Unstoppable (4 page)

Chapter Nine

COACH DROVE AN OLD
white pickup truck. Rust crept along the underside of the doors, and the tires looked dusty and smooth. Riding through town, Harrison couldn't help admiring the neatly trimmed lawns and the old houses wearing coats of fresh paint. Doc Smart lived in a big house up a long driveway. A handful of kids played Frisbee on the lawn. They wore fancy clothes—shirts with collars, dresses, and shoes that reflected the sunlight. A pretty girl with a blond ponytail caught the Frisbee and stopped the game to watch Harrison follow Coach up the front steps and into the house. Harrison put a hand up to cover his discolored eye.

Doc Smart showed them into an office, where he poked and prodded Harrison.

“Let me take a look at that eye.” The doctor shone a penlight at it. “Can I ask what happened?”

“Hit by a belt buckle,” Harrison said.

Coach cleared his throat.

“It feels fine, though,” Harrison said. He didn't want to wreck the whole deal before he even got started.

Doc Smart glanced at Coach and snapped off his light. “Well, it's healed up nicely. Shouldn't keep you from playing football.”

Doc took Harrison's blood pressure and banged his knee with a rubber hammer, then signed some papers and told Coach that Harrison was ready for action. Doc followed them out onto the front porch and called to the ponytail girl. “Becky, I want you to meet Harrison. Harrison, this is my daughter, Becky. She's in your grade.”

Becky held out her hand and Harrison shook it, surprised by her solid grip, even though his hand swallowed hers whole. He also liked the way she didn't stare at his red eye. It was as if she didn't notice, even though he knew she must have.

“Harrison is Coach Kelly's . . .”

“Harrison is joining our family.” Coach put a hand on Harrison's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

Harrison felt his face burn. Becky looked at him in confusion. Coach steered Harrison down the steps toward the truck. Harrison saw the other kids on the lawn watching him like a zoo animal. He climbed into the truck beside Coach. As they backed down the driveway, Becky stepped down off the porch. She caught Harrison's eye and then did something that he'd never forget.

Chapter Ten

WITH ALL THE OTHER
kids watching, Becky waved to Harrison and spoke in a voice that all the kids could hear. “I'll see you in school, Harrison.”

Her smile filled Harrison's heart with sunshine and honey, and his own hand popped up on its own to wave back at her.

“That's a pretty little girl.” Coach nodded his head toward the doctor's daughter.

Harrison looked down at his feet and scuffed a gum wrapper across the floor mat.

“Don't you think?” Coach backed the truck out into the street.

“I don't know.” Harrison studied the wrapper. His ears burned at the sound of Coach's soft laughter.

Coach settled down and asked Harrison if he wanted to go fishing. Harrison said that he had never been but that he'd be happy to try. They returned home to get their gear, and while Mrs. Kelly packed a basket with sandwiches and lemonade, Harrison studied some framed photographs on a table in the living room. In one, Mrs. Kelly wore a wedding dress and Coach had on a tuxedo. In another, Mrs. Kelly hugged Coach on the sideline of a football field and Coach held up a trophy. Another caught Harrison's eye and he picked it up.

It was Coach, but he wore an Army uniform. In one hand he held a gun, but his other arm he'd slung around a second soldier. They smiled like brothers at a reunion. The other soldier had a small beard that was as black as his eyes, reminding Harrison of a movie poster he'd once seen for a story about the devil.

When Mrs. Kelly appeared behind him, Harrison returned the picture to its place.

“Coach was in the war?” he asked.

Mrs. Kelly handed Harrison the picnic basket. “The Gulf War. It was the first war in Iraq, a lot of years ago.”

“That's his friend?”

“A very good friend,” she said, looking sadly at the picture. “Major Bauer.”

“Did he die?” Harrison kept his voice low.

Mrs. Kelly seemed to think about it. “No, he was hurt very badly, but he's far from dead. You'll meet him sometime.”

Harrison could tell there was something special about the major that Mrs. Kelly wasn't telling him, but they both heard Coach call him from the garage, and she put a hand on Harrison's back and steered him toward the door. Coach laid two poles in the back of the truck, dusted his hands, and they set out for the lake. Coach had a boat with an outboard motor pulled up among some grass and trees on a rocky shore. When Coach asked Harrison to help him drag the boat into the water, Harrison grabbed hold of the handle in front and hauled it across the rocky beach and into the water before Coach could put down his basket and fishing gear.

Coach stared at him, and Harrison wondered if he'd done something wrong.

“With the motor, that boat weighs about four hundred pounds,” Coach said.

Harrison looked at the boat and shrugged.

