Fifteen #2
“Do wide re-ssseivers get bacon on their peanut butter and jelly ssssandwiches?”
The coach laughed. “Is that the way you like them?”
Pete nodded emphatically.
“Then yes.”
“No crussst?”
“No crust.”
Before her snickers could turn to laughter, Trudy turned away, gasped as if she’d been underwater.
She’d had this daydream a million times, but never this good.
Pete with a father, throwing a ball. She opened her eyes to see her reflection judging from the mirror.
“What? It’s nothing, ” she said. “I’m not stupid enough to believe this is . .. I’m engaged !”
She brushed her bangs to the side, pulled in a slow breath, then headed downstairs and out back, the screen door slapping behind her.
Coach Meechum smiled when he saw her. He cleared his throat. “Morning! You look ...”
He just had that stupid grin on his face. She waited for the insult. “Yes?”
“You look like . . . not a teacher.”
Trudy laughed. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Oh!” He scratched his head. “Yes! Sorry, I was going to say beautiful ... you look beautiful ... but I didn’t want you to think—”
“In that case,” Trudy said, trying so hard not to be charmed. “I’m afraid you don’t look very much like a football coach.” She’d never seen him in jeans, and the 1981 Alabama June Jam T-shirt with the cowboy boots suited him.
Dub came outside offering a plate of biscuits. “I see you’ve still got your arm, Coach.”
Shug smiled and took a biscuit. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said. “Appreciate it. Kid’s got a future.” He gestured with his biscuit toward Pete then took a bite.
Dub was about to reply, but Coach Meechum said, “God almighty!” His face lit up; he sucked in a breath. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
Trudy looked up at the sky and shook her head. Shug studied the biscuit as if unsure it was real, then took a second bite.
“Shug Meechum!” Leta Pearl shot out of the back door like Evel Knievel. “Get that biscuit out of your mouth this instant!”
“Mother!” Trudy hollered. “What in the—?”
“These are for Marvalee’s niece’s bridal shower this afternoon,” Leta Pearl snatched the plate from Dub who shrugged and laughed. “Now I’m short by exactly one. I’m sorry Coach Meechum, under normal circumstances, I would—”
“Mother,” Trudy said, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Dub said, “And Marvalee could stand to skip a biscuit or two, if you ask me.”
“Oh hush,” Leta Pearl said. “Don’t you have to go to work?”
Dub checked his watch. “’Bout that time. Coach Meechum, always a pleasure. Congratulations on the win last night.” Before leaving, he shook Meechum’s hand and kissed Leta Pearl’s cheek, which was now turning bright scarlet.
Trudy’s mother looked like she might implode; she grunted her disgust and took the biscuits back inside.
“I apologize. Mama’s apparently had her Southern hospitality repossessed,” Trudy said. “She gets wound a little tight about her biscuits.”
“Rightfully so,” Shug said. “My God, what’s in those things?”
Trudy shrugged and they held a moment of clumsy silence.
“Look—” Trudy started.
“I’m sorry I—” Shug stammered at the same time, their words crashing into one another.
“I really meant to—”
“I think I owe—”
They laughed awkwardly.
“You go first,” she said finally.
“Okay. Um. Well. First, I need to apologize,” he said. “For standing you up last night.” He put his hands in his back pockets, drew a line in the dust on the patio with the toe of his boot. “How long did you wait?” He winced.
Trudy winced back. “I might have ...” She tugged at her earring. “Stood you up too?”
“Oh!” Shug laughed. “I see! Welp!” He held up the bottles. “Better late than never, I reckon.”
“I caught the football, Mama!” Pete called from the lawn.
“That’s fantastic, Peter!”
He threw his new football in the air, the first one he’d ever owned, the first one he’d ever caught, and a gift from Shug Meechum.
She’d missed him presenting it, but she imagined the coach down on one knee, holding it between them like an idol, golden and rare, in some display of ancient brotherhood that Trudy could never understand.
Pete’s radio commentary of his one-man football game had Auburn leading Alabama “a hundred to nothing.”
“I’ll be right back.” Trudy headed to the kitchen for the bottle opener.
Leta Pearl stood, arms folded in disgust. “How much longer?”
“Mother. Quit.” Trudy grabbed the bottle opener.
“You look like Bill Bixby fixin’ to turn into the Hulk.
” She blew a kiss and was back outside before her mother could respond.
She smiled at Shug and popped off the tops.
They pinged the bottles without acknowledging what, if anything, they were toasting.
“He must make you so happy,” Shug said, gesturing toward Pete.
Trudy nodded. Happy? Of course, but was it that simple?
When she thought of Pete, happiness came with so many other emotions too.
There he was, this angel who brought her so much joy that every part of her ached, but whose timing had also taken so much joy away.
It was as if she couldn’t love him without hating herself for her past. She’d never trade anything for Pete though.
“Listen,” Shug said. “I’m also here about something else.” He looked down, rubbed his free hand on his pants leg.
Trudy exhaled heavily. “Look, lesson learned, okay? Believe it or not, I completely forgot about the Field House Run. I would never have done that to June Bug if—”
“Oh goodness, please.” Meechum held up a hand. “Don’t apologize. At least not for that.”
“But I ruined his night, maybe his entire—”
“June bug will be just fine, and he needs to learn things won’t always go his way. If he plays for Bear Bryant, there’ll be a lot more pressure than a trip to the principal on game day.”
Trudy tilted her head. “You’re not upset?”
“I’m the opposite of upset.”
She smiled; the lightness of relief made her a little giddy.
The corner of Meechum’s mouth ticked up.
A dimple Trudy hadn’t noticed before revealed itself on his left cheek, which had grown stubble overnight.
And Coach Meechum’s jet-black eyes weren’t so black after all, for there were tiny little flecks of honey whenever a sunbeam hit them.
Somehow, they both shifted at the same time, and his forearm grazed her shoulder.
It felt like she’d stuck a paperclip in a light socket.
She caught her breath, hoping he didn’t notice.
“You know,” he said. “I was wondering . . . would you ever . . . ?” He waved off his own words. “Nah, never mind.”
Trudy cocked her head. “What?”
He took a nervous swig of Coke. “Do you like to fish?”
She laughed, pretended not to be in love with the idea, and tried to temper her grin by forcing a scowl. “You wanna take me fishing?”
“What?” Shug stepped backwards, took off his hat, and scratched his head as if confused. “You’re asking me to take you fishing?” With exaggerated pretense, he acted taken aback. “Sure. I guess. I mean, you’re engaged so ...”
“Wait. What?” Trudy twisted up her face. “I wasn’t asking you to take me ... I thought you were asking—”
Their eyes locked and Trudy’s response to the trick he’d just played escaped her.
The ratio of oxygen to the other elements in the air became extremely unbalanced.
An electricity she hadn’t felt in a long time returned.
She decided that if Shug Meechum kissed her right then, she’d let him; she didn’t care who saw.
“Look who’s here, y’all!” Leta Pearl hollered from inside. “Oh, Miss Louley! Peaches? In August?”