Paul kicked the grass. 'Look, Jesse, there's a memorial service tomorrow, at the field. Most of Rake's boys will be there, you know, to say good-bye. Mal thinks he might be able to pull some strings and get you a pass.'
'No way, man.'
'You got a lot of friends there, Jesse.'
'Former friends, Paul, people I've let down. They'll all point and say, 'Look, there's Jesse Trapp. Coulda been great, but got messed up on drugs.Ruined his life. Learn from him, kids. Stay away from the bad stuff.' No thanks. I don't want to be pointed at.'
'Rake would want you there,' Neely said.
The chin dropped again and the eyes closed. A moment passed. 'I loved Eddie Rake like I've loved nobody else in my life. He was in court the day I got sent away. I had ruined my life, and I was humiliated over that. I had wrecked my parents, and I was sick about that. But what hurt the most was that I had failed in Rake's eyes. It still hurts. Y'all can bury him without me.'
'It's your call, Jesse,' Paul said.
'Thanks, but I'll pass.'
There was a long pause as all three nodded and studied the grass. Finally, Paul said, 'I see your mom once a week. She's doing well.'
'Thanks. She visits me the third Sunday of every month. You ought to drive over sometime, say hello. It's pretty lonely in here.'
'I'll do that, Jesse.'
'You promise?'
'I promise. And I wish you'd think about tomorrow.'
'I've already thought about it. I'll say a prayer for Rake, you boys can bury him.'
'Fair enough.'
Jesse looked to his right. 'Is that Mal over there?'
'Yes, we rode with him.'
'Tell him to kiss my ass.'
'I'll do that, Jesse,' Paul said.'With pleasure.'
'Thanks boys,' Jesse said. He turned and walked away.
* * *
At four o'clock Thursday afternoon the crowd parted at the gate to Rake Field and the hearse backed itself into position. Its rear door was opened and eight pallbearers formed two short lines and pulled out the casket. None of the eight were former Spartans. Eddie Rake had given much thought to his final details, and he had decided not to play favorites. He selected his pallbearers from among his assistant coaches.
The procession moved slowly around the track. The casket was followed by Mrs. Lila Rake, her three daughters and their husbands, and a handsome collection of grandchildren.Then a priest.Then the drum corps from the Spartan marching band, doing a soft roll as they passed the home stands.
Between the forties on the home sideline there was a large white tent, its poles anchored in buckets of sand to protect the sacred Bermuda of Rake Field. At the fifty-yard line, at the exact spot where he had coached for so long and so well, they stopped with his casket. It was mounted on an antique Irish wake table, the property of Lila's best friend, and quickly surrounded by flowers. When the Coach was properly arranged, the family gathered around the casket for a short prayer. Then they formed a receiving line.
The line stretched down the track and through the gate, and the cars were bumper to bumper on the road that led to Rake Field.
