Trix’s nervous laugh made Sarah uptight. “Well, yes. For now, but really. The boys need a male…well…role model. You know…they listen better…” She stopped, flipping her hand to one side as if dismissing Sarah, her MVP awards, her five years of college basketball, six years of junior and senior high school basketball, summer camps, training sessions and coaching clinics with one wave of her manicured fingers. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t.” Sarah kept her smile pasted on her face and her eyes fixed on Trix.
“Well, Logan was saying that he would like, I mean, we think it would be better if Morris could get a male coach.”
“Do you know of one?”
Trix’s expression grew hard. “I’m sure he could find one.”
Sarah’s ire rose. Silly girl. Logan’s campaign had expanded to the other parents. “Coaches aren’t something you can pick up at the local store. And basketball coaches this time of the year, are, as a rule, otherwise employed.”
Trix’s frown deepened. “I’m just saying there has to be an alternative.”
“Mr. DeHaan is recuperating from a heart attack. I am the alternative.”
“Does that mean you aren’t going to step aside?” Trix ejected herself from the chair, her hands working the handle of her purse. “You’re going to keep coaching my boy?”
“Unless my uncle as principal tells me he wants to replace me with someone who can do the job better, yes.” Sarah made the comment with a confidence that came from the knowledge that in a town the size of Millars Crossing, one didn’t simply go out and find a new coach. Her job, until that happened, was fairly secure.
“I heard that Alton Berube, the biology teacher, used to coach basketball. Why isn’t he doing it now?”
“I don’t know.” This was the first Sarah had heard of Mr. Berube. She was surprised Uncle Morris hadn’t mentioned him or considered him.
Trix nodded, as if settling this information into her mind. “I guess we’ll have to see how things go.” She paused, then granted Sarah a condescending smile. “I’m sure you’re a really good player. In fact, I know you are. When your sister, Marilee, was dating my brother, she was always going on about how many points you scored and how the team depended on you.”
Sarah was surprised at the dull press of pain Marilee’s name resurrected.
“…but you know, it’s different with boys. They don’t respect a woman the same.”
“They had better,” Sarah said, picking up her cup, hoping Trix would get the hint, “or I’ll have them on the floor doing fifty push-ups.”
“Of course.” Trix waited a moment, as if to say more then, with another awkward flutter of her hand that Sarah presumed was a farewell wave, she left.
As the door shut behind her, Sarah slammed her mug back on the table, tea slopping over the edge of the mug.
What was Logan doing? Trying to undermine what precious little authority she had managed to garner the past few practices?
Was he crazy or just plain vindictive?
“You look ticked,” Janie said, pulling out the chair across from Sarah with a screech.
“I just got some kind of weird little lecture from Trix Setterfeld.”
“Her boy plays basketball, doesn’t he?”
“Oh yes, but you know he would play much better if he had a male coach, you know.” Sarah yanked a handful of napkins from the dispenser and wiped up the warm tea. “She and Logan must have been discussing my various shortcomings during the last game.” She swiped the rest of the tea, then folded the soggy napkins and pushed them aside. “Which makes me wonder how many other parents he’s been pulling over onto his side?”
“Oh, don’t listen to them. Uncle Morris knew what he was doing when he asked you to coach.”
“Of course, you’re going to stand up for me. You’re a Westerveld after all.”
“Oh, brother, did she say that?”
“Actually, Logan implied it, and I’m sure she thought it, too.” Sarah took a sip of tea, but the pleasure she usually found in her early morning stopover at Janie’s was ruined. “This is a great start to a great day.”
“What else is happening today?”
Nervousness replaced her anger at the thought of what faced her. “I get to have a case conference with the physiotherapist and the doctor and the speech pathologist and a host of others to talk about my father’s long-term care.”
“I thought they were going to move him to the hospital here in Millars Crossing.”
“They are. But we need to talk about his program and what I can expect and his long-term prognosis.”
“At least having him here will make visiting him easier.”
“That’s true.” Sarah gave her tea an extra swirl with her spoon. She’d spent most of yesterday with her father in the city, helping him with his physio, hurting for the struggle every small movement had become for him.
The nurses had praised his determination and told Sarah that, all things considering, he was doing well.
She wished she shared their optimism. It was hard to watch a man once brimming with self-confidence, a man who pushed his way through life, unable to walk or even feed himself.
With every restricted movement he made, every slurred word he forced through uncooperative lips, she could feel his exasperation grow.
When the doctor said long, slow recovery, he had not been exaggerating.
Sarah put her spoon beside her teacup, wondering what shape her life was going to take over the next few months.
At least she had her coaching. The one bright spot in her life where she felt as if she had some modicum of control.
“So how is the team doing?”
“I just need to get Billy on board. He’s the leader and the boys look up to and follow him. If he would listen to me and do what I tell him, then things would flow a lot easier.”
The door opened, letting in a rush of cold air.
And Logan Carleton.
Sarah didn’t want to look at him right now. The sight of him made her blood boil. And race. Their last enigmatic conversation still spiraled and spun through her mind. What had he been trying to imply about her poor father?
Unfortunately he wasn’t having the same reaction to her that she had to him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him approach her table.
And stop.
She glanced up at him, disliking the advantage he had over her with his imposing height. “Good morning, Logan. What can I do for you?”
“Just thought I would say hi.” His puzzled tone gave Sarah pause.
“Well. Hi.” She wasn’t in any mood to engage in chitchat with him right now.
He waited a moment, as if to give her a chance to say something else. She simply looked up at him, her gaze unwavering.
But as he was about to turn away, she changed her mind about the chitchat. “I just had a little talk with Trix Setterfeld,” she said with an airy tone, as if that particular conversation hadn’t grated like sand on an open wound. “She seems to agree with you.”
Logan frowned.
“About my coaching,” Sarah prompted.
Then, to her dismay, Logan sat down. “What did she say?”