Except for Chris Coughlin, we ignore them. Chris paces the sidelines, watching Barbour and Marshall as if they were man-eating tigers, his letter jacket snapped to the top as if he thinks one of them is going to strip it off.
Tay-Roy stands on the sidelines beside Kristen, ignoring Barbour’s existence.
The game has every possibility of turning sour from the beginning. Heidi came down to watch us all day yesterday and is now a fan of Spike Lee proportions. When it was clear we would play the Bushwhackers this morning, it was agreed that she and Alicia would stay home, but Heidi was inconsolable, particularly after Dad had said he’s going to be shooting from the bleachers to keep from getting beat up underneath all day. Heidi is literal. We tell her Daddy Rich will be there and that he’ll be playing against us, and she wants to go anyway. We call Georgia, and she says if Alicia is willing to show Heidi that she can protect her from Rich, it might even be good for the kid. Georgia thinks she’d like to take in a day of Hoopfest herself and will come down to walk Heidi and Alicia through it if need be.
It is a mistake.
They get first outs. I’m on Barbour, Dad’s got Rich, and Simet is on Alex Neilson. Mott and Weeks will sub. We play better than we have a right to play, probably because Rich has seen the twins and Heidi with Alicia and Georgia, and it gets into his head. He calls Dad Pops and works him over inside, but Dad is patient and pulls down several offensive boards and gets a couple of put-backs. For most games there is only a court monitor, but the Bushwhackers have already been involved in some near fights, so we have a ref.
The ref warns Rich twice about flying elbows and pushing Dad from behind, but Dad tells him no sweat and plays through it. Dad doesn’t have finesse, but he’s in killer shape for a guy his age and even stronger than he looks. He plays smart, always stays between his man and the hoop, and picks up a lot of garbage rebounds.
Barbour is trash-talking me like Dennis Rodman, but I’m quietly working him over, bringing him out on me because my jumper is falling, then driving to the hoop when he leaves me room. It’s illegal to dunk because the backboards can’t handle it, so I’m setting them just over the rim. Barbour does have a nasty inside hook he lifts over me a couple of times, but I watch it close, and the third time he tries it, I slap it into the crowd, then land directly in front of him, staring.
When we have them down 19 to 17, they bring in Weeks, who is deadly from outside. At Hoopfest a regular basket counts as one and a normal three pointer counts two. Dad waves Mott in, hands him the ball, and says, “End this shit.” Weeks steps back and sinks a two-pointer for them, and we get the ball. I drive past Barbour to the hoop, flip the ball out to Mott, who pivots on his bionic leg to square up and sinks the long ball. Slammin’ Mermen 21, Assholes 19.
Heidi jumps up and down, clapping with glee, with no sense of her father’s humiliation. We try to shake their hands, but only Weeks and Neilson respond. Marshall slams the ball into the ground so hard it lands two courts away, and he and Barbour disappear into the crowd.
Dad waits until he’s sure Rich is gone, then hoists Heidi onto his shoulders at her request. Chris dances around like he’s been set free, Jackie claps his fins together like a baby seal, Simon thrusts a meaty fist into the air while Dan runs over our stats to deaf ears. Tay-Roy and Kristen watch.
As we gather the last of our gear, we hear gasps on the other side of the court and look up to see the crowd part. I glimpse the muzzle of the deer rifle, think it’s pointed at Dad, and scream his name, but Rich levels the barrel on Heidi, the one person whose loss would touch us all most. Dad whirls at the sound of my voice and instinctively dives directly into the path of the bullet. His body crashes to the pavement with a thud.
There is chaos. Later I will learn that Barbour followed Marshall back, trying to catch and stop him, and was actually the guy who got the gun away; and that Alicia threw herself over Heidi and the boys in an act that will go a long way toward getting her kids back in her care.
But in the moment, there is only me and Dad. He says, “Oh, man, this is bad.”
I’m screaming for a doctor, but he puts his hand to my mouth. “Is Heidi okay?”
I spot her under Alicia, next to Georgia. “Yeah. She’s okay. Hold on, Dad. They’re getting help.” All around me people holler for a doctor.
He shakes his head, and I see blood leaking onto the pavement. He says, “This doesn’t feel good, T. J. I don’t think we have much time.”
“Dad, be quiet. Just relax. There’s help.”
“Listen!” He breathes slowly, and I hear air being sucked through the wound. “His name…was Tyler.”
“What?”
“The little boy. Under the truck…I can see him…” I hear the sucking sound again. “This isn’t…the light and the tunnel thing. I just see him…remember. The widow…she was Stacy…Stacy Couples.”
“Dad, hold on.” His head is cradled in the crook of my arm, and I look up and scream again for help. The crowd moves in; there are sirens.
“I’m not going to make it, T. J.” I can feel him giving up, relaxing. “Listen to me…I’m not afraid, but listen. Not one minute…” He starts to fade but fights back. “Not one minute…for revenge…”
“Dad, come on. Stay with me.”
“Listen!”
I hold his head tighter.
“Not one minute for revenge. I’ve spent my life…looking back…wanting to change things… This is okay… Promise you won’t…”
I glance over at Rich Marshall, pinned to the ground by Tay-Roy and Mike Barbour. Barbour is screaming at him. If I weren’t with Dad, I’d kill him. “Dad…”
“Promise.”
“Dad…”
“Promise!”
I do.
“You’re going to…have to…forgive him, T. J… He had no idea…what he was doing…”
That was Jesus’ last line. “Hold on, Dad.”
“You’re sure Heidi’s okay?”
“She’s okay, Dad. Alicia’s got her.”
He smiles faintly. “Guess I killed one and I saved one. Tell your mother…”
Oh, God, my mother.
“Tell her I love her.”
“You’ll tell her yourself, Dad. Just hold on.”
“Tell her thanks.”
He smiles, and I feel the most familiar feeling I know, that of the deer slipping away. My father is gone. I didn’t get a chance to tell him…he saved two.
There is a doctor, then paramedics. They pound his chest, give him mouth-to-mouth, hook him to the electronics, but Dad is gone. They don’t pronounce him dead before placing him in the ambulance, but that’s for my benefit. The cops cuff Rich, dragging him away; Chris Coughlin runs in circles, Mott stands silent on the edge of the court.
WHALE TALK
The road between Cutter and New Meadows, Idaho, is mostly two-lane. Once you get through Spokane and cut south, the traffic is light during the middle of the week, though it’s the only direct route between eastern Washington and southern Idaho. On a BMW cycle, staying within five or ten miles per hour of the speed limit, it’s about a six-and-a-half-hour trip.
I pull into town from the north, pass the Pine Knot, which, from the outside, looks a lot like my father described it. At the intersection I turn right and cruise slowly down Main Street, taking in the town of just more than seven hundred people, stretching my imagination back thirty years. It’s not much of a stretch. I see a sign for the cemetery and follow it, pulling the bike over at the gate. I place my helmet carefully on the backseat and walk in, reading the tombstones, looking for the little boy who changed my father’s life.