When we sat down to eat, Coach Carr said a quick prayer, which Lucy told me later was the first time he’d said grace in a long while. “Dear Lord,” he began. “We thank you for our many blessings and this place that Connie so loved. We feel her presence with us today and are so grateful for the many wonderful memories we shared. Lord, please watch over us all and keep us safe in your care. Amen. Go Broncos.”
When I opened my eyes, Coach Carr looked calm and strong. He glanced around the table and said, “It’s true. I know she’s smiling up there. So happy we’re here together. And even happier because …” I held my breath, feeling reverent. “Because she knows that I am going to kick your butts in Trivial Pursuit tonight. Who wants to be on my team?”
“I do,” I blurted out. We had always played games at the lake—backgammon, chess, euchre, Uno, Pictionary. But Trivial Pursuit had been our favorite for two decades, and Coach Carr was right; he almost always won, regardless of his partner. I was the second best player, though, almost never missing in literature and sports.
“No way,” Lucy said. “You two can’t be together. It’s not fair. You’re both too good.”
“That’s what Baylor’s saying about Everclear and Rhodes right about now,” I said, glancing at Coach.
“Dad-blame right,” he said, then gave me a high-five.
Later that night, after Lucy had put Caroline to bed, and the wine and beer and Trivial Pursuit game board came out, we drew numbers out of Coach’s baseball cap to select teams. I mentally crossed my fingers, as Lucy and my mother both got threes, Neil and Lawton drew twos, and Coach and I got the ones.
“Naturally,” Coach said, winking and then whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “Number one.”
Lucy rolled her eyes as Coach and I, in unison, claimed the blue wheel, closest to Walker teal.
“Omigod, you’re the same person! My best friend and father are the same person,” Lucy said, shaking her head.
Coach took a sip of beer and said, “Shea’s a little prettier than I am.”
I knew he was kidding but felt myself blush, and I only got more flustered when he switched seats with Lawton to be next to me. I looked down, busying myself with the cards, dividing one box into three stacks. I gave one to Lawton, another to Lucy, and kept the third, then handed Lucy the die and said, “You go first. You need every advantage.”
“Ha,” Lucy said, as she rolled. After a string of ridiculously easy questions that culminated in the entertainment wedge, my mother and Lucy faltered on “How many colors are there in a rainbow?” (Answer: “More than the eye can see”).
Then Neil and Lawton were stymied on a World War I question about Austria.
It was our turn, and, right out of the gate, we were kicking butt and taking names, gathering three quick wedges. There was no gloating, though, as we both became laser-focused, just the way Coach is during games, not even smiling when we threw up a total Hail Mary and nailed an answer on the leading world exporter of bananas (Ecuador).
“Y’all are so smug,” Lawton said, our silence almost pissing them off more.
“Don’t hate the player,” I said, smirking. “Or the Coach.”
Coach Carr held up a fist and bumped it against mine.
“Sickening,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “And good luck getting a pink. You two are clueless when it comes to entertainment.”
“We’ll see about that,” Coach Carr said, rolling the die and landing on pink. “When in doubt, go with Cyndi Lauper,” he said to me.
I smiled as Lawton read the question: “Who once warned: ‘Never eat more than you can lift’?” I knew the answer, only because I had gotten it before, years ago, and gave Coach Carr a slight brow raise along with a look that said, Bingo, baby.
“You’ll never in a million years get this one,” Lawton said, passing the card around to Lucy, then Neil and my mom. They all mugged at the answer, taunting us as Coach and I pretended to brainstorm.
“Must be a really thin movie star,” I said, musing aloud. “Audrey Hepburn, maybe. Princess Diana … Farrah Fawcett?”
Coach Carr played along, murmuring, “Then again, maybe it’s a heavier star? Like Nell Carter or Roseanne Barr?”
“Or maybe … maybe it’s … a chubby puppet. Or even a Muppet! Such as Miss Piggy …” I winked at him.
“Miss Piggy?” Coach deadpanned as I nodded. “Yes. We’re going Miss Piggy.”
“You. Dirty. Bastards,” Lawton said, throwing down the card.