“Right. So did Coach Andrew recruit Joshua too?”
“Yep.” She laughed. “I think he’s going to single-handedly make our little guys into athletes. Even if it kills him.”
“It might come to that with Noah.”
“Same with Joshua. But if anyone can succeed, it’s Andrew. Joshua adores him—I wouldn’t have been able to get him here for anyone else. Want to sit down?” I nodded and we stepped up onto the empty bleachers together. “Let’s go up high,” she said, carefully picking her way up the steps. “He’ll come running over to me about every little thing if he thinks he can.”
“Noah’s the same way.”
“They’re made to be friends. We have to get them together more often. Where do you live?” I told her. “That’s not too far,” she said. “We’re south of you, closer to Pico.” She grinned. “You know, the poor side of town.”
“Only by Fenwick standards.”
She nodded. “Exactly. My daughter’s always coming home and talking about these huge mansions some of the girls in her class live in. Do you know she actually said to me, ‘Why don’t we belong to a beach club like everyone else?’ ” Debbie Golden shook her head. “I was this close to calling her a spoiled brat, but I’m happy to say I managed to restrain myself.”
“I’ve called Noah a spoiled brat,” I admitted. “I usually apologize afterwards, but I’ve done it.”
“Oh, I’ve done it too,” she said cheerfully. “Just that time, I stopped myself.”
Andrew was leading the kids onto the baseball diamond. Noah and Joshua walked side by side at the end of the line, lagging way behind the others. Andrew called over his shoulder to them to speed up.
“I don’t know…” Debbie said slowly, watching them. “I was so happy the day Josie got accepted to kindergarten there, but sometimes I wonder if Fenwick is the right place for my kids. Between the wealth thing and the way the other boys are all so huge and athletic, sometimes I think Joshua at least would be happier at some loser school where all the kids are small and wimpy like him.”
“Plus there’s Caleb.” It was a weird thing to bond over, but I remembered how she had said Joshua was bullied by Caleb and his friends, just like Noah.
“God, I hate that kid,” Debbie said. “I know an adult shouldn’t hate a small child, but I can’t stand him. On the other hand, there’s always a Caleb, isn’t there? Wherever you send your kid?”
“Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”
“Noah’s an only child, right?” I nodded and waited for the other questions—the you-must-have-had-him-young, huh? kind of questions—but she just said, “I have two, but my other’s a girl and it’s different with girls. There are plenty of girls in her class who I’d like to throttle, but which one changes on a weekly basis. Her best friend one week turns into a viper the next. And vice versa. I can’t keep track, so I just stay out of it.”
“I remember those days.”
“Me too. But the Caleb thing is different: in ten years, Caleb will still be the class bully.”
“Unless he’s doing time in San Quentin.”
“Oh, I like that idea! Think there’s a chance?”
Some of the kids were putting on red jerseys. “I hope he keeps them together,” I said and just then Andrew handed both Noah and Joshua red jerseys. “Look how he listens to me,” I said with a laugh because we were well out of earshot.
“He knows what he’s doing,” Debbie said. “There’s something so trustworthy about that guy.” I didn’t answer. She shifted her butt on the bleacher bench. “God, these are uncomfortable. We should bring pillows next time. And coffee.”
“And food,” I said because I was starving. I hadn’t had any breakfast.
“We could take turns picking up from Starbucks.”
“I think I love you,” I said.
“I’m coming tomorrow, right?” Andrew asked when I came over to nab Noah at the end of practice.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “I mean, Noah’s getting coached by you here now.”
“I’d still like to work with him privately on his batting.”
Noah hadn’t exactly managed to get a lot of height on the ball when he was hitting. He had kind of nudged it off the tee with his bat so it dribbled onto the field. I heard one dad in the bleachers say to another, “Hope they keep that kid on the bench during the games” and felt a stab of anger so intense I couldn’t move. Then Debbie said loudly, “I hate stupidly competitive parents, don’t you?” and I felt better.
“So can I come?” Andrew asked.
“Of course,” I said and thanked him. “So,” I said to Noah as we headed toward the car. “How was it?”
“Okay, I guess. I kind of sucked but it’s okay because Joshua did too.”
“He’s nice, right?”
“He’s okay.”
“His mom is really nice. I like her a lot. I said maybe you guys could have a playdate sometime. Would you like that?”
“Maybe.” I expected a bit more enthusiasm but realized how tired, and probably hungry, he was when I offered to take him to Cafe 50’s, his current favorite restaurant, and he said wearily, “I guess that would be okay.”
He just didn’t have the energy to be enthusiastic about anything right at that moment.
20.
I was the only adult at home the next morning: Mom and Dad had gone out for brunch with friends, and Melanie was with her kids at her place.
I had learned to set the alarm on Saturday night so I wouldn’t be caught half-asleep like that first time. Unfortunately, I hadn’t learned how not to ignore the alarm, so by the time I finally hauled myself out of bed I only had enough time to brush my teeth and make some coffee before Andrew rang the doorbell, looking all bright and well rested and, yes, kind of cute because at some point I had decided he was cute and didn’t seem to be able to change my mind about that as much as I would have liked to.
