At the Drive-In, page 15
“Mrs. Salazar, I honestly did not know that I had five white starters and five Mexicans not starting, and there’s a real good reason for that. It’s not because I have any kind of a problem with those girls, but because I honestly don’t care what color their skin happens to be. If you had asked me that question without telling me the answer, I would have had to stop and line them up in my head to figure out the right answer, but since you did that for me, now I know. But since it doesn’t matter, I’ll probably forget it again as soon as I walk out this door.”
A small crowd of parents had gathered, but he didn’t let that distract him.
“Let me tell you how I see things around here. I can tell you right off the top of my head without even having to think about it exactly how many seniors I have on my team, how many juniors, and how many sophomores, because that actually matters. I can tell you how many point guards, how many wing players, and how many post players are on this team, because that matters. I can tell you the exact height of every girl on this team. I can tell you who’s the fastest and who’s the slowest. I can tell you their exact shooting percentages, from the field and from the free throw line. I can tell you who has the most steals, the most assists, the most rebounds. Hell, I could even tell you who has the most turnovers. I can tell you which players have committed the most fouls and how many times they’ve fouled out. I can even tell you the grade point averages of every kid on my team. And do you know why I could tell you all those things? Because they actually matter. When I decide who starts or who plays or how much, those things matter. But you know what doesn’t matter? Whether they happen to be white, or brown, or black, or purple with polka dots.”
Mrs. Salazar was struck silent by his impassioned impromptu speech. She mumbled an apology and he pulled her aside to shield them both from the gathered onlookers. She walked with him to an empty corner of the gym and they sat on the bottom bleacher away from the curious few who were still meandering around. He looked her in the eye and lowered his voice so that their conversation would be private.
“Mrs. Salazar, I think the world of Evie and I want you to know that I do understand how you feel. I wish I could put her out there more, but I can’t make decisions based on what’s best for Evie, I have to make decisions based on what’s best for the team, the whole team. And I know that sometimes I make choices that aren’t the best for your child, but I can’t look at these girls the way you do. I can’t just look at one kid and think about what’s best for just her. I have to see them all. And I have to take care of them all.”
She spoke, barely above a whisper. “I just want her to get her chance.”
“She does. Every day. And I see her every day getting better and better. And next year, unless something really strange happens, she’s gonna be one of the best players on the team. We have four seniors that will be gone, and of the remaining players, there’s not a one who works harder than Evie. I will be shocked if she’s not starting next year.” He laughed softly. “And if my count is right, we’ll probably have at least four Hispanic starters, if anyone around here notices that kind of thing.”
Evie appeared and stood silently behind her mother who offered a sincere apology to Bradford. She thanked him for taking the time to speak with her and for his blunt honesty. Evie smiled and told him to have a great weekend. He returned her smile and wished her the same.
***
He saw Dalia at Sully’s and asked her to sit with him. They dropped the tailgate and she jumped up beside him. She looked somewhat uncomfortable and he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss adding to her discomfort.
“Someone called me a racist tonight.”
“Why? ‘Cause you only like brown girls like me?”
They shared a laugh. “Be serious.”
“No.”
And she was right. It was late and he didn’t feel like being serious either.
Only the Lonely, 1965
When Cora Peters first laid eyes on the little blue house with the slightly crooked front steps, she cried. The beautiful, country cottage would be her first married home and although the yard could use some sprucing up, she was thrilled. After the wedding, she had moved into Evan’s single bedroom apartment which she had never stopping thinking of as his bachelor pad. Now, six months later, he had found his first coaching position here in Eastlake, and he was fulfilling his first promise, that he would buy her a home of her own. When she crossed the threshold, she began to cry for entirely different reasons.
The smell was the worst part, even more depressing than the cracked paneling and the peeling paint. The carpet was filthy enough to appear spotted and the huge stain in the bedroom looked suspiciously like blood. Evan seemed not to notice and left her alone to go check in at the school. She sat on the sagging bed and buried her head in her hands.
Across town, Christopher David Manning was having a similar experience. As the brand new youth minister at the First Baptist Church, he had been given the parsonage rent-free to make up for the ridiculously low salary he was being paid. Or would be paid. So far, he had yet to receive a dime. The house was empty because the pastor and his wife had built a lovely home on the lake shortly after arriving in Eastlake over a decade earlier. The music minister had declined the offer to move in, as had the previous two staff members who had been offered the chance to occupy the space as well.
Years earlier, a part-time youth director had used the little house to conduct the high school Sunday School classes and Wednesday night activities. He had painted the place in garish shades of red, yellow, and orange, and had added the stripes, stars, and various other odd decorative choices that adorned most of the walls. The remains of old movie posters hung haphazardly throughout the tiny rooms. When Chris accepted the living arrangements, the deacons had managed to scrape together a few used items of furniture and had offered to buy the paint, if he would provide the labor to make the place seem more like a home again. He had agreed thinking that with the help of a few boys from the church, he could probably get it done.
