Chapter Seventeen

They entered the vast parking area crammed with tailgaters in campers and SUVs, rear hatches open, grills unloaded, tarps up to ward off sun and rain. A faint smell of charcoal and sizzling meat permeated the van. Some fans spotted Teddy’s van and waved. A couple of times Jessie thought she heard her name called, but she stared ahead. Predictably, her father waited by Teddy’s reserved parking place ready to grab her wheelchair and help her into it. Teddy left his behind, relying on his sticks and an elevator to get him to the press box, best view in the stadium.

“See you after the game,” he said, lurching away as fast as possible to join his counterpart, an older man named Leo Klein who did the play-by-play, up in the box.

That should have given her warning. Her father walked by her side as she steered toward the team entrance. Coach Mo cleared his throat. “Jess, the team would like you to lead them out onto the field. I’ll push.”

“I’d rather come out afterward. Maybe once they kick off.”

“That would disappoint an awful lot of people, Jessie. Don’t let them down. They want to do something nice for you.”

“Kind, you mean. No, thanks.”

Oh, but Teddy had timed it well. The team, completely kitted out in their red uniforms, gave her a rousing cheer as she entered the locker room area. A banner above the door leading to the field read Welcome Back, Jessie! There would be another one, she knew, waiting for her to burst through as she led the team. The cheerleaders in their crimson halter-tops and black, navel-exposing spandex leggings lined up on either side and rustled their pom-poms. One of them thrust a pair into Jessie’s unwilling hands. “Lead us to victory, Jessica!” she demanded. From where she sat, Jess figured she could probably land a blow in the girl’s solar plexus and knock the wind right out of her. Though her fist balled, Jessie held back. They paid cheerleaders for this kind of crap—sign making, pom-pom shaking, relentless cheerfulness, win or lose. She’d been one of them once and couldn’t fault her.

Forcing a bright smile perfected at high school and college games, she said, “Let’s roll!” And get over this. Coach Mo went into action, and sure enough, they crashed through a large paper banner and onto the field with the Ragin’ Cajuns thundering behind. The crowd went into a chant. “Give ’em hell, UL! Give ’em hell, UL!” Over the roar, Teddy’s mellow announcer’s voice said, “Welcome back to everyone’s favorite trainer, Jessica Minvielle. This game is dedicated to you.” The chant stopped for an enormous round of applause.

Finding herself in the middle of the field, she kept that shining smile in place and waved those pom-poms high for the duration of clapping hands. At last, her father pushed her to the sidelines and parked her at one end of the bench, deserted as the players warmed up. She let the smile drift from her face and the pom-poms drop to the ground.

One of her fellow trainers thrust bottles filled with a sport drink into her hands. “Keep ’em hydrated, Jessie.” Of course, he went off to assist those with minor injuries in doing their stretches. She’d been demoted to water bottle spritzer, an honor usually given to eager students, many of them female, who really, really wanted to be down on the field with the players hygienically delivering mouthfuls of liquid through the bars of their facemasks. So humiliating.

Trying to disappear, she slumped in her chair and waited for the ordeal to end, but they gave her no peace. She suspected a conspiracy to keep her busy as player after player squatted low enough to get a drink from her bottles. On the field, the game progressed against a Sunbelt Conference rival, not one of the large universities who paid to practice against a weaker team. The Cajuns did seem motivated, whether by her presence or simply because the team was always motivated for the first game of the year. Knowing how superstitious athletes could be, she did not want to become their good luck charm, forced to attend every game, and almost hoped they’d lose. How petty of her.

A player went down after a long sprint toward the goal. As a medic and a couple of the trainers jogged onto the field, Teddy’s voice filled the gap in the action. “That’s number 51, X-avier Hopkins being helped off the field. A native of New Iberia and a graduate of Westgate High School, X-avier is a tight end JUCO transfer who just moved the chains forty yards for UL. Let’s give him some encouragement.” Light applause rose from the audience. More were interested in the resumption of the game that might give the Cajuns their first score.

“Jessie, leg cramp. Massage it out,” her father barked.

The two male trainers big enough to help a two-hundred-pound, six-foot-one tight end to the table laid X-avier out stomach down. “He’s all yours, Jess.”

“Shit, this hurts,” the player said, as she positioned herself and dug her fingers into his knotted calf muscle, forcing it to relax. “You got strong hands for a girl. Hey, that pinches.”

“My bad. I have to trim my nails.” She continued massaging until the caramel-colored leg smoothed beneath her fingers. “You can sit up now.”

X-avier swung his legs over the side of the table. Jessie shoved a cup of Gatorade into his hands of impressive size. “Drink, then get some more. Don’t let yourself go dry in this heat.”

“You’re strict like my mama. I like that.” X-avier treated her to a flirtatious grin, but a roar went up from the UL fans and it faded. “Damn, that shoulda been my touchdown,” X-avier moped.

Teddy’s voice gave last season’s statistics on the kicker trotting out for the extra point. “And it’s good!”

“You’ll get another chance. This is only the first game.” Her chances of being around for the second, not so high.