I worked hard to act like his arrival was no big deal to me: I made Noah answer the door and I just kind of waved nonchalantly at the coach from the kitchen table as Noah dragged him toward the backyard. I overheard Andrew ask Noah if he had had fun at T-ball the day before and then Noah’s agonizingly misleading response: “It was okay. Mom promised I could quit if it doesn’t get better.” Fortunately the door slammed shut so I was spared Andrew’s reaction to that.
I baked a pan of GF brownies then leafed through the Sunday New York Times, glancing up every now and then to watch the two of them through the window.
I found myself wondering what kind of guy gave up his Sunday mornings to help a kid who never seemed especially grateful or enthusiastic.
He was either very kind or very crazy.
I watched as Andrew played some kind of running game with Noah that involved both of them running sprints from one end of the yard to the other until they collapsed on the ground and rolled back and forth on the grass.
Andrew looked kind of crazy doing that. But he wasn’t crazy. That was the problem.
When they came in a while later, they were both sweating and panting. The kitchen was warm from the baking, and they instantly tore off their sweatshirts. Andrew was wearing a dark blue T-shirt. It was a good color on him.
“Hooray!” he said, spotting the plate. “Brownies!” He grabbed one. “You really don’t have to bake every time,” he said as he tore off a big bite. “Really.” He chewed and grinned. “Well, maybe you do. These are great. Even better than the last batch.”
“Can I eat them?” Noah asked.
I nodded. “They’re safe. But just one. It’s almost lunchtime.”
He leaned over the plate and studied the brownies, clearly looking for the biggest one.
“Hey, Noah, do me a favor, will you?” Andrew said. “I left all the equipment out on the yard. Will you gather it up and put it in my bag and then carry it to my car?”
“Do I have to?”
“Noah!” I said. “No brownie until you do what Coach Andrew says. He’s nice
enough to come here and play with you every week—”
“Not every week,” Noah said. “Just some of them.”
I shook my head at him warningly. “The least you can do is help clean up. When you’ve stowed all the stuff in his car, you can come back in and have your brownie. Not until then.”
Noah heaved a dramatic sigh and slouched toward the back doorway and out.
There was a pause. “Got rid of him,” I said.
“That was the goal,” Andrew said. I had been joking, so that slightly unnerved me. He gestured toward the kitchen table. “Let’s sit.”
“Am I in trouble?” I asked as I sat down. I was still wearing my sweatpants and a tank top—aka my pajamas—although once again I’d thrown a hoodie on top to hide the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra.
He just shook his head as he took the chair opposite me. Then he passed his hand through his hair. He seemed nervous. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.
The nervousness was contagious. My pulse sped up. “Have you ever noticed how often you say that? That you’ve been thinking? You spend a lot of time thinking.”
“Really?”
“It’s not a bad thing. It’s good to be thoughtful. No one’s ever accused me of being thoughtful. Which is how I know it’s a good thing.” God, I was blithering. “So what were you thinking about this time?”
“Our conversation at Thanksgiving.”
“That was a month and a half ago,” I said. “You’ve been thinking about it all this time?” I tried to sound calm. But I felt a little sick. Why was he bringing it up now?
“Yeah,” he said. “It takes me a little while to process things sometimes. And you hit me with a lot of information all at once.”
“Look, for what it’s worth—I was a little drunk.”
“So was I. But it was all true, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “How pathetic is that?”
“Here’s the thing,” he said, ignoring my comment. “It’s just… I feel bad I haven’t said anything to you about it since then. That was wrong of me.” I stared at him, surprised. He smiled sheepishly. “I have a tendency to want to run and hide when things get too heavy. At least that’s what every girlfriend I’ve ever had has told me. And my sister and mother. And my grandmother, but she’s a little nuts, so don’t count that one.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I think I owe you an apology for talking your ear off.”
“No, you don’t. I felt kind of honored you confided in me.” He leaned forward. “Mostly I’ve been thinking about all the things I should have said that night and feel bad that I didn’t say.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been driving me nuts that I didn’t say anything helpful, just stood there like an idiot. What I should have said was you’re doing an amazing job with Noah. And that life is—” He stopped, searching for the words. Being thoughtful again. I wondered what it would be like to go through life like that: thinking everything through carefully before speaking or taking action.
You probably don’t end up with a kid at nineteen.
Andrew said, “Life just always changes, you know? So where you are at any given moment isn’t necessarily where you thought you’d be, but in a few years that could all change again and you might look back and say, ‘Where I was then makes sense because it got me to here.’ ” He grimaced. “That sounded way lamer than it was supposed to. I’m sorry. I’m not very articulate.”
“For a dumb jock, you do okay.”
He leaned forward. “You know, in a way, that’s my point.”
“What is?”
“You think I’m a dumb jock because you’ve only known me as a PE coach.”
“I don’t really think you’re dumb,” I said. “I was joking.”
He dismissed that with a wave. “The point is, I came to Fenwick because I got laid off at my banking job and so I came to help set up the new computers and teach the older kids some computer skills and then one of the coaches left and they asked me to fill in for her. There was no master plan. It just happened. And the really weird part is I love being a coach. I feel like it sort of is what I was meant to do.” He stopped and cocked his head at me. “Am I making any sense at all?”
