No Father's Son

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Chapter Sixty (Epilogue) - Never Say Never

Even after five years, the quiet was still unsettling. For so long my time at home had been filled by either bustling kids, the sound of football in the background, or sometimes both.

Today, much like every other weekday outside of the school year, I was home alone. Jessica was at work—having resumed her role at Northern Montana Health Care after we moved back to Havre following my retirement, having earned a promotion to charge nurse within the last year—while both the kids were at school.

The only sound in the house was the rhythmic slicing of a knife across wood as I carved up a pair of apples to have my favorite post-flight snack: apple slices and chunky peanut butter.

Just as I took the first bite, with a generous helping of peanut butter globed on top, the trilling of my phone cut through the silence just as my knife had the apples moments before.

In my attempt to rush the bite I nearly choked on the glob of peanut butter stuck to the back of my throat, barely picking up the phone before the last ring ushered the call to voice mail.

“Hello,” I gasped into the receiver.

“You alright there, Mando? Sounds like you’re struggling to breathe,” Harvey laughed, half concerned and half amused.

I took two long swings of the Ghost Energy sweating on the counter, finally pushing the sticky peanut butter further along its directive before answering.

“Yeah, sorry Harvey. You called just as I ate a spoonful of peanut butter,” I finally laughed back.

“So what’s up?” I quickly added, already knowing the original purpose of the call.

“Oh you know, same thing as the last three years,” Harvey began, quietly shifting into his salesman voice without any conscious effort.

I indulged him by listening, nodding at the right spots, adding the appropriate reaction at other times. It was a song and dance we did now. I respected Harvey enough to understand why he made the yearly call to gauge my interest in returning, pitching teams and situations as if they would sway my decision.

Harvey was a man who kept his word. When athletics directors and university presidents called and asked if he could do them a favor, even if he already knew what the answer would be, he always said yes. Then he upheld his promise.

It wasn’t just about seeing if I would finally return. It was about helping Harvey keep his word and stay relevant, even though he didn’t need my help for that anymore.

The fresh-faced agent I hired all those years ago in Corvallis had grown into one of the most sought after agents of his generation, rivaling the clout of legends like Jimmy Sexton with CAA. He always attributed his success to me, a notion I throughly pushed back on. I may have given him the platform, but he was the one who executed when the opportunity arose.

Finally, the tonal shift indicated that he was getting to the final program on his list of requests this cycle. The first year had been as many as twenty, but now the number had dwindled down to the single digits. Directors were losing hope they would ever sway me out of retirement and now it was generally the big hitters that tried to swing for the fence.

This year was no different. Florida called, their second time in five years, along with Clemson, and Texas Tech. But, in true salesman fashion, Harvey saved the coup de grâce for his final team.

“I know you’re just indulging me at this point,” declared Harvey, his tone indicating he was already grinning on his end back in his office in New York.

“But this one may be the one. I know you say “never say never-“

“But, never,” I finished. It was a quote that Mike Tomlin once uttered in reference to coaching at the college level after years as the head coach of the Pittsburgh Steelers, and it was a mantra I had adopted since my abrupt retirement.

“This may be the one to change the never,” pitched Harvey, building up into his crescendo.

“The Oregon Ducks.”

Immediately, I remembered Autzen Stadium. 54,000 screaming fans behind you burned in a sea of green and gold. It was close to home. And it was personal.

Unprompted, the idea of the hero’s welcome I’d receive in the state of Oregon if I could finally deliver that elusive National Championship that Ducks fans have craved for so long. I became the man in Norman, but there I was one of many.

In Eugene, if I could deliver, I’d be THE one.

The universe has a funny way of reminding you what’s really important. As I was absentmindedly daydreaming about parades through Eugene, Oregon, with Harvey certainly wearing a shit-eating grin on his end of the call as he realized I was deep in thought, Jessica crashed the party.

She crossed the room with the grace she always carried, planting a quick kiss on my cheek before she could register the daydreamy look on my face.

“Hey Harv,” she announced after noticing my phone sitting close to the knife and cutting board, Harvey’s name across the screen with the “speaker” icon illuminated.

