Hometown Favorite: A Novel (5 page)

The Webb bloodline might have sealed Jesse's future profession, but his friend's words would coat every decision, every
thought process, every emotional impulse, that Jesse would
ever have.

Jesse and Sly caught the smell of fried chicken coming from
Cherie's house as soon as they opened the doors of the yellow
Hummer. They were late. Dewayne had stationed himself at
the top of the steps, his arms crossed over his muscular chest
like a menacing bouncer. Sly and Jesse pointed the finger of
blame at each other.

"Come on now," Dewayne said. "I saved you each a drumstick"

This was the boys' last meal together. Dewayne would be
leaving in the morning for California to play for USC, where
he would continue to perfect the wide receiver skills that
Coach Hopper had nurtured and developed. In the next few
days, Jesse would leave for Ole Miss, and Sly would catch a
plane to Miami. Their daily involvement, their daily sharing
of dreams, of boasts, of secrets, would end with this night. The
meal Cherie prepared was a unanimous favorite of all three.
Cream-style corn, mashed potatoes covered in redeye gravy,
three-bean salad, and homemade biscuits fought for room on
the plate with the mound of panfried chicken. Between mouthfuls washed down with sweet tea, the boys joked with Cherie
with the respect and familiarity that came from the years of
caring attention she had given them. Dewayne was her flesh and blood, but she freely disciplined and loved Sly and Jesse
as if they were her own. She never begrudged the cost or the
time required to prepare the mountains of food.

Cherie would not sit down with the boys while they ate.
Her place was to monitor the kitchen-to see that one of
them had prayed a proper blessing before a single bite was
consumed, that all plates were sufficiently supplied, and that
the sweet tea in their glasses never went below the halfway
point. She would not let them lift a finger to help her. A future
liberated wife might resent her indulgence in the kitchen
with this trio.

For as long as the boys could remember, Cherie had always
worn the same raggedy apron at every meal. Threadbare and
stained, it was one of the few gifts Robert Jobe could afford. He
had given it to her while she was pregnant with Dewayne. The
boys had found a catalog from a kitchen design company out of
New York, opted for the most expensive designer-autographed
apron among the nine selections, and pooled their resources
to have it shipped to Jesse's house in time for them to add their
own special artwork.

There was no big ceremony. Sly simply forced her to sit at
the table in his chair, and Dewayne put his hands over his
mother's eyes as Jesse presented her with a beautifully wrapped
package.

"It's too pretty to open;' Cherie said, and squealing like a
child intimidated by the splendor of the presentation, she pulled
the apron out of the box. Her eyes widened as if she beheld a
sultan's treasure. "Ohhh ... it's beautiful!"

She savored each second it took her to unfold the apron.
There were the decorative floral patterns painted on by the
professional in New York outlining the edges, but inside the
floral frame were three drawings done in multicolor Magic Marker by each boy, with the number of his football jersey
painted on his chest and each in a dramatic pose: Sly poised
to throw a pass, Dewayne leaping to catch a pass, and Jesse
crouched down ready to make a tackle. When the apron had
arrived in the mail, the boys gathered at Jesse's house and went
straight to work.

Cherie did not attempt to restrain her tears as the boys put
the apron on her and tied it in the back, like servants dressing the queen. Between rounds of kisses planted on the boys'
cheeks, she extolled the apron's beauty and what it must have
cost and how she would cherish it all her life. The boys congratulated themselves on the success of their surprise.

As much as Cherie loved her boys and appreciated their
thoughtfulness, she could not spoil the moment by exposing
them to the deep truth. One month into their marriage, Robert
Jobe had given her the apron she always wore. Robert's apron
was the first thing she put on when she came home from work,
and she kept it on until time for bed. Its closeness was like a
soft impression of Robert always against her skin. And though
she would wear the new one for the rest of the evening, careful
to keep it spotless, it would go back into the box the moment
the boys departed.

After final hugs, the boys left to revisit a few old haunts, and
once alone, Cherie could not resist examining her gift. She
cleared the table and wiped it clean before laying the apron
on the bare top. She fondled the luxurious fabric, bringing it
to her cheek, and then ran her finger over the floral outline,
her eyes squinting in admiration of its detail. With the apron
stretched out before her, she laid a hand on each rough-drawn
image of her boys and implored God to bless the men they
were becoming.

