Fourth Down Read online

  Coach

  Well, shit. If I was being honest, the idea of getting the hell out of this town and going back to LSU and being part of the team again, even if it was not in a playing capacity, was exciting. However, quick on the heels of excitement was the realization that I couldn’t leave my mom. Sure, I could move her with me, but this was her home, where she had lived for most of her life. On top of that was the fear that I couldn’t do it - couldn’t go back on the field, even if I was wearing a polo shirt instead of a jersey. Could I coach some of the nation’s top players when I couldn’t even watch a game on TV?

  Sighing, I tossed my phone on the bed. This was a worry for another day. Right now I had to drag my ass out of bed and get my mom to her appointment. I also had to make time before my shift to go through the bills and see if anything needed to be paid before the end of the week. Hopefully not, because I didn’t get paid until Friday, and we were already running low.

  Living the dream.

  *****

  “Don’t forget your scarf, Ma. It’s cold outside,” I reminded my mom as we prepared to leave the house. It was Tuesday, which meant an appointment with her oncologist to review her latest blood work results and discuss any necessary tweaks to her chemotherapy routine.

  “I should be reminding you to bundle up,” she joked as she wrapped the red scarf around her neck that she had worn for as long as I could remember. It’s true that our roles had switched over the last few years since I’d been back home. Growing up my mom had made sure I had everything I needed to succeed. Even when she worked two jobs to support the added costs of me playing football, she was always there to encourage me and take care of me. Now it was me who worked as much as possible to pay the bills. My mom had to stop working and go on disability this past summer when the chemotherapy treatments became more frequent and took too much out of her.

  My mom went out to my truck, and I locked the front door of the small two bedroom house that I grew up in. Climbing in the drivers’ seat, I started the engine and cranked the heat on full blast. If it was just me I would forgo the heat and roll the windows down, letting the crisp November air blow through the cab, but my mom was always cold lately.

  “Remember that you’re coming in with me today to see Dr. Greene,” my mom said.

  How could I forget? I usually dropped my mom off for treatments or waited out in the front waiting room. Hospitals gave me the creeps, and I tried to avoid them as much as possible. I didn’t need the doctor to tell me that my mom was getting worse; I could see it every day. But I was afraid that was the reason she was insisting I join her today.

  We already knew that her cancer couldn’t be cured. The chemotherapy treatments only served to keep it at bay for as long as possible. I knew my mom was slowly dying, but I tried not to think about it. She wasn’t going to die today or tomorrow, and I didn’t think much farther into the future. After my injury in college, the future ceased to exist for me.

  After a quick stop at the bank to deposit the majority of my tip money, I pulled up to the front entrance of the hospital and let my mom out. She waited for me to park and join her before leading me to the bank of elevators that would take us up to the fifth floor. The Oncology floor.

  My mom was wringing her hands as we rode the elevator. “And remember we have the home health service starting today,” she said.

  A couple of weeks ago I decided we needed to take advantage of the home health aide that her insurance would cover. The routine used to be that I would work afternoons and evenings, so I was available to drive my mom to her appointments in the mornings. As she grew weaker, I worried about her being home alone while I was working. Today was the first day an aide would be over to stay with my mom. When I brought up the idea, I planned to just use the service on the days I was working, but my mom had other plans. She insisted we use the full benefit and have someone every day, so I would be able to have some free time.

  Only I had no idea what I would do with my free time. Josh was married and had a new baby at home. Grady was wrapped up in his rekindled relationship with Lindsay. They would all welcome me, of course, but I felt like the fifth wheel whenever we all hung out.

  We waited in the waiting room with other somber and worried people until the nurse finally called us back. I expected to be going to an exam room, but instead we were taken to Dr. Greene’s office. As we took our seats on the other side of his large glossy wood desk, I was overcome with the sudden urge to run - far and fast. Before I could bolt, my mom reached over and patted my arm. The look in her eyes wasn’t worried, and I realized that she already knew what Dr. Greene was going to say. This meeting was solely for my benefit, and I felt like I was the target of an intervention.

  “Thanks for coming in today, Ford. Maggie and I have already discussed her latest lab results and scans, but she wanted me to go over them with you as well,” Dr. Greene said with the kind of ease that could only come with telling people every day that they were going to die. What a fucking depressing job.

  “Maggie’s breast cancer is Stage Four, which you already know. The latest tests show us that the chemotherapy is no longer effective.”

  Dr. Greene and my mom were both looking at me, waiting for me to say something.

  “What does that mean? Does she need to switch to another type of treatment?” I asked.

  Dr. Greene shook his head and explained, “There are no other treatments to try, Ford. We’ve reached the end of the road. Your mother has four to six months left, and she has opted to discontinue treatments.”

  My eyebrows pulled together in confusion, and I frowned at Dr. Greene and then at my mom.

  “What do you mean four to six months? Four to six months left to live? Why are you stopping treatments? Don’t you want to fight this, mom?” My voice sounded desperate, but I couldn’t control it.

  My mom reached over and laid her hand on my arm. “Ford, honey, I have fought this. I have fought this cancer for years, but now it’s time to let go.”