“Hey Jess,” he greeted, before adding slyly, “Sorry for trying to steal your man. I was just regaling him with his latest suitors.”

Jessica simply nodded as she grabbed the knife to cut her own apple slices.

“Anyone good?” She asked, more to make conversation than out of genuine interest.

“Oregon,” I whispered, finally snapping out of my daze.

Jessica mouthed an “o” before crunching on her first apple slice, eyebrows raising in sync with the motion.

I raised my eyebrows in response, hoping she’d give me some clue as to what she thought of the idea.

“I love that for you,” she winked back at me before retreating, “Excuse me, but I’ve got to change before heading back to work. This new bra is killing me.”

Then at the last second, “Later, Harv.”

Harvey called out his own good-bye, waiting until he heard her footsteps descend down the hall before addressing the Oregon job again.

“Something tells me the missus wasn’t on board with that,” chuckled Harvey.

“For someone that knows women so well, it’s surprising you don’t have a wife yet, Harv,” I laughed back. “I was thinking about it, honestly.”

I paused, looking for the right words. It wasn’t fear that kept me from imaging myself in Eugene, but more of a contentment.

“But what do I gain from going back?” I finally sighed, understanding that as attractive, and surely lucrative Oregon would be, what it would cost me personally would be a much steeper price.

It was Harvey’s turn to wait patiently.

“I run the risk of ruining my legacy, coming back and failing.”

“Not that I think I would,” I added hastily earning another small chuckle out of Harvey. “I’d run that shit,” I added defensively.

“But I like this. I get to see the kids every night. Get to go to fundraisers and plays. Get to fly my plane every day.”

“It just isn’t worth it,” I finally declared, finality in my voice.

“I know, Armando. But until they stop calling, I’ll keep asking.”

“Never say never, right Harv?”

“But, never,” he added with another laugh.

From there, the conversation took its usual turn.

Harvey talked about his new clients, an up-and-coming event that he wanted to invite me to, who he thinks is going to be the next record breaking contract, and if he had a shot at negotiating it.

Then we talked about me, a much quicker conversation. Because there wasn’t much to talk about.

I’d bought Ross Wallace’s old Cessna, the one I’d taken my first flight in all those years ago, and went out flying nearly everyday. Jessica had returned to working, insisting on it even though we never needed the money, earning promotions until she was the lead nurse in her unit, with aspirations of one day opening her own practice. And the kids were growing like weeds, firmly entrenched in school and every sport or activity they laid eyes on.

“I can’t return to coaching cause I don’t have the time anymore,” I announced to Harvey after rattling off the nine after-school activities and sports Tara Lydia alone was signed up in.

“I think I found your route back to coaching,” Harvey declared suddenly.

“The kids will finally pressure you into coaching their tee-ball team,” he added with a cackle.

He wasn’t far off. Every time a team asked for volunteer coaches, both children turned their wide eyes to their father, hoping this would be the year I said yes. To date, I’d been able to fend them off. But I knew as the rec teams turned into comp teams, I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation.

Havre High had done their fair share of recruiting as well, opting to send people from the community rather than call Harvey directly. They were met with the same stone facade Harvey faced each year. I simply wasn’t interested. One job lead to the next, and suddenly I’d be back coaching college football.

“As lovely as this call is, Armando, I gotta run. I’ll talk to you later, my friend.”

“You as well, Harv. Take it easy.”

The phone beeped in my ear signaling that Harvey had ended his transmission from New York. Jessica had gone back to work and I still had an hour until I had to pick up the kids from school.

“What’re you going to do with yourself, Flyboy?” I asked myself out loud.

“Fly,” I declared, scooping up my keys and heading out the door.

A little afternoon flight was exactly what I needed. Just the thing to shake the image of me in a hail of green and gold confetti, lifting the National Championship trophy one more time.

At least for now.

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Editors Note:

That concludes the story of Armando Leon. Thank you to everyone for following, commenting, and supporting my first foray into the narrative game.

[djp73]

Flying off into the susnet

[Soapy]