--------------------------------------------------------------------

Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather.  This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded 
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to 
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as 
there is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of 
acquiring this material.

   (Copyright 2005, revisions c. 2007, R.C. Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather at hotmail dot com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------


THE COMPETITIVE EDGE:
PLAYING THE GAME III

A Novel

by R.C. Mather



- 33 -

REBOUND BOY



Kayla was stiff as I gently turned her back toward the door of the
restaurant. I opened the door and guided her over to the booth where
Jake and Jaimie were sitting.

"What's wrong?" asked Jake when he saw us.

I sat Kayla down next to Jaimie and motioned for Jake to follow me.

"Kay's got a problem," I said as I headed back toward the door.

"What's the matter?" Jake sounded very worried.

"Kay's problem is named Thomas Jorgenson."

I opened the door for Jake, and I brought him out to the parking
lot. I silently led him over to T.J.'s car, so he could see for
himself.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

He was about to charge over and yank the door off its hinges, but I
put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Let's see what we can do to aggravate him," I suggested. I walked
over to my car and opened the trunk. In my bag, along with my copious
notebooks, were a few pens and pencils. I grabbed a couple of
ballpoint pens and walked back to where Jake was standing, still
staring at the Mustang.

"Here," I said.

"What's this? Are you gonna write him a fucking letter?" asked Jake
incredulously.

"Nope," I said. I crouched down by the back tire and used the pen to
push in the valve. Air hissed out.

"Good thinking, Porter," whispered Jake, grinning ear to ear. He
went around to the other side and started on the front tire.

In just a few minutes, T.J.'s car was sitting on four very flat
tires. From the way the car was swaying, the occupants never even
noticed. I put the pens back in my car, and Jake and I stepped back
into the restaurant.

"What now, dude?" asked Jake.

"Now we sit down, we order our pizza, and we wait," I said.

Jaimie and Kayla were in a whispered conversation, but they stopped
abruptly when Jake and I returned to the table. Jake held out his
hand for his sister, and Kayla took it and stood.

"What did you guys do?" she asked.

"We just gave him a reason to come in and show his face," said Jake
grimly. He gently pushed Kayla over to the other bench so he could
sit next to Jaimie. Kay sat down and slid over, making room for me.

"Don't do anything stupid," she said, a little fearfully.

"I knew I didn't like the asshole," I muttered.

Kayla put her hand on my arm.

About fifteen minutes later, an obviously pissed-off T.J. came
storming in through the door. He made a beeline for the pay phone,
not noticing anything else. I stood up, and so did Jake. As T.J.
picked up the receiver and began dropping coins into the slot, we
walked quietly up behind him.

He was practically yelling into the phone, browbeating some kid at a
gas station. "I don't give a rat's ass if it is closing time. I've
got four flat tires, and with all the business my family gives to
your station, you'd better get your ass over here right now and fix
them!"

The back of his neck was beet red from his anger. He slammed the
phone down and whirled around to leave. He never heard us behind him,
and it startled him to find us blocking his path.

"Jake! What are you doing here?" he said a little nervously.

"Hello, Jorgenson," said Jake quietly.

T.J. gave me a dismissive glance, and then did a double-take. "You!"
he exclaimed. "Porter. I should have fucking known. You know
something about my flat tires, don't you." It wasn't a question, but
rather more of a statement.

"You know, I had heard you were kind of a good guy, but I didn't
believe a word of it. Good to see my judgment of character is still
intact," I said.

His eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've just given Kayla a giant clue about your
intentions," I said. I stepped to the side so he could see Kay
sitting in the booth, staring over at us.

He stared in her direction for a moment, and then shook his head.
"Fuckin' hero boyfriend," he snarled. "You dumped her, remember? I
just picked up the pieces. And then you had to come back, didn't you?"

"You know, I always thought you were a good guy. Maybe not the right
guy for my sister, but a good guy anyway." Jake sounded a little sad.

"Maybe I am the right guy for your sister," he said, staring at me.
"Maybe it should be up to her, not you."

"Say, T.J., how's football camp going?" asked Jake. "Hot in those
pads in August, ain't it?"

T.J. spun around to Jake, startled at the sudden change in subject.
"What are you talking about?" he asked. He looked at Jake as if he
had lost his marbles.

