Wednesday, October 22, Rod's lawyer walked a cashier's check into the treasurer's office.
$4,800.00, payable to Halbrook Local Schools.
Ellen Voss deposited it before lunch.
That afternoon her office cut a check to Tri-County Team Sports.
Invoice #4471, $10,860.00.
I watched both lines show up on the portal on my break.
$4,800 in, on top of Kendra's $6,440.
$10,860 out.
The drive left $380 in Fund 300-9014.
Kendra got a letter from the volunteer office.
One year, no volunteering anywhere in the district.
Jenna quit the booster board by email.
Kendra's Facebook went private.
The parents group got quiet.
Sunday, October 26, 2:00 PM, Jason came up my front steps alone.
No clipboard.
No phone on speaker.
He stopped one step down, out of habit.
"Kendra's sorry."
"Come back as treasurer."
"For Mom's sake."
"And Christmas."
"No."
He waited for the rest.
There wasn't any.
"Tess."
"She lost the presidency."
"Half the town won't look at her."
"Isn't that enough?"
I didn't answer that either.
He nodded at the concrete.
Then he went back to his truck and backed out slowly.
The next day Rod resigned his board seat in a two-line letter.
The Auditor of State opened a review that same week.
The Herald put it above the fold.
Tuesday, Dale asked me into his office.
"The treasurer seat's back in the bylaws."
"It's yours if you want it."
"No."
He didn't argue.
A linebacker's dad signed the new card that afternoon, with Dale as witness.
I signed one form.
Concession Coordinator — Volunteer Agreement
District rules on the back.
Two adults on every count.
A bag number on every sheet.
I taped a sign-up sheet to the stand window.
The tight end's mother signed first.
By Thursday there were 22 names.
Thursday, October 30, Hector's van pulled up behind the stand.
He'd driven down from Lima himself.
He unloaded the boxes onto the counter, one at a time.
Sixty sets.
The bag with 39 on it was on top.
"Owen's is on top," he said.
"Figured you'd want to see it first."
I ran my thumb over the gold 39 through the plastic.
"Paid in full," he said.
"Ellen Voss sent the check with a purchase order stapled to it."
"First time all year I've seen one of those."
He set his clipboard down for me to sign.
"I only work with you now."
Dale came across the lot with something folded under his arm.
"Found it in the booster closet."
"Behind the folding chairs."
He held it out over the counter.
"Didn't know if you'd want it back."
"I want it back."
Navy canvas.
The left S a ghost.
The scorch mark low on the right.
The brass ring still hung from the zipper.
I pulled it open.
The fifty-dollar float was inside, fives and ones.
The paper band hadn't been broken.
Nobody had ever opened the pocket.
Friday, October 31, playoff night.
The fryer hissed as the first basket went down.
Jayla stood at the till and broke the band.
She counted the float into the drawer out loud, the way I'd taught her.
"Fifty."
One of the dads counted it again and initialed the sheet.
Volunteer forms hung clipped to the wall by the window, 22 of them.
Two parents stood at the grill.
Two more counted the line.
With four minutes left we were down by two.
The field goal unit ran out.
Owen was in navy with a gold 39 on his back.
Rod's son knelt to hold.
The orange tee sat in Owen's waistband, out of habit.
Thirty-four yards.
The snap was clean.
The ball went through dead center.
The home side came up off the bleachers all at once.
Owen didn't run to his teammates.
He turned around.
He raised his hand to the concession window.
I had a hot dog tong in one hand.
I lifted it back.
Jayla laughed and rang up a nacho.
Thursday, December 25, my table had two leaves out instead of four.
Mom did Christmas at Jason's.
She called at noon and talked about the weather.
Owen sat at my table, and so did Jayla's mom, her dad and her little brother.
There was a ham from Fenner's that I'd sliced myself.
The navy apron hung on the hook by my back door now.
T.W. was still written inside the waistband.
Before I carried out the ham, I took it down.
I tied on the apron.
The uniforms came, paid in full, from the right account.