Page 103 of Just One More Thing

Across The Green, Ryan sits with his elbows on his knees beside Willard handing peanuts to Chip. The sight of this quiet little pocket at the edge of the noise catches me unexpectedly. “How long have they been sitting there?” I ask.

Jake glances over. “About twenty minutes.”

“I just realized I’ve never really seen Willard talk to anyone.”

Jake watches and says, “Willard talks to the people who need it.” Something about the way he says it settles softly inside me.

Wayne wanders over beside us and watches them too. “Ryan’s talking to the bench man,” he says. “Ryan’s been…“ He trails off. Starts again. “He needed this trip.” The sincerity lasts all of four seconds. Then he claps loudly. “OKAY. What’s next? I feel like we’re peaking.”

“You hit an old woman in the shin,” I remind him.

“Peak performance.”

On the other side of The Green, a woman in crisp white linen and expensive sunglasses approaches the registration table. “Who’s that?” I ask.

Jake squints slightly while plucking a fish scale from my hair. “Elizabeth Baskins,” he says. “Thursday night sideline reporter.”

Oh goodie. National television has arrived, and I smell like fish with scales in my hair.

Wayne goes completely still. “That’s Elizabeth Baskins.”

“We established that,” Jake says.

“She’s so pretty,” Wayne whispers.

“Wayne,” Jake says carefully. “No.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Your face is doing all the talking.”

“This is my normal face.”

Ryan rejoins us just in time to follow Wayne’s eyeline. He immediately groans. “Oh no.”

“I just want to say hello,” Wayne says defensively.

“The last time you ‘just wanted to say hello’ to a reporter,” Ryan says, making air quotes, “you got called into the coach’s office for an hour.”

“That was different.”

“Wayne.”

“I’ll say a very professional hello and then leave immediately.”

“Define immediately,” Ryan says.

“Within an hour.” He’s already walking away.

Ryan sighs the sigh of a man who has supervised Wayne in public before.

Then he looks at us. At our joined hands. At Jake smiling. “It’s really good to see you two,” he says quietly. “Like this.”

Jake doesn’t answer out loud. He just threads his fingers through mine and holds on.

I step closer, slide my free arm around his waist, and rest my head against his chest. “Wayne had a chart,” I tell Ryan.

Ryan laughs. “He had a chart.”