“Go on in,” she said with a smile. “We’re glad for the help.”
Inside, there were a couple people working on the trim in the living room, including an old guy in his seventies with a bald dome of a head and scruffy white hair circling the base. But he still had a white beard and mustache, and this was how Adam recognized him.
“Coach McKee?”
The man straightened a bit slower than he used to, his grin broad. “Adam Desantis. How good to see you, boy.”
Wiping his hands on a rag, he came toward Adam and they shook hands. George McKee was still a big man, barrel-chested, but a bit more stooped with age. He’d done a couple years early on in Vietnam, and he still had the bearing of a man who took care of himself—and who didn’t take “any guff,” one of his stock phrases as a coach.
“I heard you were back in town,” Coach said. “I was starting to think I’d have to track you down. Want some coffee?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Coach led him into the kitchen, where a big pot had been brewed. The room was obviously finished, all done in light woods, with a big picture window overlooking a snowy backyard with a swing set.
“I saw the man who’ll get this house last night,” Adam said after accepting a steaming styrofoam cup.
“Scott Huang, yes. His family will put that swing set to good use. Three little boys.”
“How many other houses are in the works?”
“Three in various stages, from the initial sale or donation to one that’s being moved into this weekend. You’re working for the Thalbergs, right? They donated one of the houses.”
Adam blinked, and a brief sense of unease touched him. “That was decent of them.”
“Sure was. Doug’s a Vietnam vet—you knew that, right?”
“It might be part of the reason he hired me,” Adam said dryly.
“Maybe.” Coach’s eyes twinkled. “Those Thalbergs, they care about the community. Your grandma’s a part of the Welcome Ceremony. Good people, those ladies, although they had some strange ideas about how to welcome the vets and their families into their new homes.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Coach chuckled. “They were convinced every home should have a puppy, the perfect welcome gift from the preservation-fund committee. It took a while to talk them out of it.”
Adam smiled. “Even without a puppy, this is a good program. So do the vets have to pay a mortgage?”
“A small one, but nothing compared to what the final product is worth. All of our time and most of the renovation supplies are donated.” He paused. “So you’re out of the Marines?”
Adam’s smile faded a bit as he nodded.
Coach looked at him way too astutely, but only said, “Your grandma bragged about you making staff sergeant. I hope you knew the great honor.”
“I did, sir.”
Coach shook his head. “Hard to believe you ever doubted yourself as a commander of men.”
Once it would have been hard to hear that, but Adam was trying to honor the memories of his friends rather than avoid them. They deserved that.
“By your senior year, you had the football team in lockstep. I just knew. But then again, there was a time where you didn’t want anyone telling you anything.”
“Yes, well, now that I’m working at the Silver Creek Ranch, I have a lot of bosses telling me what to do.”
“Fair people, of course, so I’m sure it’s no hardship.”
“Speaking of family, I was overseas when I heard about your wife’s death, sir. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
His expression sobered. “Thanks, son.”
“She was very kind to the team. I’ll never forget those meals she coordinated for us before every big game.”
Coach smiled. “She was good at getting all the moms involved.” Then he winced. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t worry. I’ve long since come to terms with my mom’s selfishness.” Adam took another sip of his coffee and realized it was the truth.
“Still, her death was a terrible thing. A fire like that . . .”
“Her own fault,” Adam said. “Thanks for being there at the funeral for my grandma when I couldn’t fly back in time.”
“Oh, please. The way that woman looked after me when my wife died? She and the widows organized two months’ worth of delivered meals, and they visited me several times every week. I’d do anything for her. I don’t know if I ever told you, but back when you stole my car—”
“Borrowed it,” was the automatic answer Adam had always given when he was on the football team.