At around ten he drove her back to the condo and walked her to the door.

“When can I see you again?” he asked.

She wouldn’t mind having Cletus for a friend. “I don’t know.” She dug her keys out of her clutch purse. “I’m really busy with my sister, and I don’t have a lot of free time. Call me though, and maybe we can get together for coffee.”

“Oh. You’re one of those.”

One of those?

“You think you’re too good for me. You think because I teach math that I’m not any fun. You think I’ll be pacified with a little coffee date.”

“Cletus, my sister’s in the hospital, and I have to take care of my niece,” she said through a sigh. “I just don’t have a lot of time for real dates.”

“Sure you don’t. I bet if I had a lot of money, you’d find the time. If I’d been one of the popular guys in school, you’d be dying to date me.”

Adele looked at him, and she couldn’t get angry. It wasn’t his fault he’d turned into a jerk. It was hers. She was still cursed.

Chapter 5

One hundred fifty miles west of Cedar Creek, Zach was beginning to wonder if he was cursed, too. Cursed with a defense that hesitated on the snap and couldn’t get past a determined offensive line to rush the quarterback.

Within the guest locker room of the Grande Communications Stadium in Midland, he and his assistant coaches stood surrounded by the rattle of Tylenol bottles, the rip of athletic tape, the smell of grass, sweat, and frustration. In the first half of the game against Midland, the Cougars were behind by fourteen points.

Zach folded his arms across his dark green Cougar’s Football jacket while the defensive coach, Joe Brunner, drew a diagram of the zone blitz on a marker board. “We spent all goddamn week reviewing the Bulldogs’ tapes,” Joe said as he drew x’s and o’s on the board. “We knew goin’ into this game that they play their zone better than any team we’ve been up against this year. Their goddamn quarterback is just sittin’ back in the pocket lobbing balls to the soft spot, and you guys aren’t goddamn rushin’ him.” Joe drew dashes and arrows from the linebackers through the o’s as he continued.

Zach liked Joe. He respected his knowledge and devotion and his gut instinct. Joe had played cornerback for Cedar Creek and later for Virginia Tech in the nineties. No one loved football more than Joe Brunner, but he had a problem that held him back from ever being a head coach. He cracked under pressure. Right in half like someone split him with an ax, and out came a spitting, whirling devil. It was every coach’s job to get their boys to pull their heads out of their asses and turn games around, but that was hard to do if the fifty-three players in front of you were trying not to laugh.

Zach stood with the offensive coach to one side and watched to make sure Joe didn’t crack. They interjected when necessary and were relieved that only two veins popped out on Joe’s forehead. For most of Zach’s life, he’d been a quarterback, not a coach, but he’d played ball for some of the best coaches and some of the worst. He’d led teams to championships, and he knew the difference between being stern and going off on a tirade. He knew that players would leave their blood on the field for someone they respected and who respected them. A good coach inspired that kind of respect.

When Joe was finished, Zach stepped in front of the marker board. “Y’all know what you gotta do,” he said. “You go out there and make those Midland boys sorry that they showed up today.” He pointed to the defensive ends. “If you get blocked, I better hear it from where I’m standin’, and I don’t want to see you getting stopped by any more of those pussy finesse blocks. You get around those boys and run upfield like someone lit your ass on fire. You go after that quarterback and force him to get rid of that ball before he’s ready.” He pushed his ball cap to the back of his head and gathered the team around him. “The first half of this game is history, gentlemen. There isn’t anything we can do about it now. Let’s put it behind us.

“Last week when we lost Don, everyone started saying we were done. But I don’t believe that. One player does not make a team great. It’s what’s in each player’s heart and gut that makes a team great. It’s your job to go out there and show you have the guts and heart to turn this game around. I know you can do it. Tonight’s battle is not over. We’re not finished. We’re only down by fourteen, let’s go show ’em y’all are winners.”

He looked them all in the face. “So let’s hear it together: hearts, guts, glory.”

“Hearts, guts, glory!” the team shouted as they butted helmets.

“Now get out there and kick some Bulldog ass!”

