“And there you have it, plain and simple. The three things that will get me my Christmas bonus—you’re speeding, or distracted or impaired and I see it. I get to pull you over and make my quota.” He was quiet for a meaningful moment. “You get to live.”

And then Oscar was on the screen again.

“I told you Oscar is my best friend. I’m almost thirty-five and he’s sixty now. Fifteen years ago when I was a Seahawks tight end at the age of twenty and he was a factory worker, we were on the road at the same time. I was testing how fast that Ferrari could get around the mountain curves and he was going home after work. I was on a good road and had a clear path. I was going pretty fast but that car was hugging the road like magic. It was an unpopulated area—hardly anyone on the road and no houses in sight. And then Oscar drove through a stop sign because he’d fallen asleep. He’d worked a double shift and he was toast. He was doing about twenty-five and I was doing about eighty—but I was in total control. Except for one small thing—by the time I saw his car and slammed on the brakes and skidded and lost control, I T-boned him.

“Here’s the irony. I got a speeding ticket. I didn’t cause the accident—I had the right of way. But my excessive speed combined with his impaired driving put him in a wheelchair and cost me my football career and an inch or so off one leg.”

A new picture came up on the screen. It was a shot of Seth and Oscar separated by a chess board. “I really grieved the football. I wasn’t happy about how many rods and pins were put in my leg. It hurt to even look at Oscar—he was a family man and he wasn’t ever going to get better. But I think the hardest part was my own family and what it did to them. They were so supportive while I worked my way through several surgeries and years of physical therapy. But we were all changed—me and Oscar and all our families and friends. And I think that’s when my father stopped being proud of me.” He gave the kids a moment to absorb his message.

“Now I have one question for you. And be as honest as you can. Am I gonna get my Christmas bonus this year?”

“No!” they yelled.

“Well, damn. I knew it was a mistake to give you the inside tips. Thanks for letting me have the stage for a little while. Drive your best!”

* * *

Iris had to wipe the tears from her eyes. What a showman Seth was. He had obviously taken the lift out of his shoe so that his limp was more pronounced. He was magnificent and how she loved him.

She looked at her watch. It wasn’t yet four and last bell had sounded. There were still some athletic practices and after-school clubs going on, but the school had quieted down quite a bit. She tidied up her desk, locked things up and left for the day.

She parked in her carport and walked across the yard. Gwen was busy in her kitchen as always but invited Iris in anyway, offering her a cup of coffee. “I’m going to pass. I discovered something at work today that I wanted to tell you about. Did you know that Seth has done some high school assemblies in the past few years?”

“He mentioned something about drivers’ education or something of the sort....”

“Has he told you about it?” Iris asked.

“No details. But I didn’t ask. I thought it must just be the usual thing.”

“He’s extraordinary,” Iris said. “I guess if he really wanted you to know about this he would’ve told you himself.”

“But he told you?” Gwen asked.

“Yes and no. He told me as soon as he got to town that he wanted to help with programs directed at teens and asked if we could work together on some stuff, assemblies and that sort of thing. We weren’t seeing each other yet and I told him to put together a proposal for me. Today I was looking through a list of recommended videos and there was one of Seth at one of the high schools. Not in Thunder Point, but having seen the video, I have to convince him to appear for our student body. He’s wonderful. And I know his story will be meaningful to the kids. The video is public, but I suspect he didn’t think anyone would point it out to you. Certainly not me. But, Gwen, you should see it. It’s short. Fifteen or twenty minutes. And so moving.”

“Then yes, I want to see it. Can you help me find it?”

“Sure. Where’s your computer?”

“In my sewing room. I only use it to look up recipes, patterns, pay the bills, that sort of thing. I don’t have fun on it like some of my friends.”

“Come on. I’ll find it for you.”

They went together to Gwen’s sewing room. Iris sat down at the old computer and, of course, had to update some of the software to show the video. “I’ll leave you to it, Gwen. I’m going to go home.”

“Are you going to tell Seth what you did, showing me the movie?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m not going to start keeping things from him now. I don’t know how he’ll react. In fact, I never expected something like this. I think it’s important.” She gave Gwen a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you later.”

* * *

Norm shuffled in the door a little earlier than usual, a little grouchier than usual.

“Oh, good, you’re home before dinner. There’s something I have to show you. It’s about Seth and it’s important.”

“After dinner, Gwen,” he said. “I got some mean heartburn today.”

“When did that come on? What did you eat?”

“It was a couple hours after lunch. I didn’t eat bad. I just had Stu’s pulled-pork sandwich, which wasn’t as bad as usual. And I felt fine.”

“Is it food poisoning?”

“I don’t feel that kind of sick. It’s just heartburn.”

“I’ll get you an antacid.”

“I hate that shit,” he grumbled, sitting in his favorite chair.

“Do you like heartburn?” she asked, skittering off to the kitchen. She brought back the pink jar and a spoon, poured it, aimed it at his mouth.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Yes,” she said, the spoon steady and unrelenting. “Do as I say. I have to show you a video on the computer. Seth is in it.”

He opened his mouth, swallowed and made a great many shudders and melodramatic faces. Gwen ignored him. When she returned after putting away the medicine Norm was even grumpier. “Put it on the TV,” he said.