Getting the text on Sunday of Archer shooting hoops in the backyard of Farrah’s reminded him she wasn’t one to let sand get in her shoes.
When she wanted to do something, she went with it.
Made up her mind, made a plan, and took off.
The girl he remembered had the same traits as an adult.
“Hey,” he said. “Pass me the ball.”
“Jayce!” Archer shouted. “I just asked Mom when you’d be here.”
“I’m here now,” he said, caught the ball, jumped up and sent it flying through the air and off the backboard into the net.
She’d put it where he would have. Past the garage that turned toward the house and into another flat area hidden from view for now.
Sure, if Archer went out further to shoot, he’d be seen, but the hoop wouldn’t be where someone driving by would know kids lived here.
She took precautions and he could appreciate that, but he’d be willing to bet that Archer wasn’t outside alone much, or at least in the driveway rather than the fenced-in yard.
“Isn’t my new hoop awesome?”
“It sure is,” he said. “Maybe we can play some one on one, unless your mom wants help with dinner.”
“Go ahead,” she said. “I just put the chicken on. We’ve got about fifteen minutes and then I can finish up knowing you’re out here.”
It’d been his plan. She’d told him before she rarely could do things without worrying where Archer was or what he was getting into.
Not that it was a hardship for him to play with the kid. He found he enjoyed the time.
Would he have liked to go up and kiss Farrah in a welcome over a high five with Archer after he sunk his shot? Yeah, he would have.
But once his palm touched Archer’s, he realized the need for both was equal.
“You know,” he said when Archer took another shot, then rebounded the miss. “With your name and all, we should work on your arch. It’d be fitting, don’t you think?”
“Yes! I’m going to tell Mom that. Maybe I can get some cool nickname.”
He laughed. “That happens when you get older. Someone will notice it right away and give it to you.”
“Can’t I give it to myself?”
“Nah,” he said. He leaned down and lowered his voice. “That’d be a little too full of yourself.”
“It’s not like my father is going to give it to me like dads should,” Archer said, dribbling. “All he does is yell at me over my grades.”
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Are your grades bad?”
“My lowest is a B+ in science. Everything else is As and A+’s, but it’s not good enough. I’m trying. I told him that, but he’s like that.” Archer stopped and looked around. “Mom said I can’t change him, but I have to be respectful. I’m trying, I really am.”
It took more strength than he thought he had when he heard that.
“Those are great grades,” he said. “Much better than I ever got.”
“And you played basketball in college. I want to play a sport in college. I don’t know yet what. I might not be tall enough for basketball.”
He ruffled the kid’s hair. “Height isn’t everything, but it’s a part of it. And you’re young yet and might find another activity you love doing more. Seems to me you’ve got a lot of talent.”
“Thanks,” Archer said. “Dad doesn’t think so. He hates sports. I get it all from Mom. Is it bad if I say I like that better?”
