at home, he’d heat one of the dinners while watching game film of Springhill’s next opponent.
He was busier on game days, and he preferred it that way. The whole coaching life suited him. It always had, which was why it had hurt so much to leave Carolina State. Leave? That was a mild word for it. He’d practically been chased out of town.
Shoving the thought from his mind, he steered his cart around the heavy freezers that showcased bags of mixed vegetables and packaged breakfast foods, then turned the corner. The same tall, thin girl he’d seen a few nights ago with Keri Cassidy stood in front of the ice cream, her slender index finger tapping her chin.
“Get the double chocolate fudge,” Grady said.
She took a step backward, a guarded expression on a young face that reminded him of Bryan’s. Same general shape, same big dark eyes, same olive complexion. Her hair was brown, too, but a few shades lighter than her brother’s.
“You’re Bryan Charleton’s sister, right?”
She nodded. Her shoulders were slightly stooped, her posture a far cry from the way her self-assured brother carried himself. Bryan always looked him straight in the eye; his sister didn’t lift her chin.
“I’m Coach Quinlan, Bryan’s basketball coach,” he said.
A hint of recognition crossed her face, followed by more silence.
“What’s your name?” he prompted.
“Rose,” she replied, the name barely audible.
He smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “So you gonna get the double chocolate fudge? It’s my favorite.”
She mumbled something unintelligible, opened the freezer door, snatched a carton of French vanilla ice cream and hurried away. He could have chalked her up as another in the growing line of Springhill citizens who disapproved of his coaching methods, but he didn’t think that was it.
Rose Charleton’s behavior seemed to have more to do with her own demons than with his.
He continued shopping, searching for Keri down every long, well-lit aisle. Rose wasn’t old enough to drive, and he seriously doubted Bryan would hang around with his younger sister.
“You’re Coach Quinlan, aren’t you?”
The middle-aged lady in the long black coat asking the question had dark circles under her eyes and deep lines bracketing her mouth. She looked sad—and unfamiliar.
“That’s right,” Grady said.
“I’m Ruth Cartwright, Fuzz’s wife.”
He called up an image of her husband from the photographs hanging in his office. A broad-shouldered dynamo of a man with white hair short enough to earn him his nickname. Fuzz had been synonymous with Springhill basketball for as long as most people could remember. Grady would have shaken his wife’s hand, but she kept a firm grip on the shopping cart handle.
“How is Mr. Cartwright?” Grady asked. The last he’d heard, Fuzz was recovering from quadruple bypass surgery.
“Impatient to get home,” she said. “Angry that he can’t coach.”
“The boys miss him.” Grady spoke the truth. If he polled his players on whether they wanted their old coach back, the vote would be unanimous. It wouldn’t be in Grady’s favor.
“He misses the boys, especially Bryan Charleton.” Ruth Cartwright’s tired eyes focused on him and came alive.
“Fuzz says Bryan’s good enough to lead the team to a state championship. He says you need to keep Bryan on court.”
Frustration tugged at Grady, but he fought to keep his expression neutral. “It was nice seeing you, Mrs. Cartwright. You be sure to tell your husband I’m wishing him well.”
Retreat seemed a better option than explaining that Bryan Charleton needed suspending, no matter that Becky Harding had retracted her story. Becky had lied to Grady, but in his opinion it hadn’t been when she claimed to be the author of Bryan’s paper.
His grumbling stomach alerting him it was time for dinner, he groaned inwardly at the human logjam at the checkout counters. Until he noticed Keri Cassidy at the rear of one of the lines.
She stiffened enough for him to realize she’d seen him. Although one of the other lines was slightly shorter, he pulled his cart directly behind hers. “Hello, Ms. Cassidy.”
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