first got her license. I also recalled that Connie had banged up her car a time or two over the years, but I certainly wasn’t going to bring that up now. I reached for our bag of food on the passenger seat and got out of the car. We had yet to make eye contact.
“Speaking of driving … You really need to get that thing fixed,” he said, gesturing toward the dent in my fender. I glanced at him, then quickly away. His face was serious, and I could tell he was nervous, too. Maybe even as nervous as I was. I hoped he wasn’t regretting the invite and commanded myself not to be awkward. If I could somehow manage to keep things natural, maybe we could make a habit out of spending time together.
“I know,” I said, my voice coming back faint. Embarrassed, I cleared my throat and said the words again, stronger.
“Take it to my guy,” he said, bending over to run his right hand along the metal groove. He patted it twice before standing up and taking the two steps back to my door. “This thing will start rusting soon if you don’t.”
“Who’s your guy?” I asked, even though I already knew he went to Lloyd at Performance Auto. Just like I knew where he went to the dentist, where he got his suits cleaned, where he picked up his prescriptions.
“Lloyd Hardy,” he said.
“Looney Lloyd?” I smiled.
“Yeah, ol’ Lloyd’s missing a few screws for sure,” he said with a laugh. “But he’s the best when it comes to cars. And guns.”
“Does he know football?” I asked. I could tell we were both stalling, neither of us in a hurry to go inside.
“Nope. Just NASCAR. But he likes me pretty well and pretends to care about Walker. Tell him I sent you. He’ll give you a deal.”
“I’m sure he will,” I said. Coach reached past me and pushed my car door shut, his arm brushing mine.
“All right, girl. Let’s go in,” he said, turning toward the house. I trailed after him, pausing as he hit the button to close the garage door, then following him inside. We walked past the laundry room, where “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” was playing on his portable radio. The thing was at least as old as Lucy and me, now bound with duct tape, Coach’s favorite building material. A roll of tape could often be found in his office or car, along with a wealth of rubber bands in all sizes and colors, the full extent of his handiness.
“Barbra Streisand?” I teased.
“And Neil Diamond,” he said. “Don’t forget Neil.”
“You going soft, Coach?”
He laughed. “Soft? Is that what you call beating Stanford?”
“Good point,” I said as he ducked into the laundry room and switched off the radio. A pile of T-shirts and boxers were sloppily folded on the dryer along with one lone tube sock. The sight of his clothes, especially that sock, gave me a stab of intense sadness. I hated the idea of him doing his own laundry, being so alone.
I followed him past the pantry and into the kitchen, noticing details that I normally overlook. The tall baseboards, the slight sheen of the taupe walls, the distinctive smell of this house—a clean, and somehow old-fashioned, white-vinegar and woodsy scent. I caught Coach following my eyes, then misreading my thoughts. “I know. It’s messy. Lorna doesn’t come on the weekends.”
“It’s not so bad,” I said, though it was pretty messy. Dishes, several piles of mail, and an open box of raisin bran sat on the counter.
“I was just straightening up when you got here,” he said, closing the box of cereal and sweeping a few flakes from the counter into the cupped palm of his hand. He deposited them in the sink as I pulled our food out of the bag, unwrapping our tacos to determine which were his beef and my chicken.
“Want some plates?” he said.
I shrugged and said that wasn’t necessary, then thought of how refined Connie was, and changed my answer. “Actually, plates might be nice,” I said, reaching up and getting two from the cupboard, thinking that no other woman would know where everything was in his house. Except for Lorna and Lucy, and they didn’t count. I arranged the tacos as artfully as I could, putting his cinnamon twists aside for later, then grabbing a couple of napkins from a drawer next to the flatware.
“I didn’t get drinks,” I said. “Figured you’d have something here.”