Mitchell's Power Play

Back Home

MITCHELL

My phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but the area code was familiar. I hesitated for a couple a few seconds before I answered.

"Mitchell?" came a familiar male voice I wasn't quite able to place.

"Yes."

"It's Ryan Laughlin." There was a brief pause, and then he added, "Coach Laughlin," for clarification.

I smiled in surprise. I definitely had not expected to hear from my high school coach.

"Oh, hey, coach. It's been a long time. How're you doing?"

"I'm doing alright, son. Doing, alright." His familiar drawl brought back a bunch of memories, both good and bad.

"What can I do for you?"

"Well, it's not so much what you can do for me. I just wasn't sure if you had heard. You know how the rumors fly around here." He chuckled dryly, but there was no humor in it. "Saw your brother at the supermarket the other day."

That had me straightening up and paying attention. Except for him asking me for money, I knew nothing about what was going on back home.

"What did he say? What's going on?"

"Has he been in touch?" Coach asked cautiously.

Yeah, looking for money.

"Not really," I responded, instead of telling him the sad truth.

"So, has anyone told you about your father?"

"No."

Now I was on my feet. For my high school Coach to call me and let me know about my real father, shit must have been going down. Granted, he'd been more of a father figure to me during high school that my old man, but for him to track me down something was seriously wrong.

"What's wrong?" Sammy asked, as I began to pace across the living room.

I met her worried looking eyes but just shook my head in response since I didn't know what was going on. Yet.

"Figures," Coach Laughlin said, followed by something I could quite make out but sounded like "stupid idiots." I heard him take a deep breath, and then he said, "Mitch, your father's in the hospital. He's been very sick for a while now. I just heard that they are moving him to a hospice."

I felt my heart drop.

"What?"

What the actual fuck?

My father and I had never been close, and my siblings had issues with me thanks to his constant array of complaints. I think most of it had to do with jealousy, and the fact that I got out while they were still stuck in the small town where we grew up with no genuine prospects for a better life. But I never thought they'd fail to notify me of the fact that our father was dying.

Or fail, it wasn't a mistake. They chose not to tell me, and that hurt.

"I'm sorry, Mitchell. I thought you should know."

"Thank you, Coach. I appreciate that."

I'm not sure what else I said or how we left the conversation. All I kept thinking was that now it all made sense. My brother had hit me up for money to pay for the medical bills the insurance didn't cover, but he couldn't bother to tell me what the hell was going on.

"That fucker," I yelled as I threw the phone towards the couch.

"Mitch, honey." Sammy was immediately next to me, tugging on my sleeve. "What's happening?"