feeling, if he was ready. He informed me that his knee was feeling pretty good, only a little tight, then asked if I’d finished my story. He knew we had won but hadn’t caught any of the game, so I filled him in on some of the highlights. Then he told me he missed me, and I said I missed him, too. We still hadn’t said I love you, but I could feel it coming soon. For the most part, I was ready.
After we hung up, I watched an hour or so of ESPN before my stomach started to growl, and I remembered that I hadn’t eaten dinner. My refrigerator was close to bare, par for the course, so I got in my car to find food, the faster and greasier the better. As I drove through town, my thoughts kept returning to Coach. It bothered me that he hadn’t picked up or called me back—but it bothered me more that I cared so much. Then, just as I was pulling into the Taco Bell drive-thru, his name lit up my phone. My heart racing, I pulled out of line, into a parking spot. I simply couldn’t do two things at once when one of them involved Coach Carr.
“Sorry I missed your call. I must have been in the shower,” he said.
The update felt intimate, and all I could say was “Oh.”
“Did you file your story?” he asked.
“Yes … And what about you? How much Texas–Nebraska tape have you watched since you got home?” I asked. The game had kicked off about the same time as ours, the score about the same, Texas coming out on top.
“How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess,” I said, feeling my chest rising and falling with excitement. “Where are you now?”
“My back porch …”
“Eating chocolate cake?” I said, thinking of our night on the track, and how much happier he sounded now. The score was just as close, but we had played so much better. Probably the best we’d played all year.
He laughed and said, “That was earlier. For dinner … Where are you?”
“Taco Bell,” I said.
“Now, that sounds good,” he said.
“You want me to get you something?” I blurted out before I could think better of it, stop myself from being too forward.
But before I could really regret it, he replied, “I’d love a couple of beef tacos. And some of those cinnamon things.”
“Okay,” I said, staring at the drugstore across from the Taco Bell.
There was a stretch of silence as I considered the awkward logistics. “Should I … bring them over … there?” I finally asked.
“Sure. Unless you think that’s a bad idea?” I heard hesitation in his voice as if he, too, registered that a late-night food delivery was a bit unorthodox, if not inappropriate. “I mean, could you … get in trouble with Smiley?”
“For bringing you tacos?” I laughed nervously. “I don’t think so. Besides. No one would know. It’s dark.” I shook my head, regretting the comment as soon as it was out. Too shady, conspiratorial.
Then he asked if I’d talked to Lucy tonight, and I realized he was right there with me, thinking the same way I was.
“Yes,” I said.
“And what’s she up to?”
“She was going to bed when we last spoke.”
There was a long pause, and then he said, “Well, just to be on the safe side … why don’t you park in the garage?”
“Okay,” I said quickly. “I’ll be right over.”
Twenty-five
The house was completely dark when I arrived, but, as I pulled down the driveway, I could see that the garage door was open, and Coach was standing inside, illuminated by my headlights. He was wearing a Walker warm-up suit and a teal baseball cap, his feet uncharacteristically bare. The turn from the end of the driveway was a tight ninety-degree angle, and the two-car garage felt more like a one-car with all the shovels, rakes, mowers, and old bicycles lining the perimeter. I cut my wheels as hard as I could, inching forward as Coach motioned for me to keep driving, until he finally held up his palm to stop, then gave me a thumbs-up. It occurred to me that, of the hundreds of times I had driven to the Carrs’, I had never pulled inside their garage. I nervously offered this observation after he walked around to my door and opened it.
“Yeah, it’s not an easy turn,” Coach said.
“Not easy at all,” I said, remembering that Lucy wasn’t allowed to go anywhere near the garage when she