We look at each other and laugh so hard that his eyes crinkle together like they did when Phat slid a McDonald’s pancake in front of him at our kitchen table this morning.
“Marie knew Angie well. They were classmates. I can’t think of any other person who could want the best for us than her.”
I nod, tugging my lip under my teeth.
Getting out and walking toward that building is harder than lacing up my shoes and running onto Marshall’s court with Phat holding her breath in the stands.
Pops claps his hand against the back of my head. “We got this.”
Us. We.
That’s what those reporters neglected to mention when they talked about Pops “letting” me play through the tournament after Cheyenne blabbered my darkest secret to the world on the stand in the courtroom:“Yes, I saw him get so drunk that he wouldn’t remember anything he said or did, but it was strange because none of us could even tell he was drunk sometimes. My fiancé, Javi, said it was normal for him to get blackout wasted. It was like his thing.”
Quame said it was her way of getting in one last kick to my reputation before she faded into obscurity where she belonged. So me and Pops decided I would ball in the big dance just in case it was the last time I ever did. Now that it was done, the records were broken, and they hung my name next to Marshall’s in his renovated gym, it was time to face the music or like Phat said this morning over breakfast:“Time to rip the bandaid off, baby. No little by little today.”
Pops takes another slurp from his thermos with a smack. “Marshall would say you finally made it to the end of your story. You overcame all the internal and external obstacles life’s thrown at you.”
“Couldn’t let the day end without another Marshall quote, huh?”
“Never. He was wise beyond his years.”
“You think that’s what CeCe liked about him?”
He smiles big when I say CeCe’s name and I don’t blame him. She makes us all smile these days—especially when she’s got Mom’s name on her lips.
“I think she liked that, among other things.” He chuckles. “Her and Marshall were supposed to be forever. He was supposed to coach the boys’ team at Lockwood eventually and she was supposed to stay at home with the kids, but...”
“But what?”
“Life happened like it always does.” His mouth drops into a serene smile while he stares at a grey-headed lady shooing a dog away from the building’s front door. “He played his last game on that court at Lockwood and collapsed. The world just ain’t felt right since.”
He takes another slurp while the dog scurries across the parking lot.
I try to lift my hand to grab the door handle, but it’s too heavy.
“Meeting should start soon, huh?”
I nod and try again.
“Marie’s biggest pet peeve is tardiness. She taught for twenty years. There’s nothing she can’t stand more than a late kid.”
I lift my heavy hand again and curl it around the handle. Pops pushes his door open at the same time I push mine. There’s only a few feet between my truck and the building, but it feels farther.
I get out and take a step, and then another.
“Hey, Williams,” Pops calls out from behind me.
I turn around and smile at him, leaning against my truck’s hood.
“I’m proud of you, young man.” He lifts his thermos in the air. “I’m so damn proud of you.”
I swallow his words. They settle in my chest and reassure me I’ll never want for them again.
* * *
The grey buildingis just as bleak on the inside. I’m the youngest person sitting in our circle, but nobody cares because I’m Marshall and Angie’s son. The people here remind me of how pretty Mom was in school and ask if Pops likes being back home. Nobody talks about why we’re spending our Saturday in an empty rec center on the Northside until Ms. Marie urges each of us to stand one by one and introduce ourselves.
I don’t know how to do that until Mom’s old friend Joe claps me on the shoulder to help himself out of his chair.
