Amelia winked at her. “Aunt Tilley, those blueberry muffins were delicious,” she said.
“Aunt Tilley!” Greer said breathlessly. “A bird ran into the window while we were eating, and Daddy had to go out and check on it! But it got up and flew away.”
Not to be outdone, George said, “And, Aunt Tilley, there was a spider on the porch yesterday, and it made a big web.”
“Quite a time for wildlife on the peninsula,” Tilley said, searching for her egret, her Robert. A feeling washed over her, a good one, one she hadn’t had in quite a while. Tilley couldn’t say how. Not just yet. But today was going to be a magnificent day. Today, she felt in the marrow of her bones, was going to change everything.
MASONEducated Humans
If anyone had ever told me that I would grow up and be sitting behind the coach’s desk at Cape Carolina High School, I never would have believed them. I would have thought I was too good, too special, too talented toeverbe back home. I chewed the end of my pen, looking over at a corkboard between two windows, the old, original ones with leaded glass and the handle so they opened in the middle. This corkboard hadn’t been updated since I was in school. In the center was a faded newspaper article about Coach and me. Around it were reminders of his career. Ticket stubs from the early 2000s, an article he’d torn out ofBaseball Digestabout his beloved Dodgers, a hand drawing of a 5-4-3, Coach’s favorite double play. I probably should have changed them out, made the mementos my own. But the coach before me hadn’t either, so maybe we just liked the time capsule that was this office. I didn’t notice these things anymore—not even the picture of me. They simplywere, kind of like the ancient metal desk and green pleather chairs, duct-taped in more than a few places, that had been in this office for decades.
I looked down at the issue ofInside Pitchon my desk. There it was again, after all these years: my face, only with some wrinkles now.And, this time, the story was about my return to the field, about how I’d taken a struggling program and made it extraordinary in just a few years. It made me proud. This was my moment, I decided. I ripped it out, the pages making a satisfying hiss. I couldn’t quite bear to cover up the article in the center of the board. But I used one of those old pushpins to hang it in the corner. I had gotten some good press lately, which was flattering and a little shocking. ButInside Pitchwas my favorite magazine. This one warranted a spot on the board.
I looked out the window at the boys gathering their things after practice. They were the reason for this article. They had brought me back to the field. They had really put in the work today. I was taking them deep-sea fishing in the morning, a team-building exercise, but also a fun day out on the water. I turned at a light tap at my door.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, getting up, taking a large box from my small mother’s arms. The one and only Olivia Thaysden. Southern mother extraordinaire with the patience of a saint. She lifted up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek as I looked down at the box.
“It’s an air purifier,” she said, as if that explained anything.
“Okay. Thanks?”
“It’s pollen season, and you know how your allergies act up.” She gestured around the office. “Plus, it always smells a little musty in here.”
I laughed. I didn’t say that it smelled musty because not only was the building sixty years old, but my office was also adjacent to the weight room. “Musty” was generous.
“You missed family dinner on Sunday,” she said. Ah. So that was why she was here.
“Robbie and Trina will be there this Sunday.”
Robbie was my best friend, and Trina was his wife, so my best friend by marriage. I laughed. “If that is your way of asking if I’ll be at family dinner on Sunday, I will try.”
She put her hands up like that wasn’t atallwhat she was asking, even though it was, but she didn’t press me further. My mom had always had this hands-off approach to my brother Parker and me. She let us make our own decisions. But we worshipped her, so we usually made the decision she wanted. I would probably be at that dinner.
Drew Christianson, a junior and my star pitcher, walked in. Drew was almost as good as, well, I had been. I’ll admit that the first few games he had been compared to me, in agreatest-pitcher-since-Mason-Thaysdenkind of way, had stung. But now, it was kind of nice to have a protégé. I was leaning into being the one who got to help develop that incredible talent of his. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Thaysden,” he said.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said.
“Coach, I can come back.”
“No, sweetie. I was just leaving.”
“Thanks for the air purifier, Mom,” I said, thumping the box.
“It doesn’t work unless youplug it in.”
“I’ll make sure he gets it up and running, Mrs. Thaysden,” Drew said, beaming at my mom as she waved goodbye.
Drew sat in one of the pleather chairs across from my desk.
I remembered being that kid sitting in the chair across from Coach, as he reminded me to stay on the straight and narrow, encouraged me that I could be a game-changing player, just like I did now with Drew. That had all been true, I think. What had also been true was that I had a game-changing injury.
“Need a ride home?”
He shook his head. “Just wanted to know if there was anything else you wanted to work on before Central next week.”
Work ethic was part of what made Drew great. Part was raw talent. Part was, well, a coach like me, who poured every ounce of himself into his players. Maybe it was cocky to admit that, but it was true.
It was also true that coming back into this office, being around these kids, had saved me, brought me back to life, rehabilitated me in a way that years of therapy—physical and mental—never could. Which made me feel guilty about the feelings I’d been having lately that maybe I was stuck here, that maybe by staying in Cape Carolina, I was still holding on to a past that was never coming back for me. I was trying to change.Wantedto change. Drink less. Date age-appropriate women. Be an adult, not the boy wonder. But lately I had started to feel like being here was making that impossible. It’s hard to evolve in a place that wants you to be who you always have been.
