The One & Only(85)

Lucy shook her head and said, loud enough for us to hear, “No. They have things to discuss. Football things. You wouldn’t be interested.”

She belted Caroline in the backseat as I realized that I had to back up to let her go. So I did, waiting in my car, the engine running, as she drove away a little too quickly.

My stomach and heart hurt as I got out of the car.

Coach shook his head. “Shit,” he said under his breath. Then he looked right at me and stated the obvious. “Well. She’s not happy.”

“You don’t say …”

“You think it’s because … you were here last night? Or that I’m not ready for church?”

“I don’t know,” I said. Even though I did. “Maybe both?”

“There’s no peace in church. Especially during the season,” he said, although I could tell he, too, knew that wasn’t the main problem.

“I can imagine. And you really can’t go next week. C’mon,” I said, referring to Texas again.

He nodded. Then, as I followed him toward the house, he addressed the elephant on the driveway. “I think maybe our friendship … bothers her a little.”

“I know,” I said. “But she understands—”

“That you and I have more in common,” he said, finishing my sentence.

I wasn’t sure if he meant that we had more in common than she and I did or than the two of them did, but, either way, the statement was true.

I returned to safer ground and said, “I think Sundays are just hard …”

Coach nodded and said, “Yes. You’re probably right. And I think I did, maybe, sort of promise her I’d go to church this week.”

I grimaced as we walked inside through the garage, the same pile of clothing remaining on the dryer but the radio back on a country station, Garth Brooks singing “Shameless.”

“That’s better,” I said, pointing at the radio.

“I love this song,” Coach said just as Garth wailed: But I can’t walk away from you.

He gave me a purposeful look that made me feel exactly the way Garth sounded in that song. Down on my knees and shameless.

Remembering Lucy, I gathered myself and followed Coach into the kitchen, watching as he got out two bowls, two spoons, and two napkins, setting the kitchen table. I got down our glasses, poured orange juice, and brought them to the table.

“Milk,” he said, snapping his fingers. Then shook his head, disgusted. “Damn. I’m out. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

He nodded, looking as conflicted as I felt, and said, “I know. Me either …”

“I really should go,” I said, even though I wanted to stay.

“Okay,” he said so quickly that it hurt my feelings.

Leaving the bowls on the table, we stood and walked right back outside to my car. By the time we got there, I was completely disheartened, sure that we would never be hanging out alone again. That it just wasn’t worth all the accompanying angst and guilt and whatever was going on in Lucy’s head.

But a few minutes later, just as I pulled into my driveway, a text came in from Coach that said: Sorry about the milk. Going to the store now. Rain check on the raisin bran?

Overcome with relief, and pushing Lucy as far from my mind as you could push your best friend, I typed back: You bet. Anytime.


Later that afternoon, as I was watching the Cowboys and folding laundry, Lucy came over to my apartment, unannounced and without Caroline. She had changed out of her church clothes into linen drawstring pants and a long-sleeved black T-shirt, but had forgotten to take off her pearls. As I went to the refrigerator to pour us both drinks, I informed her that Dallas was up by a touchdown, but it was clear she hadn’t come over to watch the game.

“Daddy moved his wedding ring. To his right hand,” she announced, looking like she might cry.

“He did?” I asked nervously, putting ice in two glasses, then filling both with Coke Zero. I handed her one, forcing myself to look in her eyes.

“Yes,” she said. “What do you think that means?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“That he’s moving on?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Lucy. Maybe you should ask him,” I said.

She stared at me for several more seconds, then took a dainty sip. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t talk like that …”

Then, before I could respond, she said, “I’m sorry for being so grumpy this morning.”

I played dumb as I followed her the few steps back to my family room. “You weren’t grumpy. Were you?”