  “You mean give up,” I accused her.

  “No, Ford. I’m not giving up; I’m accepting the inevitable. The treatments are no longer working, and I don’t want to spend my last few months dealing with the side effects of the chemo. We’ve known this time was coming, and I need your support.”

  I sat back in my chair out of her reach and crossed my arms over my chest. I was probably acting like a spoiled kid, but this was hard to hear. She was right that I knew this time was coming, but I never actually imagined what it would be like when it happened.

  Dr. Greene went over some test results and other shit that made no sense to me. It didn’t matter anyway. The bottom line was that in four to six months my mom would be dead. Dead, as in no longer living. Dead, as in gone forever.

  I paid just enough attention to the conversation to pick up that the plan now was for my mom to only take medicine that would help keep her comfortable. As she neared the end - God, that was hard to think about let alone say out loud - she would move to a hospice facility. I didn’t really understand what hospice was exactly, but I wasn’t in the mood to ask more questions and find out more information that I didn’t want to hear.

  We didn’t talk when we left Dr. Greene’s office and rode the elevator down to the first floor. When we reached my truck, I helped my mom into her seat and took a minute before getting into my own. Resting against the tailgate, I took off my baseball cap and ran my hand through my hair. As hard as this was for me, it had to be a million times harder for my mom. I needed to get it together and stop acting like such a pussy. She needed my support, and I would do my best to give it to her.

  “Do you want to stop at that place on the lake for lunch?” I asked when I started up my truck. It was a local winery that served lunch. The food was overpriced and I always left feeling like I’d hardly eaten anything, but my mom loved the light girly food they served.

  My mom’s eyes lit up, and she said, “I’d love to. But we need to be home by 2:00 to meet the home
health aide.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I sighed.

  “Thank you, honey,” my mom said. She looked like she had more to say, but she knew me well. I’m sure she could tell that I was about at my limit for today.

  After a lunch of some cold nasty soup and a salad that looked like it came straight from the yard, I resigned myself to grabbing a burger when I got to work later. It was just a few minutes before 2:00 when we pulled onto our street.

  Our house was in a more rundown area of town. Up until last year, my mom had always made our small yard cheery and welcoming with tons of flowers. But now that the yard work was solely my responsibility, the yard was lucky to see the mower once a week. Our house, like the rest of my life, had become neglected and depressing.

  As we neared our house I saw an old rusted Honda in our driveway, parked in my spot.

  My mom noticed my scowl and warned me, “You be nice. I don’t want to scare her off on her first day.” Why was she always telling me to be nice?

  The Honda was empty as I pulled up next to it. Looking toward our front porch I saw a girl standing at the door. When I had called the agency to line up an aide, I declined a personal interview and asked them to pick the two aides that would alternate days. I was now regretting that decision as I saw how young she looked. Surely they didn’t send someone who was still in high school.

  She hadn’t heard us arrive and was still facing the door, probably waiting for someone to answer it. With long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, she was average height and slender though her figure was concealed under a pair of bright pink scrubs. When we walked up the sidewalk she heard us approaching and turned around.

  Oh, hell no.

  Her eyes widened as she saw me, and even though I wasn’t close enough to see now, I knew they were hazel. I remembered them from the night before when she tried to order a drink without ID at the pub.

  Looks like she remembers me too. The pleasant smile fell from her face, and she started wringing her delicate hands in front of her.

  Yeah, sweetheart. You should be nervous, because there was no way in hell I’m letting some irresponsible party girl take care of my mom.

  My mom greeted the girl warmly, oblivious to the tension between us. “Hello! You must be Poppy Mitchell. I’m Maggie Walsh, and this is my son, Ford.”

  Poppy? What the fuck kind of name is that?

  They shook hands and Poppy’s eyes flicked to mine. “It’s nice to meet you, Maggie.” She paused a moment before acknowledging me. “Ford.”

  My mom was looking at me with a no nonsense expression and practically sending me mental messages to be nice. I stuck out my hand but didn’t say anything or smile. I wasn’t going to make this easy on her. Poppy eyed my hand warily before placing her hand in mine. Her skin was soft but she had a good grip. She raised her eyes to mine, and I could almost see her trying to regain her professional demeanor.

  My mom unlocked the door and went inside. I held the screen door for Poppy to go before me. I wasn’t a complete asshole, and I knew I would hear it from my mom if I abandoned my manners. But she hesitated and turned to face me instead. I was a good eight inches taller than her, so she had to tilt her head to look up at me when she spoke.

  “Um…I want you to know that I wasn’t trying to drink underage last night. Brooke, my friend…she ordered for me all on her own.”

  My eyes swept over her face before locking with hers. I didn’t say anything for a minute, kind of enjoying making her uncomfortable. She could very well have been telling the truth. I knew girls like her friend, and they were nothing but trouble. Even if she wasn’t trying to drink underage, it didn’t erase the fact that she was young. I didn’t have any confidence that she should be taking care of my mom.

