behind.”
“How old were you?” I asked, trying to do the math in my head.
“Nine,” he said. “But I remember it like it was yesterday, especially that final play. Sixteen seconds. Packers down by three. Third and goal inside the Dallas one.”
“And what happened? The Cowboys lost, didn’t they?”
“Yep. Bart Starr called a thirty-one wedge but kept the ball. Poetry in motion … Later, when I read everything there was to read about Lombardi, I learned that Lombardi let Starr call that one. He just said, ‘Run what you want and let’s get the hell out of here.’ I sometimes think about that in tense situations and try to take a page from the alltime great. You have your strategy in place … but sometimes you can’t micromanage. You gotta trust your guys to read the field and make the right play …” Coach said. His eyes were on the television, but I could tell he was back in time.
I made no pretense of watching the game. “How happy were you and your dad after that game?”
“Very. Nearly frostbitten—couldn’t feel my earlobes for days—but damn, were we happy. We headed back to Texas that same night, but not before we made a pact never to tell anyone that we’d pulled for the Cowboys’ demise. My old man was good—should have been an actor and not a shoe salesman—going on and on to all his friends about what a waste it was to go all that way and lose. How pissed off he was.” Coach shook his head and laughed. “Never confessed that to anyone. Until now.”
I felt sure that he meant that he’d never confessed to anyone except Mrs. Carr, but I still felt special as I asked him another question. “So when did you know you wanted to be a coach?”
“Oh, I don’t know, girl. Not until I stopped playing the game,” he said. “I don’t think anyone grows up dreaming of being a coach. I just think the game gets in your blood and you can’t bear to think of your life without it. That’s the way it was for me, anyway.”
“Well, I can’t bear to think of my life without it either,” I said.
Coach smiled at me, and I smiled back, both of us missing the first score of the game—a Giants thirty-six-yard field goal.
“Maybe we should actually try and watch this game,” Coach said as our wings arrived.
I nodded happily as we spent the rest of the half focused on the television and our food, and an occasional hello from a fan brave enough to cross into the semiprivate area of the bar. Our conversation remained light and easy and never strayed far from the play at hand while Ryan appeared on-screen every thirty seconds. I kept waiting for Coach to ask about him or talk about him, but, to my relief, he didn’t—except as it related to the game.
Right at the start of the second half, Coach looked toward the door and said, “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Who?” I said, not wanting to take my eyes off Coach.
A second later, I heard Miller’s voice behind me. “Hey, Coach. Hey, Shea. What’s up?”
I felt a jolt of nostalgia, but no real emotional stirrings, as I turned to say hello to my ex.
“Miller time!” Coach said, breaking the ice. “Wanna join us?”
Miller grinned without a trace of the awkwardness that you’d expect after a breakup, then pulled up a stool and said, “Don’t mind if I do.”
I kept my eyes on the television, but must have looked disappointed by the interruption because Miller said, “What’s wrong? Are the boys losing?”
“Nope. We’re up seven,” I said, forcing a smile as I asked him how he’d been doing.
“Not too bad,” he said, giving me a bland, rambling update about his job and family, then asking what was new with me.
I told him about my job, in as few words as possible, then explained that that was why Coach and I were here together.
Miller congratulated me and said, “What else is goin’ on?”
“Not much.”
“Not what I heard,” he said in a singsongy playground taunt.
I knew that he had to be referring to Ryan, but I just shrugged, hoping it would end the discussion.
But it didn’t, of course—because Miller had the maturity of the eighth-grade students he taught.
“You and Ryan,” he said, shaking his head, laughing. “Gotta say. That really stings. I mean, did you have to go for such an obvious upgrade? The guy who took my starting