Zach and the other coaches followed behind the team, the sound of cleats on concrete bouncing off the tunnel walls. The Cougars broke onto the field running as the Cedar Creek band played the school fight song. The players butted chests and helmets and fists, and in the second half, the defense finally broke through the Midland offensive line and rushed their quarterback. The Cougars closed the gap in the score and in the last few seconds of the game kicked a thirty-seven-yard field goal to win by three points.

As Zach filed off the field with his boys, he thought about the mistakes made in the first half. Next Friday night’s game was against Amarillo in Lubbock, and the Sandies had one of the toughest defenses of any team they’d played so far. If the Cougars played like they had against Midland, they’d get their asses handed to them and their run for the state championship would be over.

After the game, more than a dozen buses waited outside the stadium to be filled with players, cheerleaders, band and drill-team members, sponsors, and Cedar Creek students. Zach had driven his Escalade to Midland, preferring the comfort and speed of his Cadillac to that of a bus.

Usually, Tiffany went to the games, but not if it meant traveling.

He made it home in two and a half hours and fell into bed at 1:00 A.M. There was never practice on Sundays, and he planned to take advantage of it and sleep. Tiffany had other plans.

“Daddy,” she said, shaking his shoulder.

He cracked his eyes open. “What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“This had better be an emergency.”

“It is. We need to get stuff for my party.”

“What party?”

“My dance-team party. It’s today. Did you forget?”

For a few blissful hours he had forgotten that his house would be invaded by a dozen screaming thirteen-year-olds. “Christ on a crutch,” he groaned.

“Don’t swear,” his thirteen-year-old said, sounding a lot like his mother.

“Sorry.”

“Get up. We gotta get some burgers and stuff ’cause I wanna barbecue outside. You said we could, remember?”

“Don’t you girls just want to sit around and quietly watch the tube?”

“Daddy, you’re so funny.” Tiffany laughed. “I turned the heat up in the pool and told the girls to bring their swimsuits, if they wanted. I figured we could drag those big heater things out of the guesthouse and set them up on the lower terrace. Or maybe we can push everything out of the entertainment room and set up some tables so we can eat in there after we swim. What do you think, Daddy?”

Zach turned on his stomach and pulled a pillow over his head. “Just shoot me now.”

Midafternoon sunshine poured through the windshield as Adele pulled the car over to the side of the road and covered her face with her hands. She’d held it together in the hospital. She’d had to be strong for Sherilyn, but she’d never been so frightened in her life. For the last two hours, she’d stood in her sister’s hospital room, holding Sherilyn’s hand and watching her blood pressure rise. The intense beeps of the fetal heart monitor still echoed in her ears.

The doctors had come within minutes of wheeling Sherilyn to the delivery room and taking the baby before her blood pressure had slowly lowered out of critical range. At twenty-one weeks, the baby had a chance of surviving outside the womb, but not without the risk of serious health complications.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she’d told her sister over and over when everything was clearly not okay. But she hadn’t known what else to say. What to do besides stand there and watch and wait and hold it all together.

Tears slid from behind her lids, and she opened her mouth to gasp for air. She sobbed past the clog in her throat, and all the fear and sorrow and anger that she’d kept inside for her sister’s sake tore at her lungs, and she cried into her hands. The last two hours had been the worst hours of her life, and as she’d stood there helpless, trying to be strong for Sherilyn, she couldn’t help but hate William Morgan more than she already did. It should have been him there. Holding his wife’s hand and fighting for his baby. Instead, he was off acting like an idiot and boning his young assistant.

Adele took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her tears slowed, and she rubbed her hands across her wet cheeks. As she dug around in the console between the seats in search of a Kleenex, she reached in her purse for her cell phone. Sherilyn being Sherilyn had a little pack of tissues in the console, and Adele pulled one out of the package as she flipped open her phone.

It was half past three, and she was a little late picking up Kendra from her dance party. She dried her eyes and blew her nose, and instead of calling Kendra, Adele dialed her sister’s old home phone number in Fort Worth, where William still lived. The answering machine picked up after the fifth ring.

“This is Dr. William Morgan,” he began, and in the background a female giggled, “and Stormy Winter.” Bitch. “I am indisposed at present,” William continued. “Please leave a brief message and a telephone number where you may be reached.”