Page 10 of Off the Mark
I cocked my head towards the stacks of files and boxes. “Do you remember our senior year when I got hit in the leg with a baseball? I found myself yearning for that time when I saw the kitchen.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Your whole leg swelled up like a balloon. Mom and Midge had to hold Alice back in the stands so she didn’t take the batter’s head off with that pointy umbrella she used to carry all the damn time.”
“She used to threaten alotof umpires with that thing. She for sure got some calls turned in my favor through intimidation.”
Dean nodded over at the mess. “You’re doing an admirable thing, taking over for Elaine like this while she’s out. What can I do to help?”
“Absolutely nothin’,” I said easily. “You’re doing your super important job and that’s the best thing you can do. I’m only being dramatic because money’s tight and the board has me nervous.”
His jaw ticked. “Tight as in…I might not have a job anymore?”
I swallowed my coffee too fast, and it scalded on the way down. “Finances are a little uncertain right now, but you and I have been through worse.”
For a second, it didn’t look like he was buying it. So I swung my legs to the floor, rose from the chair, and gave him an affectionate clap on the shoulder as I walked to the other side of the office.
“I’m serious,” I said, hauling over a box of files to the small table by the desk. “I’m handling it.”
He looked slightly more convinced, then began his favorite new hobby: fiddling with the gold wedding band on his left ring finger. Thoughfiddlingwasn’t quite right. More like he was gazing at it like he couldn’t believe his own good luck.
Dean was a little taller than me, white with dark hair, a crooked nose and an ex-fighter’s build—complete with the scowl that had earned him the nickname Dean the Machine during his boxing days.
But he smileda lotmore now.
Two months ago, he’d married Tabitha Tyler, a woman he’d been secretly in love with since we’d all gone to school together. Dean and I had grown up on the same block—the corner of 10th and Emily streets—and he’d been quiet and serious even as a kid.
Something changed in him though when Tabitha came home two summers ago. Watching him fall stupid-in-love with Tabitha was all the evidence I needed that whateverthatwas, I’d never felt it.
There was only one woman who’d ever made me feel…something…but that was years ago. She’d promised me a hundred times over that she’d rather pour hot sauce into a paper cut than go on a date with me.
It didn’t matter now anyway. I tried not to think about her too much, was probably only doing so because I’d seen on ESPN this morning that the Women’s Motocross Championships were being held in Philly. The riders were all staying uptown at the convention center.
I hadn’t trusted myself to check and see if she was here.
The computerdingedwith a new email alert, which also reminded me that I needed to get to that next meeting in a hot minute. I strolled over to the desk but not before nudging Dean on the shoulder again.
“You just hanging out, thinking about your wife?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. Shut up.”
I cracked a smile. “I’m not judging, big guy. Did I mention that I walked past the two of you on your stoop last week, and you didn’t even notice me? I did a whole funny faces-weird walk bit too.”
His cheeks reddened. “Tabitha is very…charismatic.”
“That she is,” I said slowly, clicking open my chaotic inbox. Tabitha was more than just charismatic, though growing up she was bright and cheerful and friends with everyone. She also understood Dean in a way most people didn’t. “I bet you she’s staring at her wedding ring too.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Because you’re pretty damn charismatic too.”
He rose from the chair with a smirk. “Nice try, but that’s a lot of bullshit this early in the morning.”
I was mid-laugh when I clicked open the message at the very top. From Luciana. Subject line:The Arnold Foundation update.
The first line of the email read: “We were able to confirm that the rec center won’t be receiving the operations grant. With no other immediate options, we need to discuss plans to cut the senior food program and the staff positions required of it.”
“Fuck me,” I whispered.
Dean turned around. “What’s that?”