Jake continued, unperturbed, "Does Coach still make you do two-a-
days in full pads, even with your broken nose?"

T.J. gave his head a little shake, as if to say he couldn't believe
what he was hearing. "What? My nose isn't broken. What the fuck..."

Jake snapped a meaty left fist up and into the side of T.J.'s nose.
We all heard a very satisfying crunch, and T.J. bounced back against
the wall next to the pay phone. His nose began streaming blood all
down his chin and onto his shirt, the scarlet bright under the
fluorescent lights of the entryway. He was still leaning against the
wall, supported on wobbly knees, when he reached up to touch his nose.

"Shit, that hurts!" he cried out. His eyes were focused inward, his
perception of us in the background as the nerve centers of his
damaged nose demanded attention.

"By golly, I do believe you were wrong," said Jake calmly. "It
appears your nose is broken after all."

By this time, the restaurant had gone completely silent as everybody
watched our little drama. Kayla and Jaimie scrambled out of the booth
and came over to us. With just a quick glance at the three of us,
they moved behind us and walked out the door.

Jake reached over and grabbed T.J. by the shirt and dragged him
outside. I followed along, and I watched as Kayla and Jaimie strode
over to T.J.'s car. Kayla yanked open the passenger door.

"Cassidy." She managed to fill that one name with a surprising
amount of contempt. Kayla walked back over to where her brother was
still holding up T.J. She looked up at him. "We were never
exclusive," she said to him. "You can date anybody you want. But
Cassidy Wilkins? The biggest slut in school? And here? In the parking
lot? I thought you had more class than that, Thomas."

T.J. had the good sense to look embarrassed, even as he held his
hand up to his bent and swollen nose. His voice was muffled because
of the swelling of his damaged nasal passages and the blood trickling
down his throat. He glanced at Kayla, and then he made his big
mistake. "I had to get it from somewhere, didn't I?"

Kayla took two quick steps up to him, still being held in place by
Jake, and slapped him hard. He howled from the pain. "How dare you,"
she hissed. "And to think I nearly..." Her face was pale, and her jaw
was clenched in anger.

T.J. was practically in tears, bent over as much as Jake would let
him, and holding both hands up to protect his face. "Let me go, Jake.
I've gotta... I've gotta... get to the hospital... or something..."

Jake pulled him upright and close. T.J. was a couple of inches
taller, but he was also about forty pounds lighter. Jake hauled him
around with ease. He put his face about a quarter of an inch away
from T.J.'s, making sure he was paying attention. "Listen up,
Jorgenson. I want you to hear me very clearly. If you ever call my
house again, or if you ever drive by my house again, I will come for
you. Understand?" T.J. just stared at him. Jake gave him a tiny
shake, just enough to send some spatters of blood flying. T.J. began
to nod his head frantically. Jake continued, "And if I ever hear - 
from anybody - that you so much as sneezed at my sister, I will come 
for you."

"Jake... buddy... I didn't mean no..."

"Don't Jake Buddy me, sport. You are at the top of my list. It's a
short list, so I can pay lots of attention to it. I will drive a
thousand miles just to lay some hurt on you if I hear you have even
said one word to her. Do I make myself clear?"

T.J. nodded.

Jake gave him another little shake. "I can't hear you," he said
through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, man, I understand," said T.J.

"Okay," said Jake. He gave T.J. a shove toward the sidewalk.

T.J. stumbled a little, and then he turned and tried to go around
Jake, over to his car. Jake stepped in front of him.

"My wheels, man. I've got to get to the doctor."

Jake was implacable. "Walk," he instructed. "You got four flat
tires. Your wheels stay here, Jorgenson. Walk your date home."

A slender, dark-haired girl got out of the passenger side of T.J.'s
car. I didn't know her, but I assumed she was Cassidy. She had to
pull her very short skirt down after she got out of the car, and her
top was twisted around. She leaned back in and grabbed her sandals
from the floor of the back seat. Without a word she slipped them on,
did what she could to straighten out her clothes, and then she walked
with as much dignity as she could muster past all of us. T.J. reached
for her arm as she walked by, but she jerked it out of his reach.

"Thanks for showing me the sights, big spender," she said
contemptuously. She glanced over at Kayla. "I don't know what you saw
in him," she said. "Big ego, tiny dick." She tossed her head, and her
long hair moved off her shoulder and around to her back. She walked
away without looking back.

