The Education of Giacomo Jones Ch. 05

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"Hi, Callie? This is Emily Gartlan, Rance's aunt. His mom, Lorrie, is my sister," began the voicemail, spoken in a soft Southern lilt and left on Calvita Jones' phone while she had it silenced during Sunday Mass.

"I am so heartbroken about all the terrible things over the past month, especially for you and your precious Gia. I was with them at Fulbright yesterday and they told me you were exploring leaving New Jersey and moving South, and this morning they called and told me of the unspeakable developments overnight. I want to do everything we can to help you and I've asked Emmett Burson, the partner in charge of our office in Charlotte, to give you a call as soon as possible. So be on the lookout for a call with a 704 area code. That'll be Emmett. Just tell him generally what you need help with, where you are in the process, what you have in mind and he'll walk you through things one step at a time," Aunt Semmie said.

"Please add my number - I'm calling from my private cell phone - to your contacts and don't hesitate to call if I can help you. Hope to meet you soon. Lorrie raves about you. Bye now."

They don't waste much time, Callie thought to herself, happy with the responsiveness and feeling of family or whatever it was that she was sensing from down in Dixie, a place she had regarded darkly and suspiciously, almost to the point of despair when Gia chose a university in its heart. Names like Rosa Parks, Emmett Till and Medgar Evers; scenes and events like Little Rock's Central High School, Ole Miss in 1962 and a balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis -- burned into her memory in school by nuns who still mourned President John Kennedy's assassination -- shaded her first impressions of the South. But slowly, given the kindness she had been shown at Fulbright, by the Martin family and now by Emily Gartlan were starting raise questions about her long-held perceptions.

She had made her weekly visit to the supermarket on Sunday afternoon and returned to see marked Ridgefield Park and New Jersey State Police cars parked in front of her house. Sgt. Billy O'Malley was standing by the gate to her tiny front yard as she approached.

"Can I help you officers?" she said, tentatively.

"Are you Calvita Jones?" O'Malley asked. She nodded. "Then I think we have some news for you. Can we go inside?"

The sergeant and a lean, young Ridgefield Park officer explained to her that they'd arrested the thug who had flipped her off and insulted her thanks to the high-definition images her doorbell cam provided. During questioning, when confronted with the evidence against him and the strong likelihood he'd spend most of his life in prison, he had rolled over on four others who had been with him on the porch or in Callie's front yard and another man, a half-brother to Geno, who had planned the atrocity and paid the others to carry it out. They were all being apprehended as they spoke.

"So I don't think any of these idiots who bothered you this morning are going to be back around you anytime soon, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't consider additional security - maybe a stronger door front and back, new shatterproof windows on the bottom floor and maybe an alarm system that immediately alerts police to intruders," the younger officer said.

"He's right. There's plenty of more lowlifes where those came from. That big, mongrelized family of ne'er-do-wells and habitual petty criminals related somehow to Geno are like lice on a rat: you pick one off and two more turn up," O'Malley said.

Callie nodded. She had no intention of investing that sort of money - by her rough calculation about $7,000 to $10,000 - in a house she had already decided to sell as soon as possible and move far from goddamn New Jersey.

"I'll think about it officers," she said. "You tell the Finemans about Pickleball?"

"Finemans?" the young officer said.

"Yeah, they live next block over just around the corner. Pickleball wasn't my cat, she was theirs. Everybody just thought she was mine," Callie said.

She could tell by the officers' blank expressions that even they hadn't bothered to look at the tags on the poor cat's collar. And we trust these people to investigate crime, she thought to herself. Callie shook her head in dismay. Fuckin' New Jersey.

"I recommend that you pay them a visit. It shouldn't be up to me to explain to them what happened to Pickleball. They'll be devastated," Callie said.

Her phone began to vibrate in her purse. She looked at it and the number came from the 704 area code.

"If you gentlemen can see yourselves out, I need to take this call," she said. As they shut the door, she swiped her finger right across the bottom of her screen to accept the incoming call.

"Hello, this is Callie."