The boys' drive through town was brief before heading out to
the Webb farm, its five hundred acres a natural destination.
After one summer of working with men three times his age,
Jesse had talked his father into hiring Sly and Dewayne, and
throughout high school all three spent their summers mending
fences, hauling hay, herding livestock, and clearing forests. For
Sly and Dewayne, it was an opportunity to make some money;
and even though Jesse did not have the same financial needs as
his best friends, there was still within him the pride of earning
his keep from the sweat of his brow.

Before getting out of the car, Jesse pulled three Romeo and
Juliets from the glove compartment. As a last hurrah the boys
lit their cigars, each puffing the smoke into the tranquil air
like small signal fires and gazing over the field at the Charolais
cattle bedded down for the night, their white hides reflecting
the moon's full light.

"You remember that first summer when we shot the bull
between his legs with your BB gun?" Dewayne said, hearing
the bellows of the enraged victim in his mind.

"Hard to miss a target that big," Sly said.

Jesse chuckled. "I thought he would charge us for sure."

"I found out that day just how fast I could run," Dewayne
said.

Each cigar dissolved into ash as the experiences of past summers flew out of the boys' communal memories and brought
stabs of laughter or moans of vexation: Jesse driving a tractor
into a tree, Dewayne trying to "break" a three-hundred-pound
sow and being bucked off into the muck, and Sly shinnying up
a post in the barn and screaming at the sight of a six-foot-long
rat snake slithering in his direction-each boy trying to defend
his actions to an unsympathetic jury of his peers. And when the
memories turned to silence, the flashing rumps of the lightning bugs, the lingering hoots of a barn owl, and a sharp coyote's
yap at the silvery moon provided the sights and sounds for the
boys' private thoughts to drift unencumbered.

The knock on the front door interrupted the raspy humming of
a favorite hymn. Cherie shut off the water in the kitchen sink
and picked up a dishtowel to dry her hands. Through the glass
of the storm door, she could see Jake Hopper swaying unsteadily
on his feet, holding a gift in both hands. His perspiring face
gave off an incandescent glow beneath the porch light.

"Coach Hopper," Cherie said as she opened the door. "You
just missed the boys"

"That's fine"

Jake shuffled his feet backward as the door swung toward
him. He kept his head bowed, only bobbing it up now and then
as if gasping for breath above some invisible surface line. Cherie
slung the dishtowel onto her shoulder and leaned against the
doorframe. She would be polite because this man had been
good to her boy, but she did not feel like a visit. She had spent
her entertainment quotient on her boys.

"I got something for Dewayne ... a little going-away something ... I thought I'd .. "

Jake could not finish anything he started. He never should
have had that last drink before he left the house, or maybe he
should have had another drink. It was a tough call. He could
see that Cherie didn't know what to make of his rambling, the
nervous gestures, and the subtle dancing feet.

Jake almost dropped the gift, swinging it in her direction,
then pulling it back into his stomach like a fake handoff.

"Coach Hopper, are you all-"

"Please, just Jake. Just call me Jake. I like Jake. I'd like for
you to say my name. My parents didn't name me Coach. Just
Jake"

When he saw the surprise and wonder on Cherie's face, he
laughed to try to deflect his nonsensical, verbal bumbling.

"I'm sorry. I haven't seen you much ... or seen Dewayne
much since graduation. I just wanted him to have a little something ... a memento of all the years..." His voice faded out, but
he steadied his arm enough to hand the gift to Cherie before
an involuntary muscle spasm jerked it back.

"I know you have meant so much to him ... Jake," she said,
taking the gift from his wobbly hand.

"I want to stay in touch ... to stay connected to you or to
him through you ... you know ... keep in touch"

"That would be good." Cherie dropped her head in a failed
attempt to conceal her embarrassment for Jake.

"Good night, then."

Jake turned around and hurried down the steps of the porch.
If he could get to the car and back to the house and consume
another drink or two or three, he would fall asleep and wake the
next morning and never remember what a fool he had made of
himself. The number of those mornings of not remembering had
increased over the last several months. He managed to finish out
the school year without raising suspicions, and since he lived alone
and ignored all social contact, there was no one curious enough
to check on his well-being. His secret life remained secret.

Then some force greater than the craving for a drink stopped
him on the return to his car and whirled him around, and the
words exploded out of his mouth.

"May I take you to dinner sometime?"

But Cherie had closed the door; the click of the latch was
the only response he heard.