THE NEXT NIGHT. WEDNESDAY.
The small team meeting was over, the minipractice in the driveway had ended, the ice cream sundaes had been consumed by the unlikely group of kids and moms in the Walker kitchen.
Tess was the last to leave. Her parents had gone to the movies, then called to ask if it was all right if she stayed there a little longer while they stopped and had a quick bite at Fierro’s.
Tess and Danny sat on the two seats in the backyard swing set Ali Walker said she hadn’t taken down because she was never taking it down. It was cold out and getting colder by the minute, but neither one of them cared.
“Tonight, I finally figured out why you love it out here so much,” she said. “I mean, on your own private court.”
Danny said, “I’m just trying to get better, is all.”
“It’s more than that and you know it, Daniel Walker,” Tess said. “This is your own little basketball world back here, and nobody can screw things up.”
“My mom says it’s my own private Madison Square Garden.”
“More like a magic garden, if you ask me.”
She reached over and took his hand out of the big front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt, and held it in her own hand. It made Danny feel as if he’d put a glove on.
They stayed that way for a minute and then, because neither one of them seemed to know how long you were supposed to hold hands, she let him go.
They kept rocking.
“It’s a really nice world back here,” Tess said.
“You always know what to say,” Danny said. “What would you call this? The quiet before the storm?”
“Works for me.”
“Whatever happens, we’re gonna give Middletown basketball a day it’s never going to forget,” Danny said.
“Like in your dad’s day,” she said.
“Not that big a day,” Danny said. “Nothing will ever be that big around here ever again.”
They went back to rocking in silence. Danny put his head back and stared at the stars. And suddenly, because Tess Hewitt was always full of surprises, because Danny knew in his heart, even at the age of twelve, that she would be full of surprises as long as the two of them knew each other—which he roughly hoped would be forever—she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Don’t be so sure it won’t be that big, little guy,” she said.
It was all right for her, calling him little guy.
Because when he was with her like this, Danny felt like the biggest guy in town.
When he heard the Hewitts’ car in front, he walked Tess up the driveway, told her he’d see her tomorrow at school, then went back inside.
His mom was holding the phone out for him as soon as he got through the front door.
“Your father,” she said.
Danny put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Isn’t it a little late for him to be up?”
“He has some trouble sleeping sometimes, at least until the pills kick in.”
She pointed toward the phone. “Talk,” she said. “My two big talkers.”
Danny took the phone with him up the stairs, saying, “Yo.”
Which he’d never say to his mom.
“Hey, bud.”
He went into his room, turned on the light next to his bed, adjusted the shade so it shined up on John Stockton like a spotlight, lay down on his back staring up at it.
Waiting for his dad to say something now, on the other end of the phone.
Some parts of it between them, Danny knew, would never change. Even lately, with so much to talk about, they’d sit there in the hospital room with nothing but air between them.
Sometimes Danny compared the two of them starting a conversation to his mom trying to get her car engine to start up on one of these cold mornings.
“Well,” his dad said.
“Well.”
“Here you are.”
He sounded a little groggy. Danny had been with him a few times when the sleeping pills started to work, and it was like somebody had hit his dad with a knockout punch.
“No,” Danny said. “Here we are.”
“Nice try, bud. But it’s all you now.”
“I wouldn’t even have a game tomorrow if you hadn’t come back when you did,” Danny said. “And did what you did starting the team.”
Another long pause.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Which sounded more to Danny like: Lose the nerdy-weepy crap.
Danny didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything until his dad said, “Anyway, I was just calling to wish you luck. I told your mom not to stop by tomorrow, they’ve got a bunch of tests they want to run. And they’re going to put a smaller cast on my leg so I can get around a little better. Unless, of course, they decide they want to run me into the chop shop again.”
“The Vikings are really good,” Danny said, “even without Ty.”
“Big…frigging deal. You guys are better than ever.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, guess what? You better damn well know by tomorrow.”
Coming alive a little bit. Cracking the whip.
“Okay?” his dad said.
“Okay.”
“Hey, bud?”
“Yeah?”
“Get after it tomorrow, every minute you’re out there,” he said. “On account of, you never know which day is gonna be the best day of your whole life.”
The next thing Danny heard was a dial tone.
He shut off the phone, looked over at the clock next to his bed. Ten-fifteen.
Talking to his dad had made him want to play a little more before he went to bed.
He didn’t have to change, because he still had his sweatshirt on. He figured that if it wasn’t okay with his mom, going back out at this time of night, she’d come right outside and tell him once she heard the bounce of the ball.
He grabbed the Infusion ball from under his desk.
Slipped out the back door and switched the lights back on.
Warmed up by shooting a few from the outside.
Made a little tricky-dribble move and then put up the shot he’d missed against Hanesboro in the first game, made at the end of the Kirkland game.
Nothing but net.
Feeling jazzed now, as if the night were just beginning, with all his dreams, and schemes.
Andy Mayne’s ankle was all better. He’d be playing tomorrow, at least according to Ty, which meant Danny would be going up against a point guard just as good as he was, and a lot bigger.
Nothing new with the part about bigger.
He thought to himself: Bring it on, Colorado boy.
He was ready to play the game right here, right now.
He stepped back until he was about twenty feet away from the basket, tried the double crossover a couple of times, back and forth, not putting the ball too low, just fooling around with it.
Then he was ready to try it for real, imagining he needed it to split Andy Mayne and another defender in the Vikings’ press, get himself into the open court in the last minute of the game.
Or even the last ten seconds.
Left hand, right hand.
Then the same move again, just slower this time.
Ready to make his move, right out of the last dribble, his body nearly as low to the ground as the ball.
He made his move, between the imaginary defenders, exploding at the basket like a toy rocket taking off.
And slipped as he did.
Slipped on the patch of black ice he didn’t know was there, his feet going straight out from under him like he’d slipped on a banana peel in a comic strip, flying backward through the air without even a dope like Teddy Moran around to break his fall.