"Bitch," muttered T.J. He glanced a little fearfully at Jake after
he realized he had spoken out loud.

"Get the fuck out of here," growled Jake, and T.J. walked slowly
toward the sidewalk. He glanced back once, and then disappeared
around the corner of Mike's.



* * * * * * * * * *



There were, of course, resonations and repercussions to that
confrontation over the next several days. By the time I was ready to
drive back to school, things between Kayla and me were still
curiously unresolved. Some of it had to do with Kayla's mood. She was
understandably furious at T.J. for the lack of respect he exhibited
toward her. His spectacular self-implosion would reverberate through
the school and pretty much make his senior year a nightmare. Did I
feel sorry for him? Not one bit.

Though she tried to get over it when others were around, Kayla's
mood permeated everything she did. She was quiet and very
unresponsive when we went out to lunch or dinner during her work
breaks, and she didn't want to go out with me, or anybody, on her
evenings off.

As for me, I tried to be a good and supportive friend for her,
providing company on those rare occasions when she actually wanted
some, and trying to leave her alone when she wanted to be left alone.

In the meantime, I had a business to run. We were in the last three
days of our local camp, and then I had several coaches' clinics, both
at home and in Indiana, to conduct.

Beginning on Monday, I spent all the time I could with the campers
and with my instructors. Wednesday would be our last day of camp. I
wanted all the information I could get, both from personal
observation and comments and suggestions from each of my instructors,
so I could critique effectively. I wanted the parents to see how much
their kids had progressed, and I wanted to make sure the Sean Porter
camps and clinics fulfilled our agenda to give everybody a pathway to
success as soccer players.

I had called a staff meeting for Monday after camp. I had decided to
have everybody come over to my house. After the long, hot day
outside, everybody was grateful to be in my basement, where it was
dark and cool. Trent helped me lug a cooler full of sodas and beer on
ice downstairs, and everybody helped themselves. Danielle had gone to
the store and bought bags of popcorn, chips, and crackers, and she
began passing them around, along with paper plates and paper napkins
with little soccer balls on them.

"Cute," said Eric when he saw them. "Where'd you find these?"

"At a party store," replied Danielle. "I got enough for Wednesday,
too."

Once all twelve instructors were settled with their drinks and
snacks, I began.

"Was it a successful season?" I asked. I looked around at all my
friends and colleagues.

"Yes," said Posey. "Attendance was up, and so was the enthusiasm."

"I thought it was better than last year," agreed Anthony Rogers,
another old high school teammate who was in his second year with my
camps.

"We specialized a little more this year than last," said Weasel. He
was sitting next to Posey, and kept glancing at her. Posey was an
attractive girl, and she was trying hard not to glance back at Weasel.

'Has there been something going on there?' I thought to myself. None
of my business, though. As long as the performance of their duties at
camp weren't affected, they could do as they wished. I tried to
ignore it.

"What do you mean, Adam?" I asked.

"Well," he said, "for one thing, our older campers came in with
quite a bit of experience."

"That's true," said Tessa. She was sitting on a chair next to Jorge.
'Keepers always stick together,' I thought.

"Quite a few of the competitive groups were with us last year,"
continued Weasel. "We were able to concentrate on specifics for their
positions. Eric and Trent customized the drills a little more,
breaking it down into defensive sets and offensive sets.
Specialization."

"Okay, good," I said. "That's what they need as a foundation to good
field management. Next year, if they have kept up with their skills,
we'll blow their minds by changing it all around."

Everybody laughed. They knew of my theories about flowing
assignments. Most of them believed, having either observed or heard
us talking about it enough. Some of the other ones, mostly the
instructors still in high school, were having trouble grasping the
concepts. I wasn't concerned. A little more experience and they would
become converts, too.

"This brings up another point," said Trent. He glanced at Danielle,
who was taking notes for me. "What are your plans for next year? Are
you going to expand again?"

I shrugged. "I don't know," I said. "It was kind of tough driving
around so much. I don't know if I want to get any bigger."

"Can I make a suggestion?" asked Danielle.

"Of course," I said. "You know more about this arrangement than I
do, anyway. I should be listening to you a lot more than you should
be listening to me."

"In work, as in life," muttered Trent, eliciting knowing chuckles
from several of the people in the room.

