Page 4 of The Session

Mark looked at him, then Tru, then back to Morris. He thought for a moment, trying to think of one that wasn’t R-rated. “He used to work as a paramedic at a zoo. He said there were way more animal bites than people realized—usually from the smaller ones. But he once had to treat a zookeeper who got bit by a bear, and no one told him the bear was still loose in the enclosure.”

“Oh my God, what did he do?” Tru asked.

“He kept pepper spray in his kit. He unloaded it in the bear’s face, then pulled the man out of there,” Mark explained.

“You ever have to deal with anything like that?” Morris asked.

“No. I’ve had to pepper-spray a few drunks, but no bears. Luckily.”

“That’s intense enough for me,” Tru said. “First off, keep the check. I’m sorry it took so long to get to you. But the money is yours.”

Mark eyed the slip of paper on the table. The others noticed his hesitation and discomfort.

“It’s okay, son. The money is meant for you. You can use it for your student loans,” Morris said.

“I paid those off. Fort Valley isn’t exactly Harvard tuition. Would it be okay if I used the money for my youth athletic foundation instead?” Mark asked.

“Foundation?” Morris asked.

“Yes. That’s why I wanted to speak to you all,” Mark replied, trying to avoid saying “y’all.”

“We’d love to hear more about it,” Tru replied.

Mark leaned in and his voice shifted. “Where I grew up, the guys who did sports were not all angels. But the real troublemakers were the ones that didn’t have a father figure and didn’t have friends.

“My dad was out of the picture growing up, although I had plenty of father figures because of sports. I was lucky. I was athletic and able to make it onto teams and ultimately learn about coaching. But if you’re not an athletic kid, then you don’t get the same kind of attention.

“That’s why I decided I wanted to get into coaching. In college, a professor convinced me to start a nonprofit. Sure, there’s Little League and other athletic groups for kids, but the problem is you have to be kind of good to get into a lot of them. I wanted to create something where every kid could play,” Mark explained.

“Like a Special Olympics?” Morris asked.

“Not quite, although I volunteer with them. In our league, we find out what each kid is good at. Maybe they’re not that physical, but we’ll make them a coach or a referee. You don’t have to be able to throw a football to know if it’s a good throw or not. But we also find ways to get the kids involved. We have kids dressing up as knights and hitting each other with foam swords. We do game nights where we make the jocks play chess or Dungeons & Dragons.

“The key is getting them involved—finding out what they’re good at and helping them make friends. Everyone is good at something. We don’t hand out fake trophies or reward kids for being NPCs. We make ’em work.”

“Very admirable. But I think I’d be hopelessly unathletic,” Morris replied.

“And that’s why God invented golf,” Mark countered.

“I’m not much of a golfer,” Morris admitted.

“No. You’re a swimmer,” Mark said.

This caught Morris off guard. “How could you tell?”

“Your shoulders and forearms.” Mark pointed toward Morris’s head. “A little bit of sun damage, but you started using a better sunscreen. I’m guessing you probably did a few Ironman events and marathons when you hit fifty. A lot of athletic guys do that to prove they still got it. The key thing is you’re keeping active.”

Kincaid leaned back, fascinated. “What else can you tell us about Nathan?”

Mark addressed Morris instead. “You eat a lot of garbage—probably because you have trouble finding the time and grab whatever’s convenient.”

Morris looked to the hallway outside the conference room and mock-yelled, “Cancel my Burger King order.”

“This is fun. What about me?” Tru asked.

“Some tennis from the forearms. But I’d guess you’re a treadmill woman. You’re on there for hours watching true-crime murder mysteries.”

“Painfully,” Tru admitted.