His humor faded quickly. Mike could sense the pain lurking within Tom’s eyes. An old pain, he thought. The dull, never-ending ache of a man whose father had disapproved of him since he was a small boy.
Tom had been born into one of the wealthiest families in Pittsburgh. His mother was old Eastern money. His father, John Chandler Simpson, was the chief executive officer of a large petrochemical corporation. John Simpson liked to brag about having worked his way up from the ranks. The boast was typical of the man. Yes, he had spent a total of six months on the shop floor, as a foreman, after he retired from the Navy’s officer corps. The fact that his father owned the company, however, is what accounted for his later advancement. John Chandler Simpson had fully expected his own son to follow in those well-worn footsteps.
But Tom had never fit his family’s mold and expectations. Not when he had been a boy, and not now when he was of age. Mike knew that John Chandler had been furious when his son chose WVU over Carnegie-Mellon—especially given the reason. Football? You’re not even a quarterback! And both his parents had been well-nigh apoplectic at their son’s choice for a wife.
Mike’s eyes scanned the room, until they fell on a figure in a wedding dress, laughing at something being said by the young woman at her side. His sister, Rita, sharing quips with one of her bridesmaids.
The contrast between the two girls was striking. The bridesmaid, Sharon, was attractive in a slightly heavy and buxom sort of way. She was very dark complected, even for a black woman. Tom’s sister was also pretty, but so slender that she bordered on being downright skinny. And her complexion—very pale skin, freckles, blue eyes, hair almost as black as her brother’s—betrayed her own ethnic origins. Typical Appalachian mongrel. The daughter and sister of coal miners.
Poor white trash. Yup. That’s what we are, all right.
There was no anger in Mike’s thought. Only contempt for Tom’s parents, and pity for Tom himself. Mike’s father had a high school education. Jack Stearns had worked in a coal mine since he was eighteen, and had never been able to afford more than a modest house. He had hoped to help his children through college. But the mine roof-fall which crippled him and eventually caused his death had put paid to those plans.
The quintessential nobody. On the day he finally died, Mike had been like a stunned ox. Years later, he could still feel the aching place in his heart where a giant had once lived.
“Let it go, Tom,” he said softly. “Just let it go. If it’s worth anything, your brother-in-law approves of you.”
Tom puffed out his cheeks, and slowly blew out the breath. “It is. Quite a bit.”
Abruptly, he shook his head, as if to clear his mind for other concerns. He turned to face Mike squarely.
“Give it to me straight, Mike. I’m graduating in a few months. I’ve got to make a decision. Do you think I’m good enough to make it in the pros?”
Mike’s reply came instant and firm. “Nope.” He shook his head ruefully. “Take it from me, buddy. You’ll be right where I was—the worst possible place. Almost good enough. Good enough to keep hoping, but . . .”
Tom frowned, still hoping. “You made it. In a way. Hell, you retired undefeated.”
Mike chuckled. “Sure did. After all of eight professional fights as a light heavy.” He reached up and stroked the little scar on his left eyebrow. “My last fight I even made it to the second card at the Olympic Auditorium. Pretty big time.”
The chuckle came again—more of an outright laugh. “Too big! I won—barely—on points. The kid demanded a rematch. And that’s when I finally had enough sense to quit. A man’s got to know his limitations.”
Tom was still frowning. Still hoping. Mike placed a hand on his thick arm. “Tom, face it. You’ll get no farther than I did. Realizing that you only beat the kid in front of you because you were a little more experienced, a little savvier, a little luckier.” He winced, remembering a young Mexican boxer whose speed and power had been well-nigh terrifying. “But that kid’ll learn, soon enough. And the fact is that he’s a lot better than you’ll ever be. So I quit, before my brains got scrambled. You should do the same, while you’ve still got healthy knees.”