She always did cut to the core like that. To her, football was what I did, not who I was. More than once I had kicked myself for letting her get snatched up by her hot shot accountant husband. But dang, it was nice having my friend back.
“I’m doing ok,” I said, looking around at the school that she called her second home. “Working a lot. Training a lot. Pretty much the same thing I’ve been doing since you’ve known me. How are you?” I asked. “Looks like you’ve got a pretty sweet gig here at Mountain Park Elementary School.”
She laughed. “Not as sweet as the gig you have, but I can’t complain. Husband is great. Daughter just turned five and she’s great. Job is great. I couldn’t ask for more.”
“It can’t be that great. Don’t you have to teach kids how to play the recorder?” I asked with amusement.
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me. I wasn’t happy with the way the fifth grade performance had been going, so this year I came up with the brilliant idea of adding fourth graders to the mix . . . you know, to give them an extra year of practice before the show.”
I laughed. “And how is that going?”
She sighed and rubbed her fingers in circles on her temples. “I’m about to take out stock in Tylenol.”
“Your ideas always were better before they came to life,” I joked.
“Tell me about it,” she said. Adam walked up and slapped a white sticker on my shirt.
“Here, man,” he said. “School policy. Everyone coming in has to have a name tag.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Adam, this is my good friend Lindsay Miller.”
Adam stuck out his hand for Lindsay to shake. “Oh, that’s right! You’re the one who coordinated all of this. I’m impressed. Usually we can’t get him off the field to do any PR. I appreciate you helping us show that my boy has a heart.”
Lindsay laughed and looked at me. “I like you, Adam,” she said. “Why don’t we head into my classroom until the pep rally starts? The kids should be heading this direction any minute and we don’t want to ruin the surprise that you’re here. Um . . . ,” she said, looking out the window at the reporters that were still loitering around. “Unless the surprise has already been ruined.”
She buzzed us in through the security door and led us into her classroom. The center of the room was open and empty, with some marking tape on the floor, presumably to remind the kids where they were to stand while singing. Some chairs with music stands in front of them were off to the side. A closet door was open. Inside I could see all kinds of music-related items on shelves . . . dozens of xylophones, a couple of keyboards, some triangles.
“I see you designed your room after Mr. Whitman’s,” I said. Mr. Whitman had been our choir teacher. He was a notorious pack rat and never threw away anything musical.
“Don’t judge,” Lindsay said. “Music budgets aren’t what they used to be in the schools. This school is lucky to have a music department at all, with all the budget cuts that went through last year.”
I looked at her with what was probably a look of shock. “Really? Are they cutting music out of the schools? I mean, is your job on the line?”
She waved me off like I had asked a ridiculous question and walked over to her desk. “Nah. A lot of the music teachers have to split their time between two campuses now. But I’m the head of the arts program here and I’m on the board that writes all the curriculum for the district, so my job is pretty secure.” She sat down in her rolling chair and crossed her arms. “So tell me the truth, Jay, is there a special girl in your life?”
I turned to glare at Adam as he cracked up like it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. When I looked back at Lindsay, she was grinning from ear to ear. “Um, no,” I said. “You know that lifestyle isn’t for me, Lin. Never has been. I’d rather sow my wild oats.”
“You’re twenty-nine years old, Jason. Aren’t you tired of oats yet?” she asked.
I looked at her and rolled my eyes. “I like my oats,” I started. “And until a quality woman like yourself falls into my lap, I’m content to keep it that way.”
She shook her head. “Jason, you know I love you, but you need to quit being such a man-whore. Your mama raised you better than that.”
I looked at her and knew she was right. As a single mother, my mom had made me the center of her world for a lot of years. Once I left for college, she started building a life for herself again. Even having a few boyfriends. Gross. I knew she wanted me to have what she’d had with my father. I wanted that, too. But I wasn’t going to force it with anyone. It would happen. Eventually.