Crystal didnt blame Skips coach. The man, like many coaches of kids teams, was just a dad seeking an opportunity for his own son to play. As usual, more kids showed up than there were teams. So Sam Bingham had let himself be talked into attending a short course on coaching provided by the leagueand that was apparently all the qualification he needed.
Skipper looked so small. Encased from chest to knees in a new plaster cast, he lay in the large bed, clinging to his favorite toy. A football. Crystals heart twisted. Amazing that after everything hed been through, he still ate, slept and breathed football. He had to be in pain, yet he listened raptly as Randy, in the next bed, described a game Skip must have missed.
Crystal masked her feelings before she walked in. Skips coach had brought him the football. She didnt begrudge the boy his talisman. Kids in foster care had darned few possessions to call their own. Yet it was football that had landed him here. Crystal couldnt help feeling ambivalent.
Skips gaze left Randy as Crystal walked into the room. In spite of looking pale, he sent her a wide gap-toothed smile. Crystal, guess what? he said excitedly.
What? She leaned her sax in a corner and approached his bed. Her heart leaped. Did his joy mean the surgery had been successful? Would he soon be able to walk?
My new doctor said Caleb Tanner is down the hall in the adult wing. Isnt that cool?
Who? The name meant nothing to her.
The boys in all six beds stared at her. Hes practically the best quarterback the Sinners ever had, one of them informed her.
Ah. A ball player. She lifted a shoulder negligently and let it fall.
Skip tried unsuccessfully to sit up. Pain clouded his eyes, and his fingers clenched the football. He gave up, flopping back against his pillow.
What do you want, honey? A drink? Some ice chips? She tried to read the chart that sat on his night-stand. Is it time for your pain medication?
He thrust the football toward her. Would... would you go ask Cale to sign my ball? Nurse Pam said if you stop at the desk, shell give you a permanent marker. Cale might not have one. You know what? I think hes had more surgeries than me.
More? Oh, Skipper, I dont think so. I cant barge in on a sick man.
Hes not sick. Three guys hit him in a preseason game. Cale aint gonna let a little knee injury sideline him for long. Skip gingerly touched his cast. Dr. Snyder said me and Cale might have the same physical therapist.
Physical therapy? Thats wonderful news! Starting when?
Dunno. Soon, I think.
Then youll be able to get Mr. Tanners autograph yourself.
Randy says Calebs got the bucks to go to a private sports-medicine clinic for therapy. Maybe I wont see him. Please, Crystal. He extended the ball.
Crystal ruffled the boys sandy red hair. His mischievous green eyes and freckled cheeks went with his missing front tooth. Oh, all right. Give me that thing. If hes trussed up like you, the guy cant very well tackle me and toss me out.
The boys glee chased her to the nursing desk, where Pam Mason, an overworked floor nurse, rummaged through her desk for a pen. Follow this hall. At the end, turn left and go to room 306. Good luck, Crystal. I heard Tanners on a rampage. Hope you get Skips ball autographed. She dropped her voice. Skips operation today didnt go as well as wed hoped. His spinal ganglion didnt regenerate the way his doctors had expected.
No! Crystal said in a stricken voice. But I thought Skip was going to be starting physical therapy....
The nurse nodded. They cant allow his muscles to atrophy, even if hes confined to a wheelchair. Its past time we weaned him off pain meds, too.
A light on the board flashed. Omigosh! I left Eddie Trumble on the bedpan. Maybe we can chat before you leave. Will you be playing some tunes for the kids?
Crystal barely managed an affirmative response. Clasping the football tight against her shaky middle, she fled down the hall so Pam wouldnt see her tears. What would Skips fate be if he never walked again? Could his foster family manage that?
IN ROOM 306, Caleb Tanner, Cale to football buddies and fans, reeled from the latest shock. A set of X rays revealed that a compound break at the intertrochanteric line of his left thigh bone hadnt knit, despite weeks of traction. Worse, ligaments ripped from his left kneecap hadnt healed, either.
Dr. Forsythe, chief of Calebs surgical team, tucked the film back into its envelope. So thats why youre still in pain, even with strong medication, he said matter-of-factly.
Caleb gripped his agents arm. Dammit, Leland! I want a second opinion.
Two other surgeons standing at the foot of Tanners bed exchanged glances. Forsythe pursed his lips. Well talk again, Caleb. He motioned to his colleagues. He needs time to get used to the fact that his football career is over.
The veins in Calebs neck bulged. His mind went on fast forward. Just like it did when he zinged a football through the air to a player who hadnt even appeared yet in the spot hed selected.
My career is not over.
Then why was his stomach pitching worse than when a defensive lineman twice his size sacked him? He had to think. I will get well. Unfortunately Leland was in the middle of negotiating a new contract. If the press got wind of this...
Everyone but Leland, out! he demanded. And dont forget Im protected under patient-doctor privilege until I consult someone else.
See here, Tanner. I stand on our collective credentials, Forsythe gestured to his pals.
Caleb wished theyd all shut up. He needed a plan. With rent on his posh apartment due, his sister Patsy getting married soon and Jennys last-semester college fees fast approachingto say nothing of having moved his oldest sister, Gracie, into an Austin apartmenthe couldnt afford to take a season off. Truth be known, he was damned near broke. Again. Rationally he knew no amount of the material things he provided for the girls made up for the loss of their parents. But it eased his guilt about not being home for them more.
He wanted them to have the bestnot to scrimp or do without. But the expenses just kept mounting. Weddings, college fees, allowances and rent.
Gracie, at twenty-two, had graduated from the University of Texas and had an offer of a good entry-level job, but that meant she needed a nice wardrobe. She wouldnt be paying her own bills for a while. Caleb was suddenly forced to admit that monthly expenses for keeping the Tanner clan solvent took every penny he made. And according to the team manager, Caleb made a pretty penny, indeed. That was why negotiations had hit a snag.
Hell. Money always slipped through his hands like water through a sieve. Sure, he wore tailormade threads. Sure, he owned a collection of gas hogs and was guilty of giving his dates expensive trinkets. He was a high-profile quarterback. That kind of thing went with the territory. But he should have saved a few bucks. No one knew better than a farmer about saving for droughts or rainy days.
The whole sports world was aware that hed emerged from dirt-poor fanning roots to end up a star in the NFL. A melon jockey with magic hands, was how rural Texas reporters had described his feats with a football at the consolidated high school hed gone to. There was enough truth to it that his dad had gone out on a limb and mortgaged the farm to ensure his son got a chance to play college ball at & M. The old man enjoyed a one-year return on his sacrifice. Hell of a note.