Page 101 of We'll Meet Again

Chapter 28

Woodenpewsgroanedunderthe weight of about three hundred attendees as they all resumed their seats after a half-hearted rendition of “Be Thou My Vision.” The pastor led the congregation in a short prayer, and then invited Ethan up to give the eulogy.

Through the whole service, Ethan was in a fog. Or a dream, maybe. There was no way that little brown box contained the greatness that was Larry Lowe. The program listed his life simply as 1957-2023, as if a mere hyphen could cover the story of such an incredible, influential man. So how could it be real? He kept thinking if he pinched himself, he would wake up back in London with Billie under his arm and this would all be gone.

Ethan cleared his throat as he reached the very real podium, hardly aware he had even moved. The sound echoed through the sanctuary, so he knew he was in front of a microphone. Shaking, he retrieved the words he’d written on his flight home, with his heart still breaking not only for his coach, but for losing Billie as well. After everything, he still wished she was with him. He needed her like he needed air.

“Hey, everybody,” he began, but he had to clear his throat again now that he’d thought about Billie. “I, uh, probably should introduce myself before I get started here. My name’s Ethan Knight. I play for Stanmore Football Club in London. And Larry Lowe was my very first coach.”

He got a couple cheers and claps from the crowd, and he looked out to spot a few of his old teammates from those days - guys he mostly kept up with over Facebook and Instagram. He sent them a nod of gratitude.

“The first time I met Larry Lowe, he gave me my life,” he continued. “And I’m not just saying that. He started me on a path that led to my career - one that brought me plenty of trophies and more happiness than I could have even dreamed of. But he taught me more than just football - er, soccer, sorry. I’ve been in England too long.” He paused as a chuckle went through the crowd. “Point is, he taught me things outside of sports that have stayed with me ever since.”

He took a deep breath. This part was going to be the hardest.

“Like how to show up. When my mother passed, Coach and Mrs. Lowe were the first people at our front door. They brought us chicken casserole, which fed me and my grandmother for a week. But he came back to our house every day after practice to check on me until I was ready to step back onto the field. All without ever pressuring me. In fact, he didn’t even talk to me about soccer. Sometimes he just sat with me and we didn’t say anything. And when I was finally ready to come back, he didn’t make a big fuss about it. Just put me in the squad like it was any other day. That was the moment things felt normal for me again.

“He taught me a lot about loss. It’s hard for kids to understand, especially when we practiced and worked so hard, it felt unfair to come up short. But he taught us that each loss is an opportunity. It ain’t the end, it’s a starting point, and from there we had the chance to learn something and grow. So the first time I failed a test - in English, I remember - I only allowed myself half an hour to beat myself up about it before I went to my teacher and asked her how I could do better, and I started tutoring. And you may not know it, hearing me talk, but my grammar actually improved.”

That earned him a couple more laughs.

“And when I asked a girl to homecoming and she said no, I - well, I actually took that one pretty hard. But I learned that I could have just as much fun with my buddies as I could with a date.

“Fun was also an important part of Coach Larry’s teachings. Win, lose, or draw, he reminded us we were privileged to get to play our favorite game as often as we did. Because of him, I’ve been able to remind myself daily how lucky I am to live out a dream. Although sadly, I haven’t been able to convince any other coaches that a post-loss locker room dance party is the real cure for keeping morale up. Which is fine. My playlists could never be as good as Coach Larry’s.”

More watery smiles from the audience. Even the corners of Ethan’s mouth turned up at the fond memories of jumping around to classic rock with his teammates, Coach Larry among them, teaching them what headbanging was.

“I thought of him when I made it to the Premier League, and I was so scared at what a change it would be. Not only leaving a league and a club I enjoyed, but moving to a whole new place. When I got on the plane, I was terrified. But by the time I landed, I was telling myself, ‘This is an adventure!’ And I had…probably the greatest adventure of my life.”

He knew most people would assume he meant helping bring Stanmore up to its highest ranking in club history, securing a Europa League spot, and winning the FA Cup. But truthfully, it was none of those things. Billie Axton proved to be a greater adventure than all of that combined. He found his eyes scanning the crowd for her face in spite of himself. He looked back down at the paper to remind himself what he was supposed to be doing.

“I remember once telling Coach it was a shame he didn’t have children of his own. He pointed to the wall of photographs hanging up in his office of every team he’d ever coached and he said, ‘What do you mean? I’ve had hundreds of children.’”

He met Mrs. Lowe’s eyes there, and she dabbed at them with a handkerchief. Even that had Ethan mentally kicking himself, as his mind went right back to Billie and that afternoon in the boot room, when she’d questioned his having a handkerchief. He shook his head.

“He was…the finest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. And he taught us all not only to be great athletes, but great people. I hope we’ll all carry those lessons with us forever. He gave me my life, and I will always choose to honor his.” He folded up the paper. “Thank you.”

Organ music rang throughout the sanctuary as Ethan stepped down and headed back to his seat, his eyes locked on Betty, who felt like the only thing keeping him standing up. She squeezed his hand as he took his spot next to her.

“That was beautiful,” she whispered.

He only swallowed and nodded.

A reception followed at the Lowe’s south Charlotte home. Betty immediately went to get a glass of wine and hug Mrs. Lowe. Ethan got a plate of food, to go through the motions, but didn’t take a bite. He wasn’t hungry, he just didn’t want to alarm anyone by standing around empty handed. A couple of his elementary school teammates came over and spoke to him, clapping his shoulder and such, but he didn’t really hear them. He smiled and nodded the best he could.

Over their shoulders, he spotted Mrs. Lowe, standing in front of a line of people waiting to speak to her. He remembered being in that position when his mother passed, standing next to Betty, whose hand was firmly in his as she promised. Mrs. Lowe was certainly more graceful than Ethan ever was, offering sweet smiles and gratitude for every guest. Ten-year-old Ethan had stared hard at the floor, letting his grief stew until Mrs. Lowe touched his shoulder gently. He looked up at her and she offered him a Coke. She didn’t say any of the usual platitudes, she just…gave him something to give him a boost.

Tossing his plate in the trash, he made his way over to the refreshment table and picked up a glass of white wine. He carried it over to where Mrs. Lowe stood now, still receiving guests, and when he reached her, put his hand on her back. She turned, and he held the glass out to her, returning her gesture from over a decade ago.

“Oh, my, thank you, Ethan,” she sighed, taking it. “I’ve been needing something to wet my lips, but it’s hard to break away.”

“No problem,” he replied. “Thought that might be the case.”

“Thank you for your eulogy,” she said. “It was lovely.”

“I’m glad you thought so. I’ll, uh, let you get back to -”

She stopped him by wrapping her fingers around his forearm. “Actually, I’ve got something for you. Do you have a moment?”

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