Chapter 9 - HAROLD’S OWN PRICEHarold agreed to coffee.
Not because he wanted to revisit.
Because David asked.
They sat near court.
Jordan and Tyler did not join.
This part belonged family.
Miles recorded only after asking.
Harold said no.
So no phone.
Good.
David asked:
“What did you lose?”
Harold looked annoyed.
“Why count?”
“Because Dad wrote he ruined part.”
“Leon lost things too.”
“I know his.”
Harold sighed.
“You want list?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
Professional tryout.
Gone.
Graduate assistant coaching offer.
Withdrawn.
Part-time teaching job at college.
Gone.
Engagement?
Miles looked.
Harold smiled sadly.
“Almost.”
“What happened?”
“My fiancée, Margaret, stayed.”
“Married?”
“Fifty-eight years.”
Miles smiled.
“Still?”
“She died nine years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Harold continued.
Margaret’s parents hated scandal.
Wedding postponed.
They married anyway.
Harold took postal work because stable.
Later city recreation.
“Did you resent Leon?”
“Yes.”
David looked surprised.
Harold laughed.
“You thought I was saint?”
“No.”
“You did.”
Miles looked away.
Maybe.
Harold continued.
“I stopped speaking to him for eleven years.”
“But court 1974.”
“That’s when he came back.”
“How?”
“Actually, I called him.”
Miles frowned.
“Why?”
“Needed truck.”
That made them laugh.
Harold smiled.
“We had no money for court project. Leon worked logistics. I knew he could move gravel and hoops cheap.”
“So you called man who ruined career for truck?”
“I was practical.”
David laughed for first time.
“What did he say?”
“‘Where?’”
No apology.
They worked.
After children went home, fought.
Leon said he had family.
Harold said so did he.
Leon said truth would destroy David’s memory.
Harold said David deserved choice.
Stalemate.
Years.
“Why keep working together?”
Harold looked at court.
“Because kids needed court more than we needed perfect friendship.”
Miles absorbed.
Harold and Leon held contradiction.
Anger.
Love.
Shared history.
No simple reconciliation.
David asked:
“Did Dad ever repay money?”
“To bookmaker?”
“Yes.”
“Dorsey gone.”
“To you?”
“Tried.”
“How?”
“Envelope.”
“Did you take?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Harold shrugged.
“Money wasn’t issue.”
“What would’ve been?”
“Truth.”
David’s eyes filled.
“He never gave.”
“No.”
“Until letter.”
“Yes.”
“Too late.”
Harold looked at him.
“Late isn’t same as nothing.”
David went quiet.
Miles asked:
“Why did you come back court now?”
Harold looked toward hoop.
“Walk.”
“That’s it?”
“Doctor says walk.”
Miles laughed.
Harold smiled.
But something else.
“You knew plaque gone?”
Harold looked.
“What plaque?”
Jordan had told Miles city renovation removed old Benson-Carter plaque years earlier.
Harold’s expression tightened.
Miles showed photo.
Harold stared.
“I wondered.”
“Do you care?”
“Not much.”
“Court might be renamed for sponsor.”
Harold shrugged.
“Kids still play?”
“Yes.”
“Then court works.”
Miles almost frustrated.
“You really don’t care name?”
“Names matter less than people think.”
David looked at him.
“Easy for someone whose name got ruined.”
Harold turned.
Interesting.
“Maybe that’s why.”
Miles asked:
“If we could restore plaque?”
Harold shook head.
“Don’t make project out of me.”
“It’s you and Grandpa.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re still trying to fix guilt with public gesture.”
Miles froze.
Harold’s eyes sharp.
“You called me useless.”
Miles flushed.
“Yes.”
“You embarrassed?”
“Yes.”
“You want make me legend because then your mistake becomes meaningful.”
Miles looked down.
Harold continued.
“Just don’t do it again.”
Simple.
Miles whispered:
“I’m sorry.”
Harold nodded.
“Accepted.”
No speech.
David stared.
“You forgive easy.”
Harold looked at him.
“No. That was easy thing.”
David understood.
His part harder.
Harold continued:
“I don’t need Miles to build statue.”
Miles smiled.
“Wasn’t planning statue.”
“Good.”
Then Harold looked at court.
“What I do want…”
Miles leaned.
“…is somebody teach those boys not to shoot every possession.”
Miles laughed.
“Talking about me?”
“Yes.”
David smiled.
Harold had watched.
Miles asked:
“You think I’m selfish player?”
“Yes.”
Immediate.
Jordan would love.
Miles shook head.
“Okay.”
Harold stood.
Walked to court.
A group teenagers playing.
Ball rolled.
One recognized.
“Yo, old dude who made shot.”
Harold sighed.
Miles laughed.
Teen handed ball.
“Do it again.”
Harold shook.
“No.”
“Come on.”
“No.”
Miles watched.
“You don’t want prove?”
Harold looked.
“I proved to myself a long time ago.”
Then he handed ball to Miles.
“You.”
Miles took.
“From there?”
“Pass.”
“What?”
Harold pointed Jordan across court arriving.
“He’s open.”
Miles rolled eyes.
“Man, I can make this.”
Harold said:
“That wasn’t question.”
Miles looked at Jordan.
May you like
Then basket.
For first time, a ninety-year-old man was teaching him something harder than shooting.
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