mind working, and it disturbed her that she thought she knew him that well. Twenty years would have changed him as much as it changed her, sent his own trajectory in a different direction. But once they had been in the same place, and there had been fun and lightness mixed in with the other. She’d been fun. She’d even gone a little wild, hadn’t she?
Growing up with Ellen, who'd been a questionable role model, the only way to rebel was to be really, really good. But she’d gotten away from the town that watched to see if she’d be like her mother. At Belmar she could be wild and in love, in crazy all-consuming love. She’d been the Road Runner for a while there, zipping joyfully down the highway, and when the anvil fell, she’d turned into Wiley Coyote and been knocked out cold.
"You okay?"
She took a swig of beer and raised it in answer while she swallowed.
Max pointed toward the impending bonfire torching where the boys, along with what looked like an entire fraternity, guarded a mountain of stacked pallets that had a paper maché B perched on top. When they spotted her, they waved, and she raised her beer to them and got the outraged expression she wanted.
Max clinked his bottle to hers. "There are privileges to adulthood, kids."
She considered that. Maybe she'd been focusing too much on what she’d lost. There had to be some advantage to being nearly forty. None were coming to her, but she’d keep her eyes peeled. Yep, that’s what she felt like at thirty-nine, someone whose eyes were peeled.
She heard the crackle of a microphone and the football coach, the only one not wearing a tie, stepped up, his image captured on the giant projection screens on either side. Unless he’d indulged in toxic amounts of Botox, he not only wasn’t the coach from twenty years before, he couldn’t be a great deal over twenty himself.
He looked over the front of the stage where his players fanned out in blue and silver largeness. "Belmar’s gonna go all the way!"
The crowd cheered, and the cheerleaders, teeny in comparison, jumped around in front of the team. Mranda was, naturally, among them.
Max pointed his bottle toward the stage. "Betcha ten bucks he says let’s win this thing."
She considered how much a good cliché added to an American moment. "Betcha twenty bucks he’s too young to know it’s been said before."
Max laughed, "And also, let’s stay focused."
The coach lowered his voice. "Right now, men, this is the biggest game of the season."
She liked the men part since the team was her daughter’s age.
Max made a sweeping gesture with his second hotdog. "Leave it all on the field."
That was a good one. Did she know any more? Think Olympics. "This is what we’ve been working for. Oh, I’ve got another. Go earn some respect." Maybe that’s the pep talk she’d missed in college.
"We’re gonna put the hurt on them. Not in our house." Max said our house in falsetto and sounded like the lady next door who took your ball.
She gave him her earnest face. "Hey, you can do anything."
Max nodded at a student with a camera around his neck and turned back to her. "I bet my home on this game, guys, don’t let me down."
Looking past Max, she could see the shape of the campus behind him. A long time ago, they’d let each other down, and this time she really had left her home for the game. The odds felt pretty high she’d let even more people down before she was through.
"Let’s take care of bidness." Max tapped his chest and gave her a peace out sign.
"Winning is your bidness."
He smiled. "Nice. I like you gansta." He narrowed his eyes and came closer to her face. "Don’t offer any mercy because you won’t get any."
She felt her eyes fill with tears, and before she could think, she whispered, "I didn’t offer any, did I?"
He stepped back, and she searched for any distraction she could get. The boys stood with torches, ringing the pile of flammables. "Hey, they’re lighting it. I bet you ten dollars somebody’s going to lose their eyebrows tonight."
Max didn’t say anything, and they stood and watched the wood quickly blaze. A fire was such a dynamic thing. It almost seemed living, like a mess of red and orange snakes leaping into the sky. And the smell of smoky wood made her think of mesquite grilling and hot chocolate, neither of