“You give one good massage, my lady. I’m gonna ask for you every time I got a cramp.”

“Thanks. Not sure I’ll be around after tonight.”

“Don’t see why not. Like you said, it’s only the first game. Say, you want to go out sometime?”

Jessie started to point out her wheelchair-bound situation, but stopped when she considered that X-avier, a splendid figure of a young black man with a cross and “Praise the Lord” tattooed on one bicep and “Mom” encircled with thorny roses on the other, probably had twenty-twenty vision and did not need to have the obvious pointed out. Besides, he’d witnessed that well-meant greeting in the locker room. Her next defense might have been their age difference, but she didn’t go there either.

As the UL defense took the field, Teddy came on the air again. “Looks like trainer Jessica Minvielle has X-avier Hopkins up and ready to run again.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m in a relationship.” It might not last beyond tonight if Teddy didn’t desist in dropping her name all over the crowd like Mardi Gras beads, but a good enough excuse for now.

“Him?” X-avier jerked a head with a moderate fro matted down by sweat and his helmet toward the booth. “I know Teddy. Seen both of you working out at the rehab place. Pretty impressive what you can do.”

“Again, thank you.” Jessie tried her best to hold in a smile, but it burst forth, lighting her face.

“Great smile and great hands. If you and Teddy break up, you let me know.”

“The ball is loose!” Leo Klein declared high above them. The players formed a scrum, trying to squeeze the ball from the guy on the bottom of the pile. The refs blew their whistles and began to unravel the heap, tapping each participant on the shoulder, telling them to get up. Two walked away limping. “UL’s ball!”

“You’re in, Hopkins. Jessie, check that ankle coming off the field.” Coach Mo turned his attention to the game and the play clock.

Their cornerback, who had retrieved the fumble, hobbled to the table and sat down. She removed his cleats and probed the ankle. Only a slight sprain. Jessie wrapped the ankle and applied cold packs. “Lie down. Keep it elevated.” She shoved a rolled towel under his foot.

“Think I can play again, Jessie?” He looked so mournful, a person would think she’d suggested amputation.

She knew this guy from the past two years, a man headed toward the pros regardless of the fact that he played for a small college because he had determination and a will to do his best. “If it doesn’t hurt when you stand on it—and don’t lie to me when you get up. Otherwise, you’ll be out a week or two. Not a big deal.”

“Thanks for fixing me up, Jess.”

After that, she dealt with a string of minor injuries, taping thumbs and toes, more cramps, issuing temporary braces of various kinds, advising players to get on the bicycle to keep their muscles warm as the sun went down, not that it cooled off all that much. She sat in on the pep talk at halftime.

“Yes, we’re ahead by two scores. We still have to play the second half with all we’ve got. No one gives up or expects the other guy to do their job. Understood?”

“Yes, Coach Mo!” rumbled the team as if they were a squad of Marine recruits.

Once or twice, her dad glanced her way as if his words also applied to his daughter. No one on his team gives up. They do their job. She did the one she’d trained for the rest of the game.

After a twenty-eight to seventeen victory in their favor, the players insisted she lead them off the field again. She kept on rolling out to the sidewalk and Teddy’s van after giving a cheery wave and the best smile she could muster. He father would be a while dealing with the local media. She had no idea what Teddy’s shutdown routine was, or how long it took.

Under the glaring lights of the parking area and the gridlock as drivers jockeyed for a chance to escape to an exit, night settled over her like a velvet blanket far too hot for the temperature. Her high ponytail threaded through a red UL cap felt lank against her neck, and boy, did she need a shower. The heat and humidity had taken a toll on her as well as the players. She paid for her exertions now, but she experienced the good exhaustion of doing a job well done again. Cars honked at her incessantly. She dragged her smile from some deep sweaty pocket of her personality and waved like a beauty queen.

Teddy approached. She recognized the sound of his crutches hitting the concrete despite the hum of traffic. He came on slowly, carefully. Maybe he felt fatigued too, or maybe anticipated her reaction.

She greeted him with, “You set me up.”

His pale face pinked beneath the streetlight. Guilty. “Not exactly. Your dad wanted me to persuade you to come to the game. I thought it would be good for you to face the whole enchilada and get it down in one bite. I suggested he see if you could still do your old job, be of use to the team. You were, big time.”

“Yeah, I’m exhausted, and I need a shower. I’m going home with my dad.”

“Jessie, don’t be this way. I have a perfectly good shower, and we haven’t used it for sex yet.”

“What’s this about showers?” Coach Mo boomed as he neared.

“Ah, nothing. The one at my place is handicapped accessible.”

“Got one of those at our house. Ready to go, Jess?”

“Very.”

“I thought we could go to the ranch tomorrow and do target practice. Ella will want to show you all her loot from the baby shower before I bring her back to my place.”

Jessie cocked her head. “Right now, learning to shoot a gun seems very appealing, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint Ella.”

“Okay, get a good night’s sleep. I’ll pick you up around eleven. We can catch the clan for Sunday dinner after they get back from church.”

“Fine.” She turned her chair briskly and moved away, not sure if she was punishing herself or Teddy more.