He was only twenty-four and this would be his first job in the ministry. The pastor, Rob Summers had gone to school with his father years before and offered him the position without even forcing him to endure an interview. The deacons had hired the previous youth guy and he had lasted a scant six weeks before skipping town in the middle of the night to avoid the father of the seventeen-year-old girl he had been courting. At least, she had not been a part of his youth group at the church.
The deacons were hoping for an older, more mature candidate, but the pastor had exerted his influence and pushed for Manning to get the job. “Youth ministers are gonna be young. And if they’re not young, they’re probably not going to work out very well with our kids.”
So, Chris had moved to Eastlake and into the parsonage.
***
Cora had done her best to make the place livable. Evan had put her on a pretty tight budget and despite her pleas, he had refused to give her extra money for cleaning products. “Open up the windows and let the place air out. It’ll be fine.”
She had done that, but water and fresh air alone would not fix the problem. Having lived in his original apartment, she could understand why he was not particularly bothered by the conditions in which they now lived. He was quite the slob and no matter how often or how well she cleaned, Evan would soon have the place in disarray. He lived on junk food and she was constantly finding candy wrappers, empty chip bags, or even the remains of a meal, stuffed between the cushions of the couch or his favorite easy chair. She had mentioned it only once. It was the first time he had slapped her.
When she had first gone out with Evan Peters, he had been a perfect gentleman. A star linebacker on the college team, he was physically intimidating, but quiet and easygoing on a personal level. She would later discover his explosive temper and become acquainted with his violent side, the one he kept hidden from the outside world. Even his closest friends rarely saw this side of Evan, always assuming that his aggression was limited to the football field. Cora learned to tiptoe around him when his moods darkened and became an expert at calming the beast who was her husband.
The one incident in college had truly frightened her, but he had managed to convince her that it was a one-time mistake and that he would never strike her again. He swore that he had never hit a woman before and he would never do it again. He begged forgiveness and she gave it, believing that her love would help to conquer his inner demons whatever they were. After they were married, the demons began to show up daily.
***
Chris Manning soon had his youth group hard at work restoring the parsonage to a somewhat normal state. At least the walls were now beige instead of red and yellow and the stripes were gone. It had taken several coats to cover the varied colors, but soon, he could sit and relax with the paint fumes easier to accept than the hideous tones he had hidden. He bought a few framed pictures at the local resale shop and the place slowly began to resemble an actual home.
He purchased a tiny, second-hand TV and when he wrapped the rabbit ears with aluminum foil, he could get one channel pretty clear and another that was fuzzy and only came in late at night. He found an old coffee pot that still worked and on a good day, two of the four burners on the stove would work. The pastor and his wife came over when he had gotten settled. Mrs. Summers had found some old curtain rods in her garage and some of the original curtains as well. He thanked her for the help and they prayed over his humble abode and he was grateful.
Pastor Summers embraced the opportunity to mentor the young man and soon, Chris was thriving at the church. The youth department grew and so did his confidence in his ministry. Things were going well and then he met Cora Peters.
***
Despite the ongoing issues with her husband and his escalating bouts of temper, Cora was coming to love Eastlake. She had begun to make friends with the wives of the other coaches and when the team played at home, they all sat together huddled against the cold and the onslaught of negativity surrounding them. Hearing total strangers curse your spouse and critique his job performance on a play-by-play basis was a new experience for Cora. The head coach got the most attention, but the fans frequently singled out Evan knowing that he was making the defensive calls for the team. Whenever the opposing team scored, one parent in particular had never failed to blame it on “that idiot Peters.”
The team was off to a slow start and every loss meant that Evan would be in a foul mood for the entire weekend, but even when they won, he was never more than one comment away from snapping and lashing out at her in anger. She was still trying to get the house in shape, but she knew better than to ask for any extra funds to accomplish the task. She remained on a strict budget and the only time she had complained, he had backhanded her hard enough to leave a bruise. Usually he was careful about that sort of thing. He generally made sure to only hit her in places where the marks would not be seen.
Over the brief course of their marriage, he had given her plenty of noticeable bruises, but she had become adept at lying to blame her own clumsiness for the various injuries. Her old doctor had begun to suspect that her many accidents might not be so accidental, but then they had moved and her new doctor in Eastlake was only just now beginning to see a pattern.
The latest argument had been about a new subject. Tired of sitting home alone all day, Cora had walked a half-mile to Sully’s Drive-In and talked to the owner about a job as a carhop. Ellie Sullivan had been very nice and although she had a full staff at the moment, she took down her information and promised to call if anything opened up. She had even let her borrow a pair of skates to demonstrate her skills. She made Cora feel welcome and told her to come back anytime just to visit.
She had thought her husband would be proud of her for showing some initiative, but instead he went into a loud and ugly tirade.
“Why the hell would you wanna be a carhop? You wanna wear one of those skimpy outfits and flirt with a bunch of strange men every night?”
