Chapter 6 Maxford #2
She responds with an eye roll and looks past me. “Mom! Hey! Wait, why aren’t you in your workout stuff?”
Nola looks flustered as she hurries up to us, pulling her hair into a sloppy pile on the top of her head. “I know, Em, and I’m so sorry. My meeting ran long and I had to come straight here.”
“Didn’t you pack a change of clothes to throw into the car?” Emma lets out a frustrated sigh.
“Yes, and I forgot it. It’s sitting by the front door—”
“Mom! You promised!” Emma’s usually a decent kid, minimal tween angst and sass, but this is unfair to her mom.
It’s a run. A stupid mile run. I’m tired and ready to call it a week—it’s Friday afternoon and is it worth everybody being on edge over this grade?
I can change it with a click of a button and an override allowance by Principal Bennett.
I can fudge a grade somewhere else in the gradebook to make up for the zero Bennett knows Emma received for being gone. It’s not the end of the world.
The rest of the staff know these students better than me. I haven’t dedicated my career to helping them learn and thrive; I don’t know all their backstories and what makes them tick, but I can tell this is about more than just 5280 feet worth of running.
Instead, I say, “How about I run it with you? Would that be okay?”
She eyes me. “Really?”
“Yeah, why not? I mean, I’m not as fun to run with as your mom, but I’m planning on eating one piece of candy for every piece I hand out tonight,” I pat my stomach, “so I might as well burn some calories up front, right?”
“Okay, but I set the pace,” she decides.
“Lead the way.” I toss my stopwatch to Nola, who gives me a grateful half smile, and stretch my arm out toward the track. Emma takes off and I jog alongside her.
The pace we run is easy and we talk about STEM Club, which is run by the high school science teacher.
She tells me all about the robot they’re building for some valley-wide showcase.
We finish in eight minutes and Emma’s pumped she was able to shave eight seconds off her last recorded time.
I’m pumped that my week is officially over and I can go home.
She picks up her backpack and runs for the car, calling for Nola to hurry up so they can eat dinner before she’s meeting with friends to trick-or-treat.
Nola holds out the paused stopwatch and my fingers skim hers as I grab it.
In Major League Baseball there’s a lot of touching.
Guys are a weird breed, and over my career I’ve rubbed heads, participated in chest bumps, patted butts, and given more high fives than I can count.
And Nola’s like my old teammates; she tolerates me but could do without my existence just as easily.
But our most subtle of accidental brushes leaves more of an impression on my system than anything before it.
I swear she felt that little jolt too, because a hint of pink colors her cheeks.
“Thanks for doing that. It’s . . . it’s been a day and sometimes . . . well.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad I was better prepared today,” I say in a callback to last night’s attire and wave my hand up my joggers and school-logoed sweatshirt.
She lets out a single laugh and then asks, “You’re not really handing out candy tonight, are you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I shrug. “I bought those big bags of candy from Costco and it’s Halloween.
I thought that’s the expectation.” It’s been on my radar all week.
Stella had mentioned a few preschools were going to trick-or-treat at the assisted living home today, so I dropped a couple of bags off for her and Opal this morning.
At lunch, I put in my pizza order so I could pick it up early on my way home, and I have every intention of being the good neighbor tonight who keeps their light on and answers the door.
I loved this holiday growing up and for once, I’m around to participate.
“Well,” she carefully considers her words. “You live alone, right?”
Is she trying to politely ask if I’m dating somebody? Because, Nola, you had no problem kissing me without knowing if I was attached—why would you care now? Besides, what would a girlfriend have to do with handing out Halloween candy? I paste a charming, flirty smile on.
“Are you asking if I’m single?” I waggle my eyebrows at her. “See something you like? Dying to know where I live so you can ‘accidentally’ stop by with Emma tonight?”
“No,” Nola’s quick to say. “You really don’t know anything about kids, do you?
” She sighs. “Of course you don’t. Let me save you the embarrassment of going from the nice guy who keeps to himself to the neighborhood creeper.
Single men shouldn’t be passing out candy in this day and age.
Leave a bowl of candy on a chair by your door with a sign welcoming kids to take a piece or two. ”
Her advice seems stupid and, quite frankly, hurts my feelings.
I’m a good guy. Then again, she is a parent and would know optics better than me.
My street has a bunch of kids on it and everybody’s gone all out to be festive.
I’ve never owned decorations for any holiday, aside from a simple tree at Christmas, and this year I made an effort.
My lawn boasts two dragon inflatables and a large skeleton.
I bought some pumpkins to put on the steps up to my front door.
Earlier this week, I even strung some orange pumpkin lights on the porch.
What she explains makes me feel a little sheepish and oddly bummed.
“And then, what? I sit inside and pretend I’m not home? ”
“That, or you could go to Gin and Bear It. I bet you could find a lonely nurse”—she winks on the word nurse—“and have a fun night.”
The way she says it leaves no hint of jealousy or curiosity about that becoming my plan.
When she blushed a minute ago, I must have been mistaken, along with every time she’s been the slightest bit flirty toward me.
Again I’m bummed, but I shake it off. There are so many reasons why Nola isn’t the kind of woman I should become interested in anyway.
This exchange has been the perfect reminder.
“Maybe I’ll do that. Tom has said the bar gets packed on nights like these, and I’m exactly what the ladies are looking for.” I meet her nonchalance and watch Nola’s mouth shift subtly.
“There’s a large market for uncertified P.E. teachers?” She starts walking backward toward the parking lot where Emma’s waiting.
“Hey! I got my certification!” I remind her, throwing my arms out wide and give a grin. “Pretty sure I’m one of a kind, Nola. And women love a unicorn.”
An elongated “Okay,” is all she says before turning toward the car. A few steps later, she calls over her shoulder, “Get ready to bring your Bingo game tomorrow, Max. I always win anything I put my mind to.”