He looked down again, and I left the space alone. I didn’t ask if he was scared, didn’t give him a guarantee I had no authority to make, and damn sure wasn’t turning one sentence into a counseling session because he’d trusted me enough to say it. Sometimes, a man told you exactly as much as he was ready to tell you. Paying attention meant knowing when not to ask for more.
I reached into my duffel bag and pulled out a Hershey’s bar with almonds.
Malik stared at it. “You serious?”
“I look unserious?”
“It ain’t even eight.”
“Chocolate knows what time it is?”
That got a real laugh from him. He accepted the bar and looked at the wrapper. “You always got candy?”
“I stay prepared.”
“For what?”
“Adversity.”
“That don’t make no sense.”
“You holding the chocolate, though.”
He nodded. “Fair.”
Malik slid it into the front pocket of his backpack. “Appreciate you, Coach.”
“Appreciate me after you eat some real food too. Chocolate is morale support. Don’t misuse the intervention.”
His smile looked closer to normal. “Yes, sir.”
“Go work.”
He jogged toward his group, and I was still watching him when Malcolm appeared beside me carrying three cones beneath one arm and two footballs beneath the other.
“You handing out candy?”
“Why you in my business?”
“Because your business apparently got snacks.”
“It was for Malik.”
The joke left Malcolm’s face before I said anything else. His attention followed Malik across the field. “What’s up?”
“His mama started chemo yesterday.”
Malcolm watched him another second, then looked back at me. “Damn. He need anything?”
“He hasn’t asked.”
“Aight. If he does, let me know.”
“I will.”
That was one thing people missed about Malcolm if they paid too much attention to his mouth. He knew exactly when to close it. The seriousness lasted approximately four seconds before his eyes dropped toward my open duffel, and I knew I was about to regret letting him stand near me.
“So what else you got in there?” I stared at him. “I’m asking because I, too, have experienced hardship.”