“Okay, great. Let's load it up.” Coach set the gear and basket into the bottom of the boat. Harrison got in and Coach launched them into the deeper water and hopped aboard. The engine sputtered, then hummed. Coach steered for a point of rocks a ways away and dropped anchor at a spot where Harrison could see the stony bottom.

Coach handed Harrison a fishing rod before focusing on his own rig, fussing with the reel, breaking open a big plastic box, and tying a small metal fish lure dangling hooks onto the end of the line. Coach looked up and blinked at Harrison, nudging the box his way before he looked back down.

Coach looked up again. “I'm sorry. You said you never went fishing, and here I am giving you the tackle box. It's just second nature for me, that's all. You never even saw anyone fishing?”

“Just along the bridge on the Sawmill River, or on TV, I guess.”

“Okay, sure. Here, let me tie one of these babies off for you.” Coach took the pole Harrison held and expertly tied a curved golden fish onto the end of the line. The lure sparkled in the sunlight. “You just cast it toward those rocks and reel it in, like this.”

Coach flicked his wrist and the lure on the end of his pole sailed through the air, plunking down not far from the rocks jutting out of the water. Immediately he began winding the handle, reeling in the line as fast as he could. Coach wore sunglasses beneath the brim of his “Bulldogs Football” cap, but Harrison could tell his eyes were locked on the spot where the lure had gone in. Magically, the end of the long pole bent once, then three more times, as if someone were tugging on it. Coach yanked the pole, quickly and viciously.

“Got 'em.” A smile broke out on Coach's face, and now he reeled steadily against the flailing pole.

Harrison saw a flash in the water, then the fish broke the surface, twisting violently in the air before it dove back down, bending the pole even more.

“A beauty,” Coach said. “How about that? First cast. Hand me that net, will you?”

Harrison held out the net. Several minutes later, when Coach had reeled the fish in and alongside the boat, he grabbed the net from Harrison without looking and expertly scooped the fish out of the water. “Supper.”

Coach unhooked his catch and held it up by pinching its lower lip between thumb and forefinger. As he raised it up for Harrison to see, Coach sucked air in through his teeth. “Look at that. Wow.”

Coach turned the fish so Harrison could see a set of diagonal gashes that ran up one side of the fish, ending at its tail. Its eye, like Harrison's, was bloodred. Part of the back fin was also missing. “Propeller got him.”

Harrison wrinkled his forehead. “Are you gonna let him go?”

“Go?” Coach raised his eyebrows. “No, he can't last long like this, but he'll still eat good.”

Coach reached into his tackle box and looped a bigger metal hook up through where the fish's bright-red gills strained for water to breathe and out its mouth. A dozen other big hooks dangled from the same chain. Coach called it a “stringer” and he attached it to a metal ring beside his seat before sliding the fish back into the water on its metal leash. Harrison peered over the side of the boat and watched the fish thrashing for a few moments before it settled into a lazy waving motion with its shattered tail.

“You want to try?” Coach asked. “I can't promise you'll catch one that fast. Lucky cast.”

Harrison continued to stare at the fish. “I thought you let them go. That's what they do on TV.”

“That's a bass tournament, sure, but I like to eat what I catch. Trust me, this one's better off on a plate. Didn't you ever see
The Lion King
and that whole ‘circle of life' thing?”

Harrison shook his head and refused the pole Coach held out to him. “I can't.”

“Harrison, things die. You eat hamburgers, right?”

He nodded.

“Yeah, well, someone had to kill a cow for you to eat that burger. That's how it goes, right?”

“But this one's hurt.”

“Right, and hurt things don't survive. That's nature.”

Harrison shook his head again. “When something's hurt, you're supposed to help it.”

Coach looked around, but there was no one there to help him. “So we can catch healthy ones and keep them to eat? Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“You got a lot going on in there, you know that?”

Harrison shrugged.

Coach huffed and pulled the stringer up out of the water. “You want to let this fish go?”

“I don't want you to be mad,” Harrison said.

Coach's face softened. “I'm not mad. I think I get it. You're a good kid, Harrison, you know that?”

Harrison eyed Coach with suspicion. Then his throat tightened and his eyes got moist.

No one had ever called him that before.

Chapter Eleven

THE INJURED FISH WAGGED
its tail and disappeared with a flash among the sunbeams reaching deep into the water. Harrison felt a smile creep onto his face.

They kept fishing. Harrison tangled the line a couple times and botched most of his casts, but Coach didn't seem to mind. He was patient with Harrison, and after some time Harrison was able to cast pretty well. He never caught a fish, but Coach got three and laughed when Harrison nodded his approval to set them aside for dinner. None were as big as the injured one, but Coach said his wife would be happy.

