Page 47 of A Million To Fall

Luckily NorthStar is a mere five-minute drive from here, and before long, Lily and I, along with fifty snack boxes, pull off the street and into a parking lot.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been here,” Lily muses, her gaze glued to the large signage above the glass double doors.

Riverfront Sports Complex.

“Me neither.” I pull into a spot close to the entrance. The cement is cracked, potholes patched with mismatching tar. Jessica is nowhere to be seen. “Looks like we’ll have to take these inside,” I say, nodding toward the back of the car.

We gather the snacks, each of us schlepping several bags stuffed with boxes, and make our way inside the building. The floors transition from faded concrete to worn wood, banners tacked to the walls boasting championship titles won decades ago. But despite its obvious age and the musky smell, the place is well maintained. It’s clean yet has that lived-in, cozy quality of a place that’s seen generations of families come through.

There’s no one at the front counter, but the sound of a gaggle of children laughing and playing, sneakers squeaking, and basketballs pounding against gym flooring tells me we’ll encounter a different scene in the heart of the building.

I beckon Lily onward to another set of double doors, one of which is propped open.

“Oh gosh, Skye, yay!” Jessica calls, waddling toward us with an expression on her face that tells me she’s beyond ready to go on maternity leave.

“Hi, Jess, how are you?” Judging by her heavy breathing and the light sheen of sweat on her forehead, she’s pooped.

“Really good. Very pregnant, but really good,” she says unconvincingly, resting an arm atop her stomach. It’s protruding out so far, I wouldn’t be surprised if she could balance a cup of tea on it. Fascinating.

“Where would you like these?” I ask, nodding at the bags in my hands.

“Right over here.” She leads us to a set of plastic fold-up tables topped with two plastic coolers of water and several small cups with names scribbled in Sharpy. “Really, thank you so much for grabbing them. I don’t know how I could’ve forgotten. I’m so scatterbrained right now.”

“Probably just pregnancy brain,” Lily offers unhelpfully.

I begin unloading the bags. “So I take it you come here regularly?”

“Couple times a week,” Jessica nods. “NorthStar partners with the Harbor Project. So I’m here helping coordinate snacks and equipment and whatever else needs to be done. And I hear, starting next week, you’ll be the new me,” she adds, grinning widely.

“It appears so,” I say, looking around the gym space. Kids—probably ranging in age from five to twelve—are running every which way, playing, laughing—maybe crying, I can’t tell through all the noise. There are balls and jump ropes and hula hoops. The adult-to-child ratio seems way off. Aside from Jessica, I see one other young woman sitting at a table with maybe six kids doing arts and crafts, while a man is playing a round of basketball with some kids by the hoop in the far corner.

“You’ll like it,” Jessica says. “It’s really rewarding to see these kiddos come out of their shell. Some of them come from tough situations.” she adds vaguely. Before I can inquire, Jessica excuses herself to go to the bathroom. “This kid loves pretending my bladder’s a trampoline,” she tells me with a grin, just as my phone alerts me of a new text message.

Archer

What are you doing?

Me

Lily and I went to brunch, then a little shopping.

Archer

Doesn’t look like you’re shopping now. Where’d you guys go?

Me

My mom just asked me to drop off some snacks.

Archer

Where?

I’m about to reply when there’s a gentle tap on my arm.

“Excuse me.”

A little boy stands in front of me. His dark hair is messy, his cheeks flushed a vivid pink like he’d just sprinted three laps. He looks at me expectantly. Something about his eyes makes me blink. He can’t be older than maybe eight, but he looks… familiar.