He still finds himself sitting in Nathan’s bedroom, which, like Daniel’s and many of the others’, is untouched from the day he died. And every spring he makes his way to the memorial that marks the site of the accident. He puts fresh red mulch at the base of the basketball net he and the other fathers put there, laying a three-foot foundation of cement beneath. They tidy the medals left by passing teams and clear out the basketballs that pile up in front — always leaving just eight in a neat row.

They keep the memory alive, John says, with all the joy and pain that brings. Slowly, he says, he and his wife are learning to let go of the physical reminders. A few months ago, they burned Nathan’s Phantoms jacket, after carefully removing the “bench warmer” patch from the sleeve and the ironic cheerleading badge he wore on the chest. “We’re considering burning it all,” John says. “He would have liked that — warrior style.”

John glances to his right as a couple walks into the coffee shop, and his face goes white. “That’s Wayne right there. The coach,” he says, pausing. “It’s the first time I’ve seen him in probably two years.”

Wayne Lord is with his new wife, whom he married this year. They walk to the counter, buy a coffee and walk back out the door. The coach glances back at John briefly without saying a word. John says he holds no anger toward the coach, and can’t imagine what he’s gone through. “I don’t know how it is for him to wake up every day under those circumstances,” he says quietly.

Wayne Lord has never spoken publicly about the accident, aside from participating in the coroner’s inquest. “Look, I can’t,” he says over the phone shortly after stopping in the coffee shop. “I haven’t said a word and I’m not about to. I’m sorry. I’m going to stay true to myself. I made that decision a long time ago — and I’m not going to change it. Thank you.”

More than 700 people showed up for Beth Lord’s memorial service, held separately from the boys’. She was remembered as a dedicated teacher with nearly three decades of experience who filled the halls of the local elementary school with the music of the youth choir she led. But when it comes to the memorials in Bathurst, including the new park opening in the spring, the mention is always of the Boys in Red, not Beth. A friend said it was Wayne’s decision to keep her tribute separate — a private memory, honoured quietly.