Ava lay awake past midnight that night, thinking about everything that had happened. Tommy hadn’t returned. She could hear her parents in their room talking. She lay awake, listening to the night sounds outside. Then at last, at about 12:20 in the morning, she heard the kitchen door open and knew Tommy was finally home. There was a cathunk of the refrigerator door being opened. Cathunk as it closed. Dishes, silverware clanking. In her parents’ room, the talking had stopped. Were they asleep? Or listening to the sounds of Tommy making himself a midnight snack?
She thought about going to see her brother but then changed her mind. She heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. The door of his room closed. Then the house was quiet.
Sunday morning Ava woke up early, but Tommy’s room was empty, his bed a rumpled heap of sheets. She headed down to the kitchen, but it was empty too. Her mother had left a note on the kitchen table saying she was out for a long run. Through the window over the sink, Ava could see Coach outside in the backyard, hammering something on the battered old door of the shed.
She texted Tommy.
Where are you?
He did not reply for a full five minutes. Then:
I’m practicing. At the church.
Ava ate a quick bowl of cereal and went outside to see Coach.
“Morning,” he said shortly, without pausing in his hammering. He had added a crosspiece of wood to the back of the door of the shed and was hammering it into place. In his baggy, faded jeans and black, faded-to-gray T-shirt, Ava thought her dad looked like a teenager. He could be Tommy’s twin, at least from the back.
She sat on an overturned bucket and watched her dad finish his task. When at last he began picking up his tools, she said, “Hey, Coach? Want to go for a walk with me?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Sure, honey. Where to?”
“Just . . . not far. I want to show you something.”
He held her gaze for a moment, as though sizing up her earnestness, and said, “Let me put these tools away. I’ll meet you in front in five.”
They set off in silence, Ava leading the way down the block. It was early enough that they didn’t meet any neighbors, and only one vehicle passed them, a beat-up old pickup truck stacked high with fat sacks of grain. Ava didn’t know what Tommy had told Coach about his concert and his scheme. Did Coach know she had been Tommy’s accomplice? Was he angry with her, too? Knowing Tommy, he would have told Coach only whatever was absolutely necessary, but knowing Coach, he had gotten to the truth by asking just the right perceptive questions. She kept quiet.
A few blocks later Ava saw the church, a pretty little building with weather-beaten white siding and a simple steeple. The sign out front said that the next service was at noon, and it was just past nine.
As they drew closer, Ava could hear some very unchurchlike music: jazzy, syncopated rhythms and an upbeat melody. Next to her, Coach stopped and stood still. Ava looked up at him. He had the strangest mixture of emotions playing across his face—like the toy kaleidoscope she had owned and loved as a little kid. You twisted it and wild colors and patterns morphed and emerged and changed into other patterns. Passing across her father’s face, one after another, Ava could see anger change to pride, then exasperation, then admiration, then weary resignation as he stood listening to Tommy play.
“Coach?” she asked softly, squeezing his hand a little. “Do you want to go inside?”
He looked down at her, startled, as though he’d forgotten she was there. “Yes,” he said, and the two of them climbed the front stairs and entered the church through the heavy wooden double doors.
From the back of the empty church, they stood still again and listened to Tommy play. He was so engrossed in his piece he didn’t seem to have heard them come in. But as they made their way down the side aisle toward the piano—a gleaming black baby grand—Tommy looked up, and the music stopped. He sat quietly, watching them approach, his face impassive.
Ava tugged on Coach’s shirt. “Should I leave you guys alone?” she whispered.
He looked down at her, nodded, and ruffled her hair.
She turned and headed back outside to sit on the front steps of the church. It faced east, and the warm, late morning sun glinted off the stained-glass windows.
After a few minutes, Coach emerged and stood next to her on the top of the stoop. They didn’t speak, but Ava could feel that he wasn’t too mad. Maybe not mad at all.
“Do you want to head home?” Coach asked her.
“Maybe in a little while,” said Ava.
Coach nodded. Ava knew he understood she wanted to stay behind to talk with Tommy. She watched her dad trot down the steps and turn toward their house, his long, lanky stride showing how much of an athlete he still was.
A few moments later the door opened behind her, and Tommy sat down next to her on the step. They sat in silence. Then she said, “How did it go?”
“As well as could be expected,” said Tommy. “I’m suspended for two games, but he had to do that, and I knew it—he can’t treat me differently from any of the other players. I told him I love football, but I also love music, and he accepted that.”
“That’s great,” said Ava.
“Yeah, I think he’s even a little proud of me. He’s not proud of the fact that I lied and that Mr. Kelly knows it. But he knows I won’t pull that again. After the season’s over, I’ll have a lot more time, obviously, to rehearse.”
“That’s awesome, Tommy,” said Ava. “You want to walk to the park and shoot around with me?”
“Nah, I’ve got a while before they start showing up for the next service here, so I’m going to keep practicing. But I’ll catch you later.”
Ava went to the park anyway, and saw Jack shooting around. She approached cautiously, because she wasn’t sure how things stood between them. When he saw her, he bounce-passed her the ball, and she drove in for a reverse layup.
“Lucky,” he said with a grin. “Get warmed up and I’ll whup you in one-on-one.”
Ava smiled back and started dribbling.
Jack won the first game, and Ava the second. They were just about to start the tiebreaker when Ava spotted Alex approaching, walking Moxy. When Moxy saw Ava, she tugged at the leash, and Alex dropped it, allowing Moxy to bound across the play area toward Ava.
Jack held the ball while Ava petted Moxy. He shook his head as Alex approached. “I forget how much you two look alike,” he said. “Sometimes it’s really hard to tell you guys apart.”
“Good thing we don’t dress alike,” said Ava, shooting Alex a mischievous glance.