The Master's Chair (The Chronicles of Terah) by Mackenzie Morgan Page B
Authors: Mackenzie Morgan
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local papers. “Right now, I’m working on an in-depth feature on college football. I’ve been reading about your quarterback, the one who was injured, and I’d like to interview him and get his perspective on the sport. Do you know when he’s meeting with his doctors to get their final evaluation?”
The coach hesitated. Pallor waited a few moments and then added, “I want to wait until he knows one way or the other.”
“Next Tuesday morning,” the coach finally said. “But don’t crowd him if it’s bad news. Give him a chance to … I don’t know … come to terms with it, I guess.”
“You’re expecting bad news then?” Pallor asked. Then he added, “Off the record.”
“I’ve seen a lot of knee injuries. I knew it was bad when he got hit.”
“Have you told him what you think?”
“I’ve tried to prepare him, but he’s not hearing me, or at least that’s the way he’s acting.” The coach was quiet for a moment. Pallor felt like he had more to say, so he just waited. Finally the coach sighed and said, “He’s a smart kid. I’d be willing to bet he’s figured it out for himself, but he’s not going to acknowledge the possibility that it’s over until the doctors say so. After all, until they say no, there’s always hope.”
“Yeah,” Pallor said softly.
“Just give him a little breathing room. He’s a good kid. He didn’t deserve this,” the coach said. Then he disconnected.
Pallor left his house and went to a few of the restaurants on his list, looking for likely candidates, but the only thing he got was indigestion. When he got back home, he called his contacts back to see if any of them had come up with anyone.
He struck out on his first two calls. The newspaper hadn’t had any requests for new subscriptions within the last few days and no one had applied for a new library card either. But when he called the real estate company, his contact there told him that they’d had four rentals move in over the past weekend, but all four of those were married couples, two with children. The only one that sounded the least bit promising was Chris McAllister, a twenty-six-year-old marketing director scheduled to arrive on Friday. According to the information on his rental application, he was single and had lived in New York City all of his life. He had stated that the reason for the move was that he had been offered a new job in Omaha.
Pallor almost didn’t bother with him. Anyone who had spent his whole life in New York City would find Terah even more alien than Kevin would. But he made notes of all the specifics and got directions to the apartment complex all the same. It wasn’t like he had an over abundance of prospects.
Pallor didn’t have any luck at all on Thursday, but Friday morning he stopped at a small diner just inside the city limits. One of the waitresses caught his eye. Her accent didn’t sound native to the area and from the bits of conversation he overheard, she had to have lived some place rural. She even looked the part with sandy hair, blue eyes and a down-to-earth way of carrying herself. She came across as being perfectly comfortable with who she was.
He had taken a seat at the counter and ordered a cup of coffee when he walked in, but once he had his coffee, he picked up the newspaper he was carrying as a prop, and moved to one of the empty booths in her area. When she stopped by to refill his cup, he noticed her nametag: Joan. It fit. A no-nonsense name for a sensible lady.
“You aren’t from around here, are you?” Pallor asked.
She grinned, shook her head, and said, “My husband and I had a farm in Missouri until last fall. After the drought last summer, we decided to call it quits.”
“Do you like living in the city?” he asked.
“Truthfully, I think we both miss the open spaces and peace of the country, but we’ll adjust,” she said with a smile. “Now, what would you like to go with that coffee?”
Pallor ordered a small pastry and
The coach hesitated. Pallor waited a few moments and then added, “I want to wait until he knows one way or the other.”
“Next Tuesday morning,” the coach finally said. “But don’t crowd him if it’s bad news. Give him a chance to … I don’t know … come to terms with it, I guess.”
“You’re expecting bad news then?” Pallor asked. Then he added, “Off the record.”
“I’ve seen a lot of knee injuries. I knew it was bad when he got hit.”
“Have you told him what you think?”
“I’ve tried to prepare him, but he’s not hearing me, or at least that’s the way he’s acting.” The coach was quiet for a moment. Pallor felt like he had more to say, so he just waited. Finally the coach sighed and said, “He’s a smart kid. I’d be willing to bet he’s figured it out for himself, but he’s not going to acknowledge the possibility that it’s over until the doctors say so. After all, until they say no, there’s always hope.”
“Yeah,” Pallor said softly.
“Just give him a little breathing room. He’s a good kid. He didn’t deserve this,” the coach said. Then he disconnected.
Pallor left his house and went to a few of the restaurants on his list, looking for likely candidates, but the only thing he got was indigestion. When he got back home, he called his contacts back to see if any of them had come up with anyone.
He struck out on his first two calls. The newspaper hadn’t had any requests for new subscriptions within the last few days and no one had applied for a new library card either. But when he called the real estate company, his contact there told him that they’d had four rentals move in over the past weekend, but all four of those were married couples, two with children. The only one that sounded the least bit promising was Chris McAllister, a twenty-six-year-old marketing director scheduled to arrive on Friday. According to the information on his rental application, he was single and had lived in New York City all of his life. He had stated that the reason for the move was that he had been offered a new job in Omaha.
Pallor almost didn’t bother with him. Anyone who had spent his whole life in New York City would find Terah even more alien than Kevin would. But he made notes of all the specifics and got directions to the apartment complex all the same. It wasn’t like he had an over abundance of prospects.
Pallor didn’t have any luck at all on Thursday, but Friday morning he stopped at a small diner just inside the city limits. One of the waitresses caught his eye. Her accent didn’t sound native to the area and from the bits of conversation he overheard, she had to have lived some place rural. She even looked the part with sandy hair, blue eyes and a down-to-earth way of carrying herself. She came across as being perfectly comfortable with who she was.
He had taken a seat at the counter and ordered a cup of coffee when he walked in, but once he had his coffee, he picked up the newspaper he was carrying as a prop, and moved to one of the empty booths in her area. When she stopped by to refill his cup, he noticed her nametag: Joan. It fit. A no-nonsense name for a sensible lady.
“You aren’t from around here, are you?” Pallor asked.
She grinned, shook her head, and said, “My husband and I had a farm in Missouri until last fall. After the drought last summer, we decided to call it quits.”
“Do you like living in the city?” he asked.
“Truthfully, I think we both miss the open spaces and peace of the country, but we’ll adjust,” she said with a smile. “Now, what would you like to go with that coffee?”
Pallor ordered a small pastry and
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