Best thing I can think of to tell you about David John is that when I was eight, I broke my arm.” He takes Deanne’s hand, runs it up his left forearm. There’s no scar, but he takes her fingers to his elbow and then backs them down two inches so that she can feel the small divot in the bone. “Football, actually. Stupid. Just bad luck. Only serious injury I’ve ever had playing. Got tangled up with two other boys. Just fell funny and was on the bottom of it. Felt my arm snap. Could hear it, and right away, I’m crying. And when I say I’m crying, I mean I’m wailing, full-on snot-bubbling-out-of-my-nose crying, the whole thing, rolling around on the ground and holding my arm against my chest. This happens, and David John just comes right on the field, scoops me up in his arms.”
Her eyes go wide. She’s the daughter of a football player and coach. Been around the game her whole life. Knows the code. Knows what it means that David John rushed onto the field.
“That’s the thing about David John. He didn’t care that you aren’t supposed to do that. It’s always been family first for him. Picks me up, carries me off the field cradled in his arms, right to the car. Has my mom drive us and holds me in his lap all the way to the hospital and then carries me into the ER. Never told me to suck it up or stop crying or anything, just held me the whole time, told me it was going to be okay, that he loved me, and I was his brave boy.”
Jessup hears the way his words catch in his throat, but he doesn’t want to stop. It’s right there, in the truck with him: the smell of fresh-cut grass, the dirt rubbed into his skin, the whistles, the sound of pads and helmets, cold water in the heat of summer, the sharp pain as he hit the ground, and more than anything, how carefully David John carried him. “But I did stop crying, pretty much as soon as he picked me up, because what I remember from that day most clearly is that as soon as he had me in his arms, I knew I’d be okay. I didn’t need him to say it. I just knew.” And he is crying now. Nothing dramatic, though it’s enough that Deanne can tell, and she leans in and kisses him, light, gentle, like grace itself.