The One & Only(79)

“Taco Bell,” I said.

“Now, that sounds good,” he said.

“You want me to get you something?” I blurted out before I could think better of it, stop myself from being too forward.

But before I could really regret it, he replied, “I’d love a couple of beef tacos. And some of those cinnamon things.”

“Okay,” I said, staring at the drugstore across from the Taco Bell.

There was a stretch of silence as I considered the awkward logistics. “Should I … bring them over … there?” I finally asked.

“Sure. Unless you think that’s a bad idea?” I heard hesitation in his voice as if he, too, registered that a late-night food delivery was a bit unorthodox, if not inappropriate. “I mean, could you … get in trouble with Smiley?”

“For bringing you tacos?” I laughed nervously. “I don’t think so. Besides. No one would know. It’s dark.” I shook my head, regretting the comment as soon as it was out. Too shady, conspiratorial.

Then he asked if I’d talked to Lucy tonight, and I realized he was right there with me, thinking the same way I was.

“Yes,” I said.

“And what’s she up to?”

“She was going to bed when we last spoke.”

There was a long pause, and then he said, “Well, just to be on the safe side … why don’t you park in the garage?”

“Okay,” I said quickly. “I’ll be right over.”





Twenty-five





The house was completely dark when I arrived, but, as I pulled down the driveway, I could see that the garage door was open, and Coach was standing inside, illuminated by my headlights. He was wearing a Walker warm-up suit and a teal baseball cap, his feet uncharacteristically bare. The turn from the end of the driveway was a tight ninety-degree angle, and the two-car garage felt more like a one-car with all the shovels, rakes, mowers, and old bicycles lining the perimeter. I cut my wheels as hard as I could, inching forward as Coach motioned for me to keep driving, until he finally held up his palm to stop, then gave me a thumbs-up. It occurred to me that, of the hundreds of times I had driven to the Carrs’, I had never pulled inside their garage. I nervously offered this observation after he walked around to my door and opened it.

“Yeah, it’s not an easy turn,” Coach said.

“Not easy at all,” I said, remembering that Lucy wasn’t allowed to go anywhere near the garage when she first got her license. I also recalled that Connie had banged up her car a time or two over the years, but I certainly wasn’t going to bring that up now. I reached for our bag of food on the passenger seat and got out of the car. We had yet to make eye contact.

“Speaking of driving … You really need to get that thing fixed,” he said, gesturing toward the dent in my fender. I glanced at him, then quickly away. His face was serious, and I could tell he was nervous, too. Maybe even as nervous as I was. I hoped he wasn’t regretting the invite and commanded myself not to be awkward. If I could somehow manage to keep things natural, maybe we could make a habit out of spending time together.

“I know,” I said, my voice coming back faint. Embarrassed, I cleared my throat and said the words again, stronger.

“Take it to my guy,” he said, bending over to run his right hand along the metal groove. He patted it twice before standing up and taking the two steps back to my door. “This thing will start rusting soon if you don’t.”

“Who’s your guy?” I asked, even though I already knew he went to Lloyd at Performance Auto. Just like I knew where he went to the dentist, where he got his suits cleaned, where he picked up his prescriptions.

“Lloyd Hardy,” he said.

“Looney Lloyd?” I smiled.

“Yeah, ol’ Lloyd’s missing a few screws for sure,” he said with a laugh. “But he’s the best when it comes to cars. And guns.”

“Does he know football?” I asked. I could tell we were both stalling, neither of us in a hurry to go inside.

“Nope. Just NASCAR. But he likes me pretty well and pretends to care about Walker. Tell him I sent you. He’ll give you a deal.”

“I’m sure he will,” I said. Coach reached past me and pushed my car door shut, his arm brushing mine.

“All right, girl. Let’s go in,” he said, turning toward the house. I trailed after him, pausing as he hit the button to close the garage door, then following him inside. We walked past the laundry room, where “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” was playing on his portable radio. The thing was at least as old as Lucy and me, now bound with duct tape, Coach’s favorite building material. A roll of tape could often be found in his office or car, along with a wealth of rubber bands in all sizes and colors, the full extent of his handiness.