said, “Yup. I have a few minutes before I head into a meeting.”
I took three tentative steps forward, now standing in the middle of his office. “How’s it looking?” I said, glancing at the play diagram on his desk, covered with Xs and Os.
“We’re getting there … You gonna have a seat or what?” he said, leaning back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. I took another step, then sat down, crossing my legs and staring at my lap.
I waited, hoping he’d mention my phone call first, until he finally said, “Well, c’mon, don’t be bashful now.”
“Right … So about that … I just wanted to apologize …” I began, meeting his eyes, then looking at his chin, probably my favorite feature of his. It was the quintessential coach’s jaw, strong and square with a cleft in the middle that always reminded me of a decisive, authoritative period. It crossed my mind that if a coach didn’t have a good chin, he might as well go ahead and find another profession.
“Apologize? For what?” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a slight smile.
“For calling you so late and—”
“I was up. Watching film,” he said.
“Well, then … I’m sorry that I interrupted you … while you were working,” I said, thinking that the hour of the call or the interruption of his work wasn’t really the crux of what I was sorry for, but it was hard to say “I’m sorry I drunk-dialed you.”
“It was fine. You were fine,” he said, now looking full-on amused. You’d think letting me off the hook would have made me feel better, but my anxiety only increased with every incremental absolution.
He cocked his head to the side and said, “How much had you had to drink, anyway?”
“Um … I don’t know … Probably a little … too much,” I said.
“Well. You have to be careful with that stuff,” he said. “You always want to be in control.”
“Yes,” I said, nodding, trying to remember when I had dropped the sir.
“So you were with Ryan, huh?”
“Yes. We went to a charity function. As friends.” I said the last part with emphasis, although I wasn’t sure why.
“Well, it’s good to have friends,” he said teasingly.
“Yes. Friends are good. I mean—take us, for instance,” I babbled, my face heating up again. “I’m glad we’re friends. You and me. At least I think we’re friends?”
“Of course we’re friends,” he said, smirking. “And, as we established … friends are good.”
“Right,” I said, the tension mounting in my shoulders until I just said it. “And when I said you were my favorite person in the world and all that … I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
I exhaled. “You do?”
“Sure. You meant … that I’m your favorite person in the world.” He let out a big laugh, his eyes doing that twinkly thing.
“Right … I mean I love how you are … as a coach … and role model … and stuff like that.”
“Right. Role models are like friends. They’re both good.”
He was definitely mocking me now, and I knew I had to save face and say something of substance. Somehow justify my drunken proclamation.
“I think you’re great,” I said, sure that my face was now crimson. “I mean everyone thinks you’re great. But I really think you’re great. And that’s all I meant …”
“I think you’re great, too, Shea,” he said. “You’re a great girl with a big heart and a good head on your shoulders. Don’t waste either, okay?”
I nodded, my heart and mind racing.
“And you have to hang in there with Smiley,” he said. “I think he might give this Texas beat to another guy … with more experience … But … I have a feeling another beat is opening up soon … So just be patient, okay?”
“I will,” I said, feeling a wave of disappointment.
“One more thing,” he said, giving me a coy smile. “On the subject of our little stiff-armed friend …”
“Yeah?” I said, knowing that he was referring to the Heisman Trophy.
“The other night … You didn’t mention John Huarte. No way in hell he should have beaten out Rhome and Butkus.”
“They were rewarding Coach Parseghian,” I said, conjuring the ’64 season that I had only read about. “For turning around Notre Dame’s program.”
“But the award shouldn’t have anything to do with coaching,” he said.
“I disagree,” I said. “The two are inextricably bound.”
Coach adamantly shook his head. “I could be wrong,” he said. “But I’m not.”
I smiled at his familiar