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The toughest contest left on Fulbright's regular season schedule was coming up in six days in the final home game of 2022. Tennessee, losers only to Georgia, would present the Fulbright defense with a challenge maybe even more formidable than Georgia had. The Vols ran the same fast-pased, run-pass option offense that Fulbright did. The upside was that the Generals knew it very well -- how it works, its pressure points, and how best to stop it. The downside was that Tennessee had come to rely more on its ground attack out of the scheme than it had early in the season when its speedy, experienced receivers paced the Vols' attack and struck for long scoring passes launched by its lanky, speedy and strong-armed quarterback. When Tennessee got into a rhythm with its running attack, it could do a lot of damage and put a game out of reach in a hurry, resetting at the line within seconds after a play was whistled dead and precluding defensive substitutions.

Perry Hemphill had made the decision to forgo a review of the Missouri win the day before and have his offense and defense begin watching and breaking down film of Tennessee in its win over Kentucky.

"Guys, there's noplace to take a breather in these last two games. You know that, but we have to double down on mental toughness and sprint all out through the wire. I want your minds on nothing but Tennessee this week. They know they can put themselves back in the SEC East race and maybe a shot at the championship if they beat us and that a loss means they'll be lucky to get a New Year's or New Year's Eve bowl," Hemp said.

"But we're locked in on our own goals, our own imperatives. We control our own destiny, and it's a destiny that would be historic for us, a destiny that even now, after all we've proved, people still don't want to give us a chance to achieve. But we get there one day at a time, staying focused and determined and united as a team," he said.

"If we do that, believe me -- believe in your own hearts -- that you will prevail. You will prevail."

Tennessee was not as talented across the board as Georgia, but it was more explosive in some aspects of its game. Defensively, the Generals could slow if not contain the Vols' running backs. Other teams had been able to do that, but that left its triple-threat quarterback free to run wild, making long runs or arching the football 50 or more yards downfield to NFL-caliber receivers who usually dominated the smaller defensive backs attempting to cover them.

Offensively, there were serious gaps in Tennessee's pass defense just waiting for a brainy quarterback like Matt Gerow to exploit them. The Vols' strength was its linebacking corps. Its defensive front was large and talented, but green and often undisciplined. They also gave Rance, Matt Crews and the rest of the offensive line plenty of clues by their personal proclivities as to what they would do from varied alignments or down-and-distance scenarios.

"It amazes the shit out of me that nobody's figured out what we're doing with our film study yet and fixed the things they do at the line that give them away," Crews told Rance as they left the facility in the gloaming of the late afternoon of the second Sunday in November. "But then, this is stuff we weren't doing ourselves til three games into this season either."

Rance nodded. "It's our secret sauce, hoss."

They agreed to gather between classes at 9:30 Monday and Wednesday mornings, then stay later as an offensive line after practice each day through Thursday to make sure they had as much actionable intelligence as they could about Tennessee's defense. It would eat seriously into Rance's time with Gia, but the postseason just ahead promised the couple plenty of time with each other.

But for now, there were a few hours to kill, so he picked up Gia and they headed to the Palmetto Grill for dinner. On the way back, Gia received a text from her mom.

Got a call from a guy with the Gartlan company in Charlotte. There's several cities I want to see. Would the week of Thanksgiving fit with your plans?

Thanksgiving was "rivalry week" for many SEC teams, the week when in-state rivals met. There was the annual Thanksgiving night blood feud between Ole Miss and Mississippi State. Georgia and Georgia Tech of the ACC would fight it out on Saturday afternoon. And the battle royal between Alabama and Auburn -- the Iron Bowl -- would be the Saturday night ratings giant. Florida wasn't exactly a rivalry on that scale for Fulbright, but it fell on the Friday night of that protracted football weekend.

Rather than try to explain it all in a protracted text, Gia tapped her mother's avatar and dialed her number.

