The gym smelled of popcorn and freshly polished flooring. Maroon and gold streamers decorated the railings, and large photographs of the six senior volleyball players stood beside the scorer’s table.
Kaylee’s poster showed her jumping to strike the ball, her long blonde braid flying behind her.
A bucket of red roses sat nearby.
Traditionally, each senior presented a rose to the family member escorting them onto the court.
I noticed Travis looking at the flowers.
Then he lowered his eyes.
He clasped his hands between his knees and began rubbing his thumb nervously.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Fine.”
His answer sounded exactly like Kaylee’s response at dinner.
I watched the side entrance as the junior varsity match continued.
Six o’clock passed.
Then six-oh-five.
I started worrying that Dad might have encountered trouble on the road.
At 6:12, the side door finally opened.
My father walked inside.
He wore his tan Sunday jacket, a crisp white shirt, polished shoes, and his favorite green seed-company cap.
