Tail Gait

April 17, 2015

Nelson Yarbrough, Marshall Reese, Paul Huber, and Rudy Putnam sat in Frank’s hospital room.

When the admitting doctor had asked Frank his next of kin, he had given Nelson Yarbrough’s name. Despite being no relation, Frank put Nelson’s name down, as he’d always looked up to the quarterback. As a kid, he had worshipped him. Nelson, shocked to receive the call from the hospital physician, called the alumni in town. With the exception of Willis Fugate, who was in D.C. that day, they all showed up at the hospital in support—of Nelson Yarbrough rather than Frank Cresey.

Gasping for breath, hooked up to an IV, Frank couldn’t believe his bloodshot eyes as he looked at this gathering of football players: his childhood heroes, all of whom had tried to help him over the years. “Will you all bury me?”

Nelson answered simply, “Frank, you’re going to live.”

Frank flinched. “Why? I’ve made a mess of it, and I killed Professor McConnell.”

Paul took a chair beside the hospital bed. “That doesn’t seem possible.”

But Frank just nodded.

His four visitors exchanged glances.

Paul Huber said, “Frank, what you did was swallow rat poison, but not enough. You’ll come through this. This is a blessing in disguise. You can come back. I know you can.”

“He’s right.” Nelson seconded the idea.

“Better I die. I don’t want to go on trial.”

Not one of the men thought Frank had killed Ginger McConnell. Too many gaping holes in that scenario.

Marshall grinned, trying to jolly Frank along. “You drank too much, buddy. We all know a Wahoo can drink, but you are in a class by yourself.”

Frank smiled weakly. “Not this time.” Then, suddenly animated, he sat up and spoke louder. “I saw her. I saw her, and she was beautiful.”

They all knew who, even though they didn’t know of the incident with Olivia on the mall. The four stayed another half an hour. At last Frank, wearied, fell asleep.

The men stepped outside into the hall.

A nurse walked by.

Marshall whispered, for they were in a hospital. “No way in hell he could have killed Professor McConnell. Christ, he couldn’t hold a gun without it shaking. He’s delusional. Do you think he really saw Olivia?”

“He thinks he did,” Nelson noted.

“Complicates things. If he pulls through, where does he go? Back on the mall?” Paul hated seeing a former All-American in this condition.

Rudy folded his arms across his chest. “No. We’ll think of something.”

“He might come up with something,” said Marshall. “I’ll call Lionel.”

Lionel had returned to L.A., but was coming back to Charlottesville for the professor’s funeral. Good thing he was successful, as those coast-to-coast flights cost a bundle.

“There’s a halfway house, city owned, on the east side of the mall,” said Paul, who volunteered, “I’ll check into it.”

“I don’t think he’ll live with other people.” Marshall gratefully sank onto the bench along the wall. The others took seats as well.

“Everything at once.” Rudy’s shoulders sagged. “But the endowed chair seems to be coming along.”

“Tim Jardine knows money better than anyone,” said Nelson. “I think we should each give Frank’s physician and the nurses on this floor our cell numbers. If he does anything foolish, tries to leave, makes a scene, one of us might be reached. I also think we could make a schedule so that one of us visits him every day until he’s discharged. With luck, by then the police should know more about who shot Ginger.”

“God, what a mess!” Rudy dropped his head for a moment.

“Yes, it is, but it’s gotten us back together, working as a team.” Nelson stood up, slapped Rudy on the back. He looked for the head nurse to give her his cell number.