“Don’t be silly, Evan. I just thought it would be an easy way to bring in a little extra money, you know, to help around the house.”
“Oh, so now the truth comes out. I’m not makin’ enough money to support my own wife. That what you want everyone to think?”
“Not at all. I just thought it would help ...”
“Who told you to think!” He shoved her hard causing her to trip over the coffee table and end up on the floor. Before she could move, he kicked her in the ribs, then stepped over her and out the door. She lay there crying and wondering what she had ever done to deserve this.
The next morning, she apologized to him. She said she was sorry for having upset him, and she truly was sorry for that. She should have known better, she thought. He grunted and made his usual admission that he was sorry she had done that as well. It was as close as he ever came to an apology.
She suffered through the remainder of the weekend and by Monday, she had made the decision to finally act. She walked to the First Baptist Church and stood outside the office until the secretary arrived. Vera Lou Jenkins put her in a corner and made coffee, the aroma filling the small space. Cora tried to sit still, hurting with every breath. She thought bruised ribs, probably not broken. She knew all the signs and symptoms. It wasn’t her first rodeo, as her father would have said.
She wished her father were here, but sadly, he had made it crystal clear that if she married Evan Peters, she would be making an irreversible choice. Though he had charmed her mother and won her instant approval, Peters had repeatedly failed to convince her father of his sincerity. There was just something about the man, her father had decided, and no amount of pleading from his only daughter would change his mind. For his part, Peters had made a few dedicated efforts to sway the man’s opinion, but eventually gave up all pretense of really caring what her father thought. In the end, they had eloped leaving behind a long letter of apology to her mother and nothing for her father.
Now she found herself sitting in the church office hoping that the Pastor could fill the void left by her father. She desperately needed parental support and advice. She was hoping she could find it here. She and Evan were regular members of the church. Her husband believed that being seen in church every week would improve his image in the community. As a teacher and coach at the local school, he saw himself as a respected figure in the small town. He had always been good at looking the part.
Despite her embarrassment at the state of her clothes, clean but definitely old and beyond stylish, she enjoyed her weekly outings. Evan wearing his best new church clothes smiled and made sure to shake hands with all the right folks, even though he hated the place. He had explained to her when they moved to Eastlake, that the budget would be tight for at least the first year or so, and that his job required him to dress professionally, while she was just a housewife and no one would see her anyway. She begged for at least one nice dress for church, but he had insisted there was just not enough money for that. She thought that his closet, full of new things he seldom wore, dwarfed her own, but complaining would only set him off and trigger another set of beatings.
So, she sat in the church, draped in the threadbare sweater she wore most days, the one with the long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms, and the high collar she could button up when the marks on her neck were too deep to cover with makeup, or when she ran out and had to wait till the end of the month and pray that she could find enough food items on sale to squeeze out a few dollars for her own needs. Vera Lou brought her a cup of coffee in an old mug from the church’s kitchen and told her she was still trying to reach Pastor Summers.
He was not answering his phone, because he was sitting in the waiting room of the local clinic down the street. Mrs. Summers had finally convinced him that the cold he had been fighting for the last week was not going to go away on its own and that if he didn’t take care of himself, she would just have to do it for him. After the evening service the night before, he had gone home and straight to bed, only to wake this morning to a severe coughing fit that forced him to admit that perhaps a visit to old Doc Winston might not be such a bad idea after all.
Mrs. Summers borrowed the phone to call Vera Lou and let her know that the pastor would not be coming into the office today, and possibly not for the next several days. Vera Lou laughed at the thought of the pastor having to miss days due to illness. She didn’t envy his poor wife having to tend to him, knowing that he would be a terribly impatient patient. The pastor was notorious for coming to work despite any health issues or concerns and had missed less than three or four days in his entire time at the church. She thought he would probably be back in the office by tomorrow, hacking his head off and spreading germs to the rest of them. Or maybe by this afternoon.
Vera Lou herself had run the church office for the last twenty some odd years and knew what needed to be done. She called Deacon Matthews and gave him the visitation list. Knowing that the pastor was dealing with a cold, he had already anticipated that he might be needed. He agreed to drive over to the hospital thirty miles up the highway to check in on the two parishioners who were there. Another two church members were home sick and he would swing by to visit them as well. She made a few other calls before going back out to see about Cora. She was a little unsure about how to best proceed with that case, until Chris Manning came bouncing in, waving as he headed for his office.
Other than herself and the pastor, the church staff was rounded out by Tom Gates, the Music Minister, and Chris, the Youth Minister. Vera Lou supposed that one or the other of them would have to step up and provide some help for this poor woman who seemed determined not to leave until she had spoken with someone. In truth, Cora had already promised herself that she would sit there all day if necessary. She wasn’t sure she could trust herself to return if she didn’t see this through today. She had needed all her courage to take this step and she might not find that courage again, she feared.
