that it had never been hijacked by drunken coeds, redneck townies, or cougars on the prowl, the three groups that seemed to overrun every other halfway-decent bar or restaurant in town. Miller and I had once brainstormed theories on the subject, concluding that the Third Rail had a series of small strikes against it: bad parking, its proximity to the police station, and an Arkansas-alum owner named Chuck, who steadfastly refused to change the channel on the lone television near the bar if his team was playing. The flaws served us well, though, as even on home game weekends, the bar was never packed and always had a chill vibe. It also happened to be Coach Carr’s favorite spot, likely because Chuck and Coach were tight, and Chuck had given Coach a permanent table on reserve in the back room. Someone had even etched a ccc—for Coach Clive Carr—into the grainy wood with a pocketknife.
That night was slightly livelier than usual, a handful of twenty-somethings sprinkled in with the older regulars. Sara Evans was singing “A Little Bit Stronger” on the jukebox, the Arkansas game was just wrapping up, and there was, to my relief, no sign of Miller or his friends. In the six or so months since we broke up, I’d yet to run into him, which was a small miracle in a town this size. I bought a Blue Moon on tap, spotting Lucy and Neil in the back corner playing pool. As I approached them, I paused to watch Lucy take her turn, amused by her awkward stance, her elbows jutted out at weird angles. I had tried to offer her tips in the past, but she steadfastly refused to acknowledge basic geometry. It was almost as if she sucked on purpose, believing that prowess in both pool and darts was inversely proportional to femininity. A second later, she completely whiffed an easy shot.
“What are we playing?” I quipped, walking up behind her. “Loser takes all?”
“Lazy Shea-zy!” Lucy spun around and exclaimed, my ancient nickname earned by sitting on the couch and watching football all day long. She threw her arms around my neck and squealed that she was so happy to see me. Lucy was a complete lightweight drinker and could get buzzed from one beer, but I estimated that she was further in than that. They had definitely been here for a while. She handed me her cue and said, “Will you take over for me? I suck at this sport.”
I glanced at the table, assessing the situation, and laughed. “It’s a game, not a sport. And no, thanks,” I said, tossing the stick back to her as Neil hugged me hello then knocked in his last two stripes, followed by the eight ball, finishing Lucy off.
“So how long have y’all been here?” I asked casually, trying not to look judgmental about them missing the end of the game.
She winced, then put an index finger to her lips. “Shhh. Since halftime,” Lucy said. “Give or take.”
I shook my head. “Did Chuck even let you turn the channel?”
“A couple times. Don’t tell Daddy! It’s just that we only have a babysitter once a week and we really needed some alone time,” she said, taking off her cropped teal cardigan and exposing a black silk tank underneath. I noticed that she had gained a little weight back since the funeral and was starting to look healthy again.
“Which is why you invited me here?” I said. “This place is called the Third Rail, not the Third Wheel.”
Neil laughed and said, “Yeah, but Lucy tells me you have a boyfriend now.”
“I didn’t call him that,” I said, looking at Lucy. I had, of course, told her that we had slept together for the first time, then again after the Silver and Blue Debut, the Cowboys’ public practice and dress rehearsal before their first game. I had gone at Ryan’s request, even mingling with a few of the other wives and girlfriends, which made Lucy positively giddy. I turned the subject back to the Walker game, telling them I’d nearly had a heart attack. “Like literally. Symptoms of angina. I honestly don’t know how your dad does it.”
“I know,” Lucy said. “I don’t either.”
“He had a great press conference. He was on fire. Really relaxed and funny …”
“Did he tell anyone off?” Neil asked. “I love when he does that.”
“He doesn’t do that after wins,” I said.
“Omigod! Your boy just walked in!” Lucy said, staring behind me. I followed