Okay,” Lucas said to his mom. “This makes no sense.”
“I can’t say for sure that it’s your grandfather,” she said. “But except for the hair, they could be twins.”
“I never saw that picture before,” Lucas said.
“I didn’t even remember I had it,” Julia said. “Pretty sure it’s the only one I’ve got of your grandfather as a young man. The ones with him and your dad, he’s a lot older, obviously.”
“Could Gramps have had a brother named Joe or Tommy?” Lucas said.
“Your dad didn’t have any uncles or aunts,” Lucas’s mom said. “And at our wedding, the only family on your dad’s side was Gramps and your grandmom.”
Lucas reached down and moved the pictures around, just to be doing something with his hands.
“Where is Gramps from in California?” Lucas said.
“The few times I ever talked about this with your dad,” she said, “he just said that his dad had been a foster child, and moved around a lot when he was a boy. I think he mentioned Bakersfield. Maybe Fresno. One time in particular I asked your dad, ‘Aren’t you curious about what your dad’s life was like growing up?’ And he kind of shrugged and said that Gramps didn’t like talking about it. He just assumed it hadn’t been a particularly happy childhood, that going from one family to another had been like having no real family at all.”
“And you never asked Gramps yourself?”
“You know him,” she said. “He talks about what he wants to talk about. Like he’s calling the plays even when you’re having a conversation with him.”
Lucas said, “Maybe I don’t know him nearly as well as I thought I did.”
The Wolves’ next practice was the following night, the first of two practices before they’d play the Grisham Mavs the Saturday after next. Lucas had been excited from the time he’d seen the schedule and realized this would be their third game. He was going to get the chance to go up against Jake Farr, who’d been one of the best point guards in their league last year. Jake was the Twin Lakes League version of Steph Curry, because of the way Jake could handle the ball and make shots from just about everywhere. He’d been a little taller than Lucas when they were sixth-graders, just as fast, left-handed. A total star. Lucas couldn’t wait.
Tonight they worked a lot on their transition defense. If the Mavs hadn’t changed their style, they liked to run as much as the Wolves did. So Gramps had a chance tonight to talk about one of his favorite subjects: turning good defense into offense.
“No matter how fast they come at you,” he said, “you can always slow those boys down with good D. You make them miss. You make them rush. You take the ball away. And then it’s you coming at them fast. Like you’re trying to give those poor boys a case of whiplash.”
Being even more aggressive on defense than the other guys were on offense was another big thing with Gramps.
“I don’t want you to be afraid to take chances, or make mistakes,” he said. “Everybody makes mistakes in this world, and not just in basketball. The best you can do is keep taking chances, and hope not to make the same mistake twice. The great Red Auerbach used to tell his shooters, ‘If you miss a few, keep shooting.’ ”
At the end of practice they scrimmaged less than usual. Lucas had no problem with that, either. This was the best way for them to get their minds right for the Grisham Mavs. It was another example of what a good coach Gramps was, Lucas thought. He could get a bunch of twelve-year olds this fired up about defense.
Lucas’s mom had asked Gramps to drive him home when they were finished. Before they headed for the parking lot, Lucas helped Gramps collect the basketballs and the pinnies they’d used for the scrimmage.
The other players were gone by then. It was just the two of them in the gym. It had been an early practice. It was just a few minutes past seven.
“You coming for dinner?” Lucas said to his grandfather. “Mom’s making turkey burgers.”
“I do love those turkey burgers your mom makes,” Gramps said.
“So you’re in?”
“Already told that to the best cook in Claremont.”
He smiled. Lucas smiled back at him.
“Ask you something?” Lucas said.
“In my life,” Gramps said, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a boy as full of questions as my grandson.”
“How else am I gonna learn?” Lucas said. “That’s what my coach is always telling me, anyway.”
Lucas’s backpack was on the floor near the bleachers where he’d dropped it before practice. He went over and unzipped a side pouch and took out the picture of Joe and Tommy and brought it with him to where Gramps was standing at mid court, car keys already in his hand.
“I want to show you something I found in one of Dad’s old Chip Hilton books,” Lucas said.
He handed his grandfather the picture.
Gramps took it. Lucas could see the slight tremor in his hands, but there was nothing unusual about that. Gramps just called it one more old-man thing he had to deal with. Lucas would notice it sometimes when he was lifting a drinking glass, or holding a piece of paper up to show Lucas a new play.
He studied the picture before handing it back to Lucas.
“What did you want to ask me?” he said.
“I wanted to ask you if that’s you in the picture,” Lucas said. “Mom thinks it might be.”
“Tell me again how you found it,” Gramps said.
“I wasn’t looking for it, I promise,” Lucas said. “It just fell out of a book in the attic.”
“What were you doing up there?” Gramps said.
“You know I go up there sometimes,” Lucas said. “I like going through Dad’s stuff.”
Suddenly he felt as if he were back playing defense, and wasn’t sure why. Or what to say.
“You are stubborn,” Gramps said.
“Mom says I get it from you.”
“Probably so.”
“So is that you?” Lucas said.
“More like who I used to be,” Gramps said.
“Joe or Tommy?” Lucas said.
Gramps took a deep breath, let it out.
“They called me Joe back in the day,” he said.
Then he said, “Time to take you home.”
Without another word he turned and led Lucas out of the gym and to the place in the front parking lot where his car was. They both got in. Gramps drove them home.
Lucas was afraid to say anything himself until they were in his driveway. It was as if Gramps’s silence had formed this force field around him. But when the car stopped Lucas said, “Are you still going to have dinner?”
“I’m awful tired all of a sudden,” he said. “Think I might turn in early tonight. Please make my apologies to your mom.”
Lucas got out of the car, but didn’t close the door.
“Are you okay, Gramps?” he asked.
“Sure,” he said. “Just tired, like I said. Some days I feel all my years more than others.”
Because the door was open, the interior lights in the car were on, so Lucas could see clearly the look on his grandfather’s face. For a second, Lucas thought Gramps was the one who might start to cry.
In a soft voice Lucas said, “Why’d they call you Joe?”
He wasn’t sure his grandfather had heard him correctly, because he didn’t answer the question.
“He’s just a boy who got left behind a long time ago,” he said. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. Then asked Lucas to please close the door.
“Good night, son,” Gramps said.
He drove away. Lucas stood there in the driveway and watched him go, wondering in that moment why “good night” had sounded so much like “good-bye.”