"We had a twenty percent increase in the numbers of attendees this
year," Danielle continued. She didn't have to refer to any notes. She
had been working with these facts and figures since about February.
"We will probably continue to grow at a healthy rate for the
foreseeable future, given the increasing popularity of soccer and the
obvious results of attendance."

"Hear, hear," said Eric, gaining another round of laughter.

"It's good news," agreed Danielle, "but it brings up another issue.
Merrillville and South Bend will also probably grow at a similar rate
next year. And does anybody here think the other communities that
make up the northern Indiana area, Hobart and Valparaiso and
Schererville and Crown Point and Gary, are going to be satisfied with
the performance of their travel teams when they run up against
Merrillville teams that have been Porterized?"

Everybody laughed, and the buzz of conversation around the room as
my friends rolled this new verb around in their mouths and accepted
it was disconcerting. 'Porterized? Surely we could come up with
something better!'

"And don't forget the coaches' clinics," said Spencer.

"And I can see adding referee clinics, too," suggested Hap Olson.

I groaned. The potential was amazing, but the workload was going to
kill me.

"There's another problem," said Danielle.

I slumped in my chair and looked dolefully at her out of the corner
of my eye. "A good problem or a not-so-good problem?"

"A not-so-good one," she said. That quieted down the room. Everybody
was interested to hear what problem she had uncovered.

"We're out of room," she said.

I looked around. Sure, it was a little crowded, but we could fit a
few more people in here.

"Not this room," she said. Her eyes rolled. 'Stupid boys.' I could
hear it, even if she was only thinking it. "I mean practice field
room. If we grow next year like we did this year, the park district
won't have enough fields to accommodate us. It was a stretch this
year for them."

"You're right," I muttered. I had noticed how bare the grass was
getting, but I hadn't really thought of it in terms of how many
players and dates a field could handle and still remain healthy. We
needed more land.

"I'll work on it," I said. I had an idea fermenting in the back of
my tiny brain. Maybe this one would be fairly easy to solve.



* * * * * * * * * *



On the last day of camp, I invited a couple of special guests to
attend. Coach Neville and Dr. Osgood, the principal of our high
school, both were there, watching as we wrapped up our presentations
and final scrimmages. I had asked them to come to the competitive
youth group finale, but they both showed up around noon and stayed
for the rest of the day.

As Trent, Eric, and the rest of the instructors set up, I escorted
Dr. Osgood and Coach Neville around the fields, explaining all the
activities to them. After about fifteen minutes, Coach gently took me
by the arm.

"You don't have to baby-sit us, Mr. Porter," he said with a smile.
"Dr. Osgood and I can get on just fine. Why don't you attend to your
duties?"

"Well..."

"Go, Sean," insisted Dr. Osgood. "Martin and I will be just fine. We
have some things to discuss, anyway."

"Okay," I said. I stood and watched them walk back toward the
sidelines of one of the fields, their heads together as they began
their discussion.

They were sitting in the back, watching the kids and parents, as I
went through my spiel for the younger kids. My instructors were lined
up beside me, and as each child's name was called, they walked
through the receiving line, taking in the compliments being handed
out by my team. The parents watched raptly, and several of them were
dabbing their eyes. It always moved me to see how much the parents
appreciated the work we were doing with their kids, and they were
almost always very generous with their thanks and their wallets at
the end of camp.

The next-to-last group of the day was the pre-teen group. We had so
many we had divided them up into competitive and recreational groups,
and sometimes mixed up their placement. Either by design or by whim,
we wanted all the kids to remember they were playing to have fun, as
well as be as skilled as possible, and keeping everybody rotated
worked well for us.

Davey and Kip Wilkinson were now twelve and eleven years old. Davey
was hitting a big growth spurt, and he was gangly and a little
uncoordinated because of it. On the field though, he was a tiger, one
of the strongest players in his age group. I spent as much time over
the summer with that age group as I could manage, primarily because
of Davey and Kip.

David and Lori McMasters were both there for the awards
presentation, sitting right in the front row. David was sitting up
straight, prouder than a peacock over his stepsons, and Lori, looking
as lovely as ever, alternately watched her boys and me as I spoke.

