Page 30 of Five Things I See in You

“He is,” she says after I explain. “We haven’t worked on it because we’ve had more pressing things to address. Noa, every player has something to improve, even someone with your technical ability.”

I keep the phone pressed to my ear, waiting for her to say more.

“Your father knows a lot about soccer,” she adds. “But that doesn’t give him the right to treat you however he wants. And knowing a lot about soccer doesn’t make him a good coach.”

Chapter 19

Jordan

The envelope has been sitting unopened at the bottom of my bag since yesterday. It came by certified mail, and no one was home when the mail carrier stopped by. I had to go to the post office and sign for it.

The moment I saw the sender’s name, my breath caught. State Board of Psychology.

The letter is barely three lines long. It mentions an anonymous complaint alleging an inappropriate relationship with one of the team’s players while I was working for the Emeralds. There are no other details, just a notice that a preliminary investigation is being opened.

I have to read it several times. I can guess what it’s about, but I still can’t quite believe it or make sense of it. Then I fold it along the same crease and put it in the bottom kitchen drawer. Noa never opens that one. All it holds is loose batteries and old cables that don’t work anymore. I push the drawer shut with my knee and wash my hands, even though they aren’t dirty.

As I get dressed for the wedding, I find myself thinking about the date on the letter, counting backward. Noa’s father was still in town.

***

The folding chairs don’t match. Most are blue, but there’s a whole row of green patio chairs that look as though someone dragged them out of a storage shed. Nobody in Aura Valley seems to mind. The tables are set right on the dirt field, the edges of their white tablecloths already gathering dust.

The club crest stands out on the front of the locker room building. Mireya’s father designed it thirty years ago, and nobody has ever changed it. As she passes, Hades brushes it with her fingertips and keeps walking.

She strokes Mireya’s belly. The smile she gives her is the most tender I’ve ever seen on her face.

A big white bow decorates each goal, and a sign still hangs in the stands: “QUIET, PLEASE. PRACTICE IN PROGRESS.”

“Mireya Guerrero learned to play right here, on this dirt field, in secondhand cleats, long before anybody was talking about record transfer fees,” Iris tells anyone who’ll listen, as if she deserves the credit or as if we don’t already know.

It feels strange to be here. In my six years with the Emeralds, almost every player on the team came through my office at some point. Today, I’m just a wedding guest. Noa didn’t even ride here with me. She came on Iris’s motorcycle, and I have to admit I could barely breathe until I saw them arrive.

“Eat up. There’s plenty,” Mireya’s mother says, setting a tray of appetizers in front of us.

The whole Aura Valley community is here, and several of Mireya’s former teammates can’t stop crying.

It seems to be contagious, because Iris starts crying while Hades reads her vows, though she tries to hide it.

“It’s the pollen, Brit. Don’t look at me like that,” she says, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand when she catches Noa staring at her in surprise.

Wesley chooses the quietest moment to ask Lina whether they can start eating the olives, and everyone laughs except his moms.

The ceremony ends with applause and the scrape of folding chairs across the dirt.

Drummond arrives just in time for the reception and leaves early, though she does give a short speech. I suppose she can’t help herself.

As the servers begin bringing out plates of grilled ribs, Zoe sits beside me for a moment. Wesley is curled against her shoulder, almost asleep.

“I still don’t know what I’m going to do about my contract,” she says, pouring herself some water without looking at me. “Maybe I’ll sign for another year. Just one, and then we’ll see.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“I’m not sure of anything,” she sighs.

Over dessert, Natalia Costa, the Brazilian player, raises her glass to Noa.

“Mireya’s wing is in good hands,” she calls from the other end of the table.