“I think so. You’re basically saying life is random, right?”
“Yeah. Or no. I mean, it is random but the randomness can move you forward. We make choices and they lead somewhere. It’s just not always in a straight line.”
“Yeah, well, I think I took a U-turn a few years ago.”
“But maybe you needed to be going in that direction.” He made a face. “Okay, now I’m hating this metaphor.”
“Let’s lose it,” I agreed.
“You see?” He looked suddenly young and vulnerable. “I suck at saying things.”
“No, you don’t. I like everything you just said.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“And you forgive me for not being all brilliant and understanding right away, when we first talked about all this stuff? And for being such a coward since then, not bringing it up again until now?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve only ever been nice.”
He smiled and it was such a warm and open smile, my heart leaped. “Hey, there,” he said. Then I realized he wasn’t smiling at me, but past me. I turned and Noah was standing there, his upper body tipping forward in the effort to counterbalance the weight of the coach’s big mesh bag, which was slung over his shoulder.
“I think I got everything,” he said. “It’s really heavy.”
“I’ll take it to the car,” Andrew said. “Go ahead and put it down.”
Noah instantly dropped the bag. He hadn’t secured the top, and as it hit the ground balls fell out and started rolling all over the floor.
“Noah!” I jumped to my feet at the same moment as Andrew, and we both started grabbing for balls. Meanwhile Noah casually stepped over to the table, selected his brownie, and ate it, idly watching us chase down balls like none of it had anything to do with him and we were very silly people to be scrambling around like that.
My arms full, I approached Andrew, who was slipping a couple of balls back into the bag. He held the bag open and I dropped the balls I’d gathered in there. I looked at his hands as I was letting them slide in—those too-big-for-the-size-of-his-wrists hands—and felt a rush of desire so strong I was terrified he’d see it on my face. I ducked away. “Any under the stove?” I said and crouched down, pretending to look, just so I could hide my flushed cheeks a little longer.
There was a burst of music. I stood up and turned around. Andrew was answering his phone with one hand, clutching the net bag with the other. “I’m just heading out now,” he said into his cell. A pause. “Western Bagel okay?” Another pause. “Onion with light cream cheese. Got it. Be there in twenty minutes.” He put the phone in his pocket. “I better run. I’ll see you at school, Noah. And I’ll see you at the next T-ball practice, Noah’s mom. You’re going to be amazed at how good this kid gets.” He hoisted the bag over his shoulder. “Thanks for the brownies.”
“No problem,” I said and stayed in the kitchen while Noah led him to the front door.
Of course I spent way too much time after that trying to figure out the subtext of our conversation. Had he noticed how I’d been avoiding him and wanted to make sure we were still friends? Was his apology sincere or an act of kindness? What was he trying to accomplish by even having that conversation?
I couldn’t ask Mom or Melanie what they thought, because I didn’t want to admit to either of them that I was spending time thinking about Andrew’s motives.
So I was left trying to figure out the puzzle by myself.
It was only after the next T-ball practice, when I heard Noah say to him, “Don’t make me bat. I suck at it,” and Andrew gravely, kindly, and patiently replied that he didn’t suck, that he was good and getting better all the time, that I realized he wa
s talking to Noah exactly the way he had been talking to me, and that our conversation in the kitchen had simply been a coach’s pep talk. You’re doing great, don’t worry about your past mistakes, get out there and keep going, you’re a winner, etc.
Andrew may have become a PE coach by accident, but, boy, did he have the right personality for it.
* * *
My mother had arranged for the masseuse to come and give Mel and me our Christmas-present massages one night the following week.
Eliana the masseuse was big. Not fat, just big. Linebacker big. Shoulders-as-broad-as-a-football-field big.
“You go first,” Melanie said with some trepidation as we peeked out the window at Eliana, who was strutting up our front walkway with a folded massage table tucked under her arm as if it were a clutch purse.
Two hours later, after my mother had paid Eliana and she and her table were heading back down the front walkway, Mom closed the door and said, “Well? How was it?”
“Amazing,” said Melanie dreamily. She was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, and under her mussed-up hair, her face looked flushed and young. “I told her I didn’t get many massages so just to keep it kind of soft. It all felt so good. I haven’t been this relaxed in ages.”
“What did you think?” Mom asked me.
I sat down heavily on the sofa. “I ache all over.”
“Really?” Mel said. “But she was so gentle.”
“Not with me she wasn’t. I told her I wanted her to go really deep into the muscle. I mean, I kind of figured if I was getting a massage, I should really feel it, right?” They didn’t exactly rush to agree with me. “Anyway, she was still being kind of delicate, so I told her that I meant it, that she should really press down hard.” I shifted my body, which made me wince. “I think maybe I pissed her off a little because she got kind of rough then. She was digging her fingers so hard into my muscles, it really hurt.” I didn’t tell them, but I’d actually started panting from the pain.
“Why didn’t you just tell her to pull back?” Mom said.
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