Justin came downstairs a few minutes later. “Hey, Mom. Coach Mac says breakfast is the most important meal of the day. He brought us all of this food, the good stuff he calls it, and told me that I could only eat the yucky stuff one day a week.” This revelation was emphasized by Justin sticking a forefinger up in the air. “Coach Mac is great, Mommy,” he continued without missing a beat or taking a breath. “He taught me this trick to help me remember fractions and wouldn’t let me use the calculator but it was okay because I got the answers right anyway but then he showed me how to get the answers with the calculator, too. Coach says I’m really good at math. Do you like math, Mom?”

“That was never my strong suit, honey. English and social studies were more my thing.” Dominique paused, surprised at how much she was enjoying the tasty, honey-sweetened oatmeal and the pre-school conversation. She’d never given much consideration to what had become the morning routine. She usually kissed the top of Justin’s head, which was buried in a bowl of sugary cereal, before rushing out the door. That’s if she got up in time. Fourteen-hour days and late-night social obligations often left her not seeing her son until after school. Still, she tried to make sure they spent at least an hour or two of quality time together every day and after picking him up at Anita’s on Sundays, they always spent the rest of the day together. The shared activity was usually Justin’s choice. Yesterday, they’d gone to a dinosaur exhibit before eating way too much ice cream at their favorite shop—his number one choice for yucky foods. They’d ended the day at the movies and then Dominique had stayed up half the night for the work the romp with Jake had interrupted. She’d always considered her and her son’s relationship a good one. They were close, and had always been the center of each other’s universe. Dominique wasn’t sure how she felt about the invasion of a planet named Coach Mac.

17

17

Jake looked up as a knock sounded on his office door. “Come in.”

“Hey, Coach.”

“Shawn. What’s up, man?”

“What’s with the closed door?” Shawn asked, walking into the room and moving a pile of papers before taking a seat.

“Phone call,” Jake said, offering no further explanation. Truthfully, he welcomed Shawn’s interruption. The conversation with his older brother, Harold, had given him some things to think about.

“I’ve been watching the Spartans tape,” Shawn continued, referencing this week’s opponents. “They’ve got some heavy-hitting linebackers and the quarterback has real talent.”

“Tony Pinelli?”

Shawn nodded. “Yeah, but he has a tendency to drop his arm right before releasing the ball. The observant tackle will know exactly when he’s ready to throw.”