Page 37

“No.” Markham sighed. “Rand’s on his way out the door. If this is as bad as the look on your faces says it is, I may not be back to coach.” He paused, looking West in the eyes. “This will be your team, West. Step up and be the leader they need now.”

“I’d rather stay with you. See that you’re okay.”

“And I’m telling you the team needs you, West. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He looked to Rand. “I’m going to clear the locker room. Go to the hospital with him. I’ll go find Mrs. Markham and send her over.”

“Will do,” Rand said.

Before West could go, Coach Markham said, “Wait.” He removed the whistle from around his neck and passed it to West. “You’ll be needing this.”

He accepted it, placing it over his head. He’d never worn a whistle before. It was a powerful moment, this transfer of power. West leaned down and gently hugged Coach.

“I’ll come to the hospital as soon as I can.”

With that, he picked up the clipboard holding all Coach’s notes and left the conference room. He headed to the locker room, seeing that almost every player was already dressed.

“Listen up!” he yelled. “You need to be out on the field in two minutes for warmups. Get moving!”

Those already completely dressed headed for the door. The few left began scrambling, pulling jerseys over their heads or lacing up their cleats. West motioned to the coaches, who all moved in his direction.

“It looks as if Coach is having a heart attack. Ambulance is on its way,” he shared quietly. “He wants this scrimmage to continue as planned. I’ll be in charge, per his instruction. Any questions?”

“Are you going to tell the kids?” asked the defensive coordinator, his face filled with trepidation.

Quickly, he made up his mind. “Let’s go through the pre-game warm-up, and then I’ll address them as a team. For now, head out there and keep things as normal as possible.”

The staff walked as a group from the fieldhouse to the playing field.

West scanned the stands, looking for Mrs. Markham, and found her sitting in her usual spot, ten rows up, behind the home team’s bench, at the fifty-yard-line.

He climbed the bleachers, shaking a few hands, and arrived at where she was seated.

He asked the woman next to her if he could scoot in for a minute, and she moved over.

“Why, hello, West,” she said as he joined her. “It’s so good to see you again. All of Hawthorne is thrilled to have you back, especially my husband.”

“I’m happy to have landed a position on Coach’s staff.” He leaned in closer and quietly said, “Coach won’t be on the sidelines for today’s scrimmage. I called 911. An ambulance should be here soon. You should go to the fieldhouse and ride to the hospital with him.”

She looked stricken. “It isn’t indigestion, is it? He’s been complaining of it. He was more anxious, too, than usual this morning.”

“I think he may have had a small heart attack or is about to have one,” he confided. “Let’s go.”

West accompanied her down the bleachers, walking with her to the fieldhouse. By now the ambulance had arrived, and EMTs were placing Coach Markham on a stretcher for transport.

“Georgia,” Coach said, his voice thick with emotion.

“West told me what’s going on,” Mrs. Markham said. She looked to one of the EMTs. “I’m riding with you. I’m his wife.”

“Then let’s step on it, ma’am,” the EMT said.

West took Coach’s hand, gripping it and walking beside him as they carted him out to the ambulance.

“You’ll be fine,” he promised.

“Since when did you earn a medical degree?” Coach asked, giving West a hard time.

“Be quiet and do what they tell you, you ornery fool,” he said, mustering a smile.

Coach was loaded into the ambulance and it sped away. West returned to the fieldhouse, collecting his thoughts. He emerged once again, going over to the stadium, watching the rest of warmups.

Blowing his whistle, he signaled things had come to an end. He motioned for the team to join him in the end zone. When they had all gathered around him, players and coaches alike, he addressed them.

“Coach Markham won’t be with us today. He’s had a medical emergency.” He paused, letting that sink in.

“What does that mean, Coach?”

It was the first time a player had addressed him that way. The words were sweeter than any West could imagine, other than hearing words of love from Kelby.

“The EMTs believe he might have suffered a mild heart attack. Coach doesn’t want any of us worrying about that now. In fact, he’d probably climb off his stretcher and kick anyone’s butt if they let worrying about him affect their play today.”

He got the chuckles he’d hoped for, wanting to lighten the mood.

“Today is important. A lot rides on it. We need to see how our schemes play out in real time so we’ll know what to leave alone, what to tweak, and what to junk.

You need to show us everything you’ve got today because we’ll be setting our rosters based upon your play today.

I know every player’s goal is to be a starter, and that can’t happen for everyone.

If you become a starter, do your best to keep that role.

If you’re down the depth chart, then you have a goal to reach for. ”

West gazed across the sea of faces. “Now, let’s go and play some great ball.” He thrust out his hand, as did all the others. “Hawks on three. One, two three.”

“Hawks!” cried the group.

He tugged on his ballcap, a battered one with the HHS logo and picture of a hawk above the brim.

Carrying his clipboard, he headed to the sidelines.

Even though it was only a scrimmage, the band was there and started playing the school fight song.

The cheerleaders were decked out in uniforms, shaking their pompoms. The drill team was in the stands, doing some kind of hand routine to the band’s tune.

Scanning the crowd, he spied Kelby. She waved, giving him a radiant smile. He touched his bill in acknowledgement, glad that seeing her had him centered once more, and then went to the referees on hand.

“Gentlemen, I’m Coach Sutherland,” he said, a bit of pride tingeing his voice. “Coach Markham is indisposed today, and so I’ll be taking over in his stead.”

“Please to meet you, Coach,” one of the refs said. “I played against you in the state finals. I was that middle linebacker looking to take a piece out of you on every play.”

He grinned. “I recall you quite clearly. I’m just glad I don’t have to be tackled by you or anyone else these days. We good to go?”

The refs nodded and took the field.

West raised the whistle to his lips and blew one loud, shrill whistle. The offense and defense took the field and lined up for the kick-off. The kicker, a rising sophomore, acknowledged the ref’s signal and kicked the ball. A lanky kick-off returner caught it and headed up the field.

And thus began West’s indoctrination into coaching high school football.