Jen shook her head. “She said it was for you and asked if she could put it on your desk.”
“She didn’t give it to you?” A strange sense of violation sent goose bumps scattering over my flesh.
Jen’s expression turned puzzled. “Vee, I told her it was okay to set that on your desk. She’s brought other things down from your father’s office. I’m sorry. Is that now a problem?”
My mind was filled with pictures and notes, her ransacking Dad’s office. “It’s that…I’d rather no one but you enter my office when I’m away.”
“Okay? When someone wants to meet with you, they should wait out here?”
This was stupid.
What am I paranoid about?
There probably wasn’t an extensive list of people in Maker’s Mark who my father screwed.
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Nothing’s wrong. Did you call for Aunt Rachel?”
“Yes. As soon as she arrives, Millie will let her know.”
Chapter 30
Fin
Lacy’s tests made me late to the film room. She ordered x-rays, straight on and lateral, and a CT scan, which she said would be more diagnostic. If that was the case, I wondered why we wasted time with the x-ray. I wasn’t the only player late. The trainers were passing out x-rays like beads on Mardi Gras.
Results…no—not yet.
“Come back before lunch,” she told me. “I’ll know more.”
“Lacy, you’re a godsend to the team, but I know my body. I’m beat up but fine.”
“Fin, I believe you. Let’s find out what the imaging shows.”
The entrance to the film room was in the front, making it impossible to sneak in late. As I stepped inside, most of the team as well as coaches had their eyes on me. I feigned a smile. “What can I say, Lacy Reynolds wouldn’t let me leave.”
“Take a seat, Graham,” Tilson said, before going back to talking to the team.
I took a seat in the second row near Dennison, Ortiz, and Morgan.
“As I was saying, we had five penalties called on us yesterday. I know that stadium was loud. That’s not an excuse. Listen to the cadence. Don’t jump early. And the holding calls” —he shook his head— “don’t get caught. I’d tell you not to do it. Statistically, more holds go uncalled than called. However, if we piss off an official, they’ll be blowing every whistle. I’m saying it. Don’t hold.”
The examination of the film from yesterday’s game went on for a few hours. Tilson did most of the talking, but Coaches Pratt and Brown interjected their thoughts. As the time ran closer to noon, Tilson stepped forward.
“As you’re aware, Mr. Hubbard’s service is tomorrow at eleven. It’s going to be here in the inside practice facility. Everyone on the team has been invited. You should have already informed Mr. Hubbard’s office of your attendance. If you haven’t, do it. By no means is attendance mandatory. Participation is up to you. There will be a strict no-phone policy. No cameras. No recording equipment. If you bring a spouse or guest, that policy applies to them too. All phones will be confiscated at the door and returned after the service. For that reason, there will be security present, including a metal detector.”
He took a breath.
“Ms. Hubbard is adamant that no reporters attend the service. This is for those of us who knew him and those who were fortunate enough to meet him to pay our respects. Once the service concludes, there will be a dinner in celebration of Mr. Hubbard.
“Ms. and Mrs. Hubbard debated about this detail, as they didn’t want the Coopers’ cooking and nutritional staff to be required to work. The meal is being brought in from an outside caterer. Take Wednesday and Thursday to recover from the first six weeks. Those of you who need medical treatment, the training center will be open after the service and on the next two days. Friday, we’re going to meet here and take a look at our next opponent. Saturday, light practice. Next Monday we come ready to take on the Titans. That means full pads on Monday. Any questions?”
I heard Dennison murmur. The man was anxious to get into full playing mode. He didn’t say a word. No one had a question. The air was sucked from the room at the mention of tomorrow’s service.
“See you after lunch in your position meetings,” Coach Tilson said, releasing us.
Troy turned to me. “How’s she doing? Ms. Maeve.”
“It’s not easy. I didn’t know Mr. Hubbard. She sure loved him.”