Gia was taken by her mother's demeanor, significantly brighter and more hopeful than it had been early that morning. Her mother explained that a helpful fellow named Emmett had called from Gartlan and they talked probably half an hour or so. Wasn't about whether she preferred in the city, suburbs or small town so much as what part of the country down south she would most like to call home. She ruled out little backwater burgs. She liked the coast, but Superstorm Sandy had dimmed her appetite for living close to the ocean, particularly down south where hurricanes were a threat all the way to Halloween. She wanted someplace with a sense of community - a city, maybe not as large as Charlotte, but with a sense of sophistication and a bit of a metropolitan feel. She valued a walkable neighborhood. A college town might be OK, but those could also be stuffy, expensive and its flow too dependent on the academic calendar or, in places like Fallstrom, the sports schedule.

So Emmett had volunteered to escort Callie on day trips to several cities in the Carolinas and eastern Georgia. Callie would arrive in Charlotte on Sunday night. Emmett would show her Spartanburg, South Carolina and then north through the Appalachians to Asheville, North Carolina on Monday, then return to Charlotte Monday night. On Tuesday, they would explore Fort Mill, South Carolina, its own little community just south of Charlotte off Interstate 85, then head to Fallstrom that evening where she could see Gia. On Wednesday, they would press southward to Columbia and explore the capital city.

"Well, that'll give you a lot to think about for sure," Gia said. "Asheville? Up in the mountains? Never figured you as a mountaineer, Ma."

"Yeah, I don't know anything about it. But Emmett whats-his-name says it checks a lot of boxes for what I was describing as far as sense of community, walkability and all, so...," Gia said. "Hey, it's all new to me."

"What about from Thanksgiving day on? I am on the travel crew for the Florida game so we'll both be on our way to Gainesville Thursday for the game on Friday," Gia said. "You're welcome to stay in my studio in the Honors College, but that's going to be a little lonely. Whole residence hall's going to be empty."

At that point, Rance noted his Aunt Semmie's annual Thanksgiving family gathering at her home the historic area of Charleston. He noted that his parents would be flying in Thursday.

"Aunt Semmie said last night she wanted to meet Callie. Perfect opportunity. My cousins - Aunt Semmie's grown son and daughter -- will be there Tuesday or Wednesday. Mom and Dad come in Thursday. That's a huge house with a guest cottage Callie could have to herself," he said.

Gia recapped to Callie what Rance had said, and Callie thought about it. "You're sure I wouldn't be intruding," she said. Gia activated the speakerphone feature. "Here, Rance, you tell Ma -- would she be intruding?"

Rance chuckled. "I think you'd actually bring badly needed some life to that gathering. I've been to them, and believe me, they need some life. Mom and dad would love it to arrive Thursday and find you sitting there with a drink in your hand. Same goes for Gia and me, and we should be very late Friday after we return from Gainesville and drive down to Charleston."

"Besides, when's better than the present for executing your plan to leave New Jersey?" Gia added.

"How much time do you have? When's your return flight from Charlotte," Rance asked.

"I haven't booked one," Callie said. "I'm going to leave it open ended in case I see something I fall in love with and want to get the ball rolling. Gonna take this one day at a time."

Gia looked across at Rance as he pulled into the Honors College parking lot. "Damn, she's serious about this."

"'Course I'm serious. You think I'm doin' this just for shits and giggles?" Callie said.

"OK, Ma," Gia said with a laugh. "You're serious, and we're glad. So why don't you structure your calendar with the intention of being with us in Charleston, and you go there on Thursday? We can give you Aunt Semmie's number if you need it."

"Already got it," Callie said. "We'll see, baby girl. Got some plans to make and people to talk to about listing this house for sale. Emmett is emailing me some contacts at some real estate firms up there they have business arrangements with who can streamline the process," she said.

"OK, sounds like you know what you want and that's good enough for me, Ma. Love you. Night."

Gia tapped the red icon at the bottom of the screen and hung up. She stared at Rance.

"This is happening. Do you realize the seismic shift that represents in my family to even consider moving down here? Can my life get any crazier?"

Oh, it could.

And it would. Sooner rather than later.

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NEXT: Chapter Six -- Carolina Lullabye