Harrison didn't mind helping Coach clean the fish and he couldn't explain what bothered him so much about the hurt fish, but Coach didn't bring it up. Mrs. Kelly was happy, and she laid the long slabs Coach cut from the sides of the fish into flour before settling them into a pan that snapped with bacon grease and onions. Harrison's mouth watered; the fish was delicious.

After dinner, Harrison and Coach cleaned up while Mrs. Kelly sipped tea and worked on a puzzle set out in what looked like a million pieces across the dining room table in the next room. When they finished, Coach and Harrison helped with the puzzle until Mrs. Kelly yawned and looked at the clock. Darkness had enveloped the house not long after dinner, but Harrison was still surprised to see that it was already nine o'clock.

“We like to read before bed, Harrison. I know you might like to watch TV, but it's something we try to do only a couple times a week. Coach has his
Monday Night Football
and I like
Dancing with the Stars
. Is there a show you watch?”

Harrison shrugged. The Constables liked to watch TV, but he never got to choose the channel, and what they watched, besides football, never interested him. Lump, his older foster brother, had an old Game Boy, and Harrison used to watch him play it and was rewarded every so often when Lump let him have a turn. So, when Mrs. Kelly suggested that Harrison might like to read—as she said she and Coach would do—before bed, he figured it was worth a try.

Coach shook his hand and Mrs. Kelly kissed the top of his head at the landing on the second floor before turning down the long hall toward their own room.

Harrison used the bathroom—his own bathroom—that opened directly into his room. He marveled at the soap, smooth and pink and clean, nothing like the cracked and grimy cakes he was used to at the Constables' farm. The corners of the tub were white and clean too. There was no grease or grime or old, oily body hair.

He shuddered and stripped down to his boxers and looked at the fresh white sheets. Mrs. Kelly had turned the covers down so that a crisp white triangle welcomed him to the bed.
Sackett's Land
was the name of the book on the night table beneath a small lamp. Harrison climbed into the bed, propping himself up on two pillows, and opened the book.

The first words made him go cold.

Chapter Twelve

“It was my devil's own temper that brought me to grief . . .”

Harrison looked around the room. A car drove by down on the street. He listened to it disappear and then to the quiet ticking sounds of the house. He thought he could just make out the murmur of Coach and his wife talking in their bed. Were they talking about him?

He had no doubt the first words of this book were meant to scold him for his past deeds and his own devil's temper that led to the death of Mr. Constable. Curious, he read some more.

“. . . my temper and a skill with weapons born of my father's teaching.”

He stopped again. That didn't fit him. No one had ever taught him anything about weapons, and certainly not his father. Harrison had no idea who his father was.

While the second part of the first sentence made him less certain the book was meant as a message to him, it made him even more interested to go on.

Harrison read, and read, and read.

He only stopped to look up at the sound of a soft knock on his bedroom door.

He laid the book on his chest.

The knock came again.

“Yes?” he asked.

The door opened a crack. Mrs. Kelly peeked in. “You like it?”

Harrison nodded. “There's a lot of fighting. With swords.”

“Good. I'm so glad you like it, Harrison, and I hate to even say this, but it's getting very late and I just don't want you to be tired on your first day. Okay?”

“What time is it?”

“Just after midnight.”

Harrison looked at the night outside his window. “Okay.”

“Good night, Harrison.”

“Good night, Mrs. Kelly.”

Mrs. Kelly's head disappeared, only to reappear a moment later. “You don't have to call me Mrs. Kelly. It makes me think of Coach's mother. I know you might not want to call me Mom, although you're welcome to, but I'm guessing that may take some time.”

“Mrs. Coach?”

That made her laugh. “Oh, no. Please, not that. How about Jennifer? That's my name.”

“Would Coach be okay with that? I mean, you're a grown-up.”

“I think Coach will love it. Good night, Harrison.”

“Good night, Mrs.—” Harrison swallowed. “Good night . . . Jennifer.”

“Very nice.”

Harrison turned out the light and whispered her name twice to himself. As he lay alone in the dark, he thought about the story he had begun and about the main character, Barnabas Sackett. Then he thought about himself. Barnabas had found an old purse with gold coins that was the beginning of his fortune. Maybe tomorrow he'd find his own bag of gold coins. Maybe it would be the game of football, a thing he'd dreamed of for so long.

He imagined himself the star of the team, the boy everyone wanted to be, and he couldn't see that picture in his mind without the girl, Becky, standing beside him.

With that thought, and a smile on his face, Harrison slept.