At the end, they were the last to come up. Most of the other parents
had already collected their kids and were carting their folding
chairs off to the parking lot when they finally stood. Dr. Osgood and
Coach Neville were watching from the back of the canopy, standing
together as they observed.

"Sean," murmured Lori as she and David came up together.

"Mr. Porter," boomed David. He pumped my hand hard. "The boys can't
stop talking about how much they've learned this summer."

I smiled. "Thanks," I said. "They're the best."

"No, Mr. Porter, you're the best. You and this magnificent team you
have assembled."

"Really, Sean, it's true," said Lori, looking up affectionately at
her husband. "Davey and Kip are just thrilled with the time you've
given them." She held out both hands, and I took them in mine. 

I nodded toward Coach Neville, standing next to Dr. Osgood. "You see
that man? The one on the left?"

Lori and David both looked over. Lori nodded.

"That's Martin Neville, the coach of the high school soccer teams.
He's the man Davey and Kip will both be playing for in just a few
years, and they will be stars for him."

"Because of you," said Lori.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Because of themselves. Their
upbringing, your parenting, their genes, their own desire to learn,
they all have a part. All I did was guide them along the path."

"Sean, I..."

"Lori, I know you think I'm some sort of super-coach, but I'm not. I
saw the potential, and I saw the enthusiasm, and I capitalized on it.
Your boys did all the heavy lifting."

Lori smiled, her eyes glistening. "I hear what you're saying, you
sweet young man," she said softly. "But I know what I believe."

I just shook my head. "You just won't listen," I said.

Both Lori and David laughed out loud. "She'll listen when you start
making sense," said David. His grin was so infectious I couldn't help
but smile.

David shook my hand, and I felt the crinkle of bills in his palm. I
tried not to take them, but he refused to let go of my hand until he
felt me acquiesce and accept his generosity. I knew it would be
substantial. "Thank you again, Sean," he said sincerely.

Davey and Kip were out on the field, playing one-on-one while they
waited for Lori and David. Lori waved to them, and they came running
over. They were old enough to be embarrassed about public displays of
affection, so I refrained from hugging them. Instead we high-fived
each other, and they went running up toward their car.

The last group was the competitive teen players. We had thirty boys
and girls ranging in age from thirteen to sixteen, and as a group,
they were strong, quick, and bright. If the little kids showed the
most improvement, this group showed the most promise. I watched Coach
Neville as we put them through their paces in scrimmages, and I could
see him making lists and remembering names in his head as he watched.
He was looking at the future of varsity soccer, and he was well aware
of it.

After we finished up and most of the players and their parents had
gone, Dr. Osgood and Coach Neville came up to me.

"What did you think?" I asked.

"It was... enlightening," said Dr. Osgood.

"We need to talk, Mr. Porter," said Coach. He glanced at Dr. Osgood,
who gave him a short nod.

"Good," I said. "I'm glad you came, because I need to talk with you,
also."

Coach Neville gave me an appraising look, and then he grinned. "I've
known you for a long time, Sean. I knew this invitation wasn't merely
because you missed our company."

I smiled. "If I tell you I did miss your company?" I asked.

"I would say thank you," said Coach. "I would also add, And what
else?"

I led them over to some folding chairs, out of the sun. "I never
could put one over on you, Coach." My crew cleaned up around us,
carefully avoiding our little huddle. They didn't know what I was
about to propose, simply because I didn't have any idea how it would
be accepted. I didn't want to raise any expectations.

"You've seen how much progress these kids have made," I said. "Even
this past year, you saw a lot of improvement in some of your players
because of these camps. Right?"

"Of course," said Coach Neville.

"I'm running into a problem," I continued. "If my attendance keeps
growing, I'm going to run out of space to run these camps." I
gestured toward the practice fields. "The park district isn't going
to like what I've done to their grass. They probably won't let me
schedule any more sessions on these fields than I've already got. I
need practice fields."

"And the school district has them," finished Dr. Osgood.

"You've read my mind," I said, looking at him.

Coach sat back and folded his arms. "To be honest, Sean, up until
this year I had been thinking I needed to run summer camps to bring
along players for the school teams. Football and baseball already do
it, and it shows. The soccer and tennis teams need to follow suit."

"I've thought the same thing," I said.

"Now, I might be talking out of turn, but I think we might be able
to accomplish both your goals and Coach Neville's needs at the same
time," said Dr. Osgood.

