Carmen:I will take that sweet thing, but you owe me, Mason Thaysden!
Carmen just so happened to own Tiny Tots, the most sought-after day care in town. She didn’t work there, but she was a majority investor, so I knew she could pull any strings she wanted. I should have said thank you, but, instead, I said:
Mason:Carmen, that sounds menacing… THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH.
Three hours later I had gone to the hospital, gotten the key to Daisy’s town house, and was sitting on the tailgate of my truck when my players began to arrive. “Boys,” I announced. “Practice is going to look a little different today.”
The moms were starting to arrive too. I corralled everyone in the parking lot. “Team, I want you to unload these ladies’ cars and put everything you can in the back of my truck.” I smiled. “And I want you to figure out the best system for doing that.”
We were volunteering, strategizing,andteam building. This was way better than regular practice.
In about fifteen minutes, my truck bed was crammed full of furniture and bags and boxes. The ladies had even collected a rocking chair for the nursery and a giant six-foot stuffed giraffe. Cheryl, Drew’s mom, said, “No offense. But maybe I should come with you?”
“No offense taken,” I said. “This might shock you, but nursery decorating isn’t my forte.”
“You don’t say!” Cheryl replied.
“I’ll help too,” Julie said. “I’m kind of picky about how my art is hung.”
“Great. Drew, Kevin, hop in with me. Your moms can follow us.”
“Braden!” I called to my most responsible senior. “You’re running practice until I get back.”
He lit up. “Seriously?”
“Just something to add to the college résumé.”
I felt sorry for these kids. The high achievers had so much pressure on them to beeverything. Great academically, superstar athletes, world changers. And it wasn’t just going to the soup kitchen. It was, like, starting your own nonprofit and a podcast by the time you were fourteen. Braden’s mom wasn’t writing term papers for him or coordinating volunteer projects. I was proud of him. I was proud of all of them. Not every kid had it all together by this age. Not every kid was—or needed to be—college bound. But they were all making their way the best they could, and I felt increasingly privileged to be a part of their lives during this critical time when they were figuring it all out. It made me wonder if I could actually leave them all behind.
Drew, as if reading my mind, said sarcastically, “Thanks a lot, Coach. You could have put Braden and me in charge of this whole baby collection campaign. We really could have used the press coverage.”
Braden was number one in the senior class; Drew was number one in the junior. They teamed up a lot for résumé-building activities and kept each other motivated. You were, after all, the sum of the five people you hung out with. Maybe that’s why I was getting to be an increasingly better person. These kids were my role models. Sad but true.
“Sorry, man. I’ll try to be better.”
Walking into Daisy’s town house for the first time without her felt kind of wrong. She’d lived here for only a few days, which was evident by how sparse it was. The small living room had a couch, two chairs, and a TV set up on a cardboard box. Out the window, between the two houses across the street, was a sliver of sound view. To the right was a small, well-appointed kitchen and space for a table and chairs, which she didn’t have. Through a small hallway was a new bathroom, well-sized for the town house, with a bathtub and separate shower. To the left, again with a slight water view, was Daisy’s room. To the right, as promised, was an empty room. I dropped all the bags I was holding in the kitchen and pointed for the boys to put the crib they were carrying in there.
Julie and Cheryl walked up behind me holding bags and—Julie’s contribution—art. “It’s in there,” I said, pointing to the baby’s room. “Hey, can you guys handle this? I have one more thing I want to do.”
I snapped a bunch of pictures and quickly helped the guys unload the truck. Then I drove down the street I knew so well and walked right in the front door of Dogwood. It was approaching five o’clock, but Parker and Amelia’s living room–turned–Southern Coastheadquarters was still buzzing with activity. Amelia spotted me first, which was good because she was who I needed.
“Are you still busy?” I asked.
She looked around. “Do I look busy?”
She was holding papers in her hand and jotting something down on the huge whiteboard at the front of the room.
“I did what you said, but I still need your help.” I grinned at her, hoping I was charming. “You’re the finisher, right? There’s no one quite like Amelia Thaysden.”
I showed her the pictures of Daisy’s nearly empty apartment.
“Okay. Let me think.” She put her pen in her mouth. “There’s a gorgeous armoire wrapped in stable blankets in the barn that her TV could go in. And there’s a table and chairs, and…” She sighed. “Just never mind.
“Parker!” she called. “I’m going to help Mason. Y’all just figure it out.”
He looked mystified. “Amelia, I am the publisher. I am not qualified to make editorial decisions, and need I remind you, we leave tomorrow.”
“I am aware,” she said. She kissed him lightly. “I have full faith in you.” Then she turned to walk out and motioned for me to follow, Parker calling, “I do not have faith in me! Amelia!”
