—in the bus on the way to the state championship—his father’s certainty felt almost prophetic. Nolan nodded, unblinking. “Thanks.” The bus seemed suddenly empty, as if he and his dad were the only two on board. “You make it feel possible.”

“ ‘With Christ, all things are possible.’ ” The Bible verse had always been a favorite between the two of them. His dad put his arm around Nolan’s shoulders. “One day everyone in the world will know about your gift. And you will use it for good, son. I know you will.”

Nolan carried the conversation into the arena that afternoon, and when he stepped onto the court two hours before tip-off, he felt a chill run down his arms and legs. The pros used this court, the Atlanta Hawks. The scoreboards anchored to the end walls and hanging over the center of the court, the box seats, the multiple levels and concourses that ran around the venue. All of it felt like home to Nolan. Like he belonged here. His father was right. One day he would play in an arena like this, and he would use his game for good.

He glanced at the best seats, the ones courtside. The seats where Ellie would sit. Because he
would
find her, and they would figure out their feelings for each other, and he would marry her. Just like he always said he would. No, they hadn’t talked or written letters, but they would. And when that happened, there would be no turning back.

Warm-ups that day were focused and intense, and Nolan felt invincible. The Savannah Bulldogs were ready to take their championship, ready to fight for it. And no one came readier
to play than Nolan. During the National Anthem, he placed his hand over his heart and soaked in every detail of the atmosphere. The place was packed. Savannah High had sent six buses with cheerleaders and fans, and most of the rest of the community of Savannah had driven to the game. Nolan’s mom and sisters were in the stands with the other parents, and his dad was at the front of the line of Savannah players, his eyes on the flag. Nolan stared at his dad. Something about his expression didn’t look right. A little older or more tired. Maybe that was it. Whatever was wrong, everything would be right after they won this championship.

The 4A championship was entertainment to everyone who loved basketball, so Atlanta locals had come in force, too. The Hawks’ regular season announcer was at the microphone for the contest, a tradition from years back. Everything about the pregame was like something from a dream. Vendors walked the aisles selling popcorn and Coke and hot dogs, and each of the two schools was represented with a section of fans in school colors. The Bulldog faithfuls had light blue and yellow towels, and as tip-off neared, they waved them in a frenzy, creating a dramatic show of the school’s spirit.

Only Ellie was missing.

Nolan gritted his teeth. He couldn’t think about her now, not with so much at stake. He started that night—the way he had all season. The Bulldogs won the tip-off, and against the backdrop of the roaring fans, they were off and running. Nolan hit two three-pointers in the first quarter, and combined with help from the team’s forwards, they took a five-point lead into halftime.

The win was theirs, Nolan and his teammates could feel it. Nothing could stop them from claiming the championship
they’d set out to win back in November. But Savannah High came out flat in the third quarter. Nolan’s dad called a time-out, and the players huddled as he spoke. “Don’t let up out there.” His voice was loud and intense. “They want it, too. Come on, guys!” Sweat dripped down his father’s face as he scribbled out a play on his whiteboard, a plan to keep the ball away from the leading scorer on the opposite team. “Everyone, do your part. This is our night, men. Let’s get it done.”

His father’s plan was brilliant. As they hit the floor, Nolan was sure it would work. But instead of finding their rhythm, the Bulldogs followed the time-out with three straight turnovers. When the fourth quarter started, Savannah was down by four. The minutes seemed to fly off the clock at double time. Nolan took over, but it was like trying to keep waves from hitting the shore. He worked harder than he had all season and, as the game wound down, the Bulldogs fought their way back to a one-point lead.