  “Mmm hmm,” I muttered and motioned for her to go into the house. She seemed taken aback that I didn’t automatically accept her excuse and frowned at me. Her eyebrows pulled together and her full lips pouted slightly. Young, pretty and sexy - even in scrubs. A dangerous combo. But I doubted she would last more than a day, so I didn’t need to worry about it.

  My mom immediately started to show Poppy around the house while I went to change my shirt. I had to be at work in less than an hour, so I traded my sweatshirt for a long sleeve shirt with The Last Call logo on the chest.

  By the time I got back downstairs, my mom and Poppy were sitting on the couch chatting and laughing like old friends. I narrowed my eyes at them and took a seat across from them. Time to start the interrogation. When I left for work I would call the agency and have them find a replacement before Poppy’s next shift.

  “So, what kind of experience do you have?” I asked, interrupting their conversation. Both my mom and Poppy turned to look at me. Poppy’s eyes still had a trace of the nervousness I had seen earlier, and my mom looked annoyed at my rudeness.

  My mom opened her mouth, probably to scold me, but Poppy replied first. While the slight tremor in her voice gave her away, I begrudgingly respected that she was trying to hold her own against me. She lifted her chin slightly and launched into a recitation of her resume.

  “I’m a junior in college, majoring in biology. I plan on going to medical school to become an oncologist. This is my fifth aide assignment in the two years I have been working for the agency. I also teach yoga classes at the community center.”

  Okay, I’ll admit all that is impressive. I’ll admit it to myself, but I wasn’t ready to let her off the hook quite yet.

  “Why have you gone through so many aide assignments?”

  Poppy glanced at my mom before answering my question. “The agency assigns me exclusively to cancer patients because of my career interest…specifically terminal cancer patients.”

  She may have been qualified after all, but her implication that my mom was the next on her list of soon to be dead patients didn’t sit well with me. Not after the meeting I had already endured earlier with Dr. Greeme.

  “So, what? Are you like the Angel of Death?” I sneered.

  I got the reaction I was looking for when Poppy flinched at my accusation. My mom glared at me.

  “Ford! That’s enough.”

  Poppy ignored my mom and responded in a snotty tone of voice. “The agency assigns me to these patients, because there aren’t many people who can handle it. The patients are usually very accepting of their situation and grateful for my help. It’s the family members who are the most difficult to deal with.”

  I leaned forward in my seat, prepared to tell her just what she could do with this difficult family member when my mom cut me off.

  “Ford, you need to leave. Now!”

  With one last glare at Poppy, I pushed out of my chair and stalked out of the house. How dare she talk so casually about my mom dying. This was just a job for her, a stepping stone in her well planned out career path. But this was my fucking life. My reality.

  Chapter Three

  Poppy

  It had been two weeks since my first day as Maggie’s home health aide. The other aide on her service, Jane, and I split the week with me working Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. My shifts went from 2:00 pm to midnight. I knew that Ford worked from 3:00 pm to 11:00 pm on those days, but he always left right when I got there and didn’t get home until exactly midnight.

  He was definitely avoiding me, and I tried not to take it personally. I was used to hostility from family members who hadn’t yet accepted that their loved one was dying. But with Ford, I couldn’t help but feel like our run-in on Halloween was still clouding his opinion of me.

  On my first day I got the distinct impression that I would be told not to come back, but I think Maggie liked me too much. Ford was mean and unforgiving, but it was clear that he loved his mom. If she wanted me to stay, I doubt he would have gone against her wishes.

  Maggie had accepted her diagnosis well, and she wasn’t yet in bad physical shape. Although she knew the time was coming where she wouldn’t be able to do much other than rest. In the meantime she was tr
ying to get her affairs in order, and she had asked for my help. During my shifts last week I had driven her to the funeral home to pre-arrange her funeral, to her lawyer’s office to finalize her will, and to the realtor’s office to discuss putting her house up for sale.

  This week her goal was to start packing up the house. Since I had only seen Ford in passing, I had no idea if he knew what she was doing. I doubted it though. Given his hostility before, I thought he was having a hard time accepting the situation. And he was home with Maggie every morning. If he knew all that she was doing he would probably have been the one to drive her around. I cringed to think of his reaction when he found out. Hopefully it happened during Jane’s shift.

  Parking my car on the street in front of Maggie’s house, I ran my fingers through my long wavy hair before getting out. I had learned the first day not to take Ford’s spot in the driveway.

  I was dressed in tight jeans, a navy blue cardigan with a white tank top underneath and my secondhand Uggs that I had found at the thrift store. The agency required we wear scrubs unless the patient preferred us to wear regular clothes. Some people, like Maggie, wanted to feel like the aide was more of a friend than a health care worker.

  I got out of my old Honda and shut the door gently so it didn’t fall off. Before I made it two steps up the sidewalk, the front door opened and Ford came out looking mad as hell.

  Uh oh.

  He wasn’t wearing his signature ball cap, and his hair was sticking up in all directions like he had been running his fingers through it. His faded jeans hugged his long legs as he stalked down the steps, muttering to himself.

  I halted in place, hoping he would just get in his truck and leave. But today was not my lucky day when his angry blue eyes landed on me. I didn’t think he could look any meaner than he usually did, but his eyes narrowed at me and his frown deepened.