"You provide the land, I'll provide the instruction for your summer
camps," I suggested.

"Exactly," said Coach.

Dr. Osgood chuckled. "We were discussing this very subject while we
were observing," he admitted. "We were going to see if you would be
willing to take on the responsibility, along with Coach Neville. I
see you anticipated us, Sean."

"Well, I don't know if I anticipated you, so much as saw a couple of
needs that could be served simultaneously," I said.

"I will have to be involved in this to a large extent," warned Coach
Neville.

"I wouldn't want to do it any other way," I said. "I'll need to meet
with you and Coach Simonsen to talk about what you see as your
greatest needs. We can design drills and games to work on those
areas."

Coach looked at Dr. Osgood. "It will save us considerable expense if
we let Sean provide the instructors," he said.

"And the insurance," added Dr. Osgood. He looked over at me
questioningly. "You are fully insured, correct?"

"Absolutely," I said. "Incorporated, insured, all that. I needed to
be fully covered before the park district would let me use their
property."

"Wonderful," said Dr. Osgood. "We'll get an agreement worked up. The
school board may have some questions or concerns, but I think they
will be behind it."

"Especially when they see the results," said Coach.

We stood and shook hands. We had our additional practice space, and
we also had a new source for promoting our camps, with the backing of
the school district.

I was going to be busier than ever.



* * * * * * * * * *



I thought I would be able to rest. I was wrong.

As soon as camp was done, I was off with Jesse, Jorge, and Eric to
run the two coaches' clinics in Indiana. When I got back, Danielle,
Trent, and I sat down and finished the wrap-up of the season by
transcribing all our notes, reconciling the checkbook, and making out
the final payroll. I had already distributed all the tip money I had
collected, which added quite a bit to everybody's pockets.

I also had to pack my own stuff in my car. Spencer was taking his
car down, too, and we planned on convoying along with Jesse. It would
be two days on the road, but we would make lots of stops along the
way to break up the monotony.

I also had the Kayla Issue to consider. I didn't have a lot of time
to spend with her, and what little time I was able to conjure up was
not exactly what I would term as quality time. I had an idea of the
path I thought I should follow concerning her, though. It all
revolved around trying to be a supportive friend helping her out.

What I resolved not to be was Rebound Boy. I knew, from observations
around me along with anecdotal theories of many friends, that the
relationships formed after a breakup, especially a messy breakup,
were tenuous at best. Easily formed, easily shattered, they rarely
survived beyond the white-hot revenge-driven stage.

I did not want to be Rebound Boy, doomed to be an embarrassing
footnote in Kayla's history. And so I carefully kept away from any
conversations with her about The Future, or about Us. I was almost
glad I was leaving for school so I didn't have to function in that
role. 'Let some other hopeful loser gather up that heartache,' I told
myself. 'I'll be back in time to be around when the rebound romance
falters, ready to swoop in and claim my Luscious for my own.' I was
proud of my elementary plan, and I executed to perfection. I stayed
cool and calm for Kayla, never offering more affection than she would
expect from any good friend. I stopped by like always, but didn't
stay long. I didn't want her thinking I had any ulterior motives.

My plan worked beautifully. In fact, it worked so well that on the
morning I was leaving for Florida, nothing happened. We didn't say
goodbye to each other, we didn't hug and promise to write, we didn't
have any tearful farewells. In fact, our only communication was a
relatively brief telephone call the night before I hit the road. She
asked about the trip, and I gave her our itinerary. I told her I
would be leaving very early in the morning, and that Spencer and I
would be meeting up at Jesse's house. She took that as a cue to end
the call, and that's how we said goodbye. The next morning my family
huddled in the predawn stillness as I tossed in my overnight bag. I
shook my father's hand, hugged my mother, slugged Stephen on the
bicep, and crawled into the driver's seat of my trusty car. Without a
look back, I drove out of town.

It wasn't until the next day that my error even occurred to me. We
were somewhere in Georgia, three cars in a row rolling down the
interstate highway, when it hit me where I had miscalculated.

T.J. had been Rebound Boy. I should have been there to gather her up
when that rebound romance came crashing to an end. Instead I left her
there alone to work out her demons by herself, the unwitting victim
to another spectacular example of the infamous Sean Porter stupidity.





(Continued in Chapter 35)


  
CE34