“Oh, no . . . ,” I said. “I wouldn’t expect that.” Besides . . . how long was a season, anyway?
“Here ya go, Rob,” the older woman on the other side of the booth said.
“How you doin’, Mrs. Givens?”
“Fair to middlin’.”
“Can’t complain?”
“Well, I could, but what would be the point?” She chuckled.
“Yes, ma’am. What about Mr. Givens? How’s he these days?”
“Not good,” the woman answered with a sad shake of her head. “His arthritis just gives him fits.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Rob shoved the wallet into his back pocket.
“He’s had it for such a long time, poor man.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“His mama had it bad, too, you know.”
“I didn’t know, but you give Mr. Givens my best and tell him I’ll be praying for him.”
“You’re a good boy, Robert. Always were. Your mama most assuredly raised you right.” She pulled her attention from him to me. “Who’ve ya got with ya there?”
Rob grinned with what looked like pride. “I’d like for you to meet Ashlynne Rothschild. She’s working for the Deckers for a few months.”
I gave Mrs. Givens my best pleased-to-meet-you smile, but without taking her eyes from me she continued speaking to Rob. “Well, if you ask me, her shorts are a smidgen too short, but her colors are right and I suppose that’s what’s important.”
I frowned as Rob handed me a program. “Here ya go,” he said. Then to Mrs. Givens, “We do appreciate loyalty to the old red and white, don’t we, Mrs. Givens?”
“Yes sirree bob.”
Rob gave another sweet smile toward the woman. He, no doubt, had been born a diplomat. Whatever I had managed to lack, he had in full. “Thank you, now,” he said.
“Y’all enjoy the game now.”
“We will.” He looked at me as we stepped away from the booth. “Come on through the gate here,” he said, pointing to a fairly thin opening in the high fence.
“Are my shorts too short?”
“Not to my way of thinking . . .” He cut his eyes at me. They were playful and mischievous. “I think you look just fine. Mrs. Givens, on the other hand, thinks anything an inch over the knee is too short. She was one of the high school teachers who used to give the girls around here a fit.”
We stepped into a small crowd of people who ambled toward the bleachers on the right side of the field. Rob slipped his hand around mine as naturally as if he’d been doing so for years. It felt warm. And rough from his work.
And good.
I allowed my fingers to curl around his. When I did, he squeezed.
The night air grew thicker; my skin clammy under the weight of Nicole Miller body cream. I could smell the flowers and sandalwood, which blended nicely with Rob’s aftershave wafting around us. The whole experience was intoxicating. Not just our scents mixing together like familiar lovers, but the animated cheers from young girls with pom-poms, the chatter and shouts of the crowd, the songs of the marching band—more drumbeat than medley.
“Do you mind sitting with the Deckers?” Rob asked with a jut of his chin, indicating he’d spotted them.
I smiled, hoping it looked sincere. “Not at all. I like Bobbie and Shelton.” And I had a bone to pick with William.
“They’re good people.”
“Yes, they are.”
Will Decker did a double take when he saw me. “Nice,” he said, keeping his voice low as I sat to the right of him and on the seat cushion Rob opened for me.
“The outfit or the seat cushion?” I let my left brow rise, as though I dared him to answer the former over the latter.
He grinned at me with a shake of his head, leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and cracked his knuckles.
Just like Dad . . . and my grandfather.
From between her husband and her grandson, Bobbie Decker clapped her hands in time with the chant coming from the cheerleading squad. She looked at me. “Couldn’t you just jump up and down right now? Oh, I wish I could still do what those girls are doing.”
Shelton leaned over and winked at me. “She ain’t the only one who’s wishing it.”
I laughed, looked over at Rob, and whispered, “Okay, so what happens next?” I glanced over the field, noting the white lines and the giant numbers—50-40-30 . . .
He offered a sheepish smile. “You really are a novice.”
I looped my arm through his, giving him my full attention. “But I’m with a good teacher, right?”
“Yes ma’am.” He looked to his right. “Okay, then. You see that tall U-shaped thing rising up on a pole down there?”
I nodded.
“Don’t look now, but there’s another one on the other end of the field.”
I kept my eyes on the U-shaped thing rising from the right side of the field. “Okay . . .”
“They’re called goalposts . . .”
17
When the game ended with victorious cheers from our side of the field—and groans from the other—Rob and I stood, and folded our chairs as though we’d been doing so in harmony all our lives.
“What’d you think of our boys?” Bobbie asked from the other side of her grandson, who’d spent the majority of the game either yelling at the players or looking quizzically at me.
“They’re wonderful,” I said. “And that Number 75 really was something spectacular to watch, wasn’t he?”
“That’s our Sean,” Shelton said. “Boy’s going places. And my old buddy Coach Meriwether will make the state High School Coach of the Year for sure.”
I handed Rob my folded seat cushion. He gripped both in one hand and placed the other hand at the small of my back. “You ready for something better than popcorn and a Coke?”
I nodded and smiled. I was more than ready. I’d passed on the chili dog Rob had suggested and I was fairly starved. Rob looked at Will and his family. “You folks are welcome to join us.”
My heart plummeted. Much as I liked the Deckers and as much as I could manage to tolerate their grandson, I didn’t want them tagging along on the first real date I’d had in forever.
“Don’t be silly,” Bobbie said. “Besides, it’s past our bedtime, near ’bout.”
Shelton harrumphed.
We’d started down the bleachers with the rest of the crowd when Will asked Rob, “Where are y’all going?”
“Where do you think? The Sit-a-Spell.”
“Is that a restaurant?” I asked Rob. Because, I had to admit, it sounded like a place to buy living room furniture.
“More like a hangout,” Will answered for his friend. “Not really up your alley.”
“Come on now, Will,” Rob said. “You know better than that. Give the girl a break. Look how much fun she had at the game.” His hand, once again, took mine in a protective hold.
We placed our feet on the well-worn grass path along the front row of bleachers and turned left toward the parking lot. “I did have fun,” I said, to no one in particular, and more to myself. I’d shouted and cheered and clapped along with everyone, feeling a part of something so . . . communal. I couldn’t wait to tell Gram about it. To let her know that this was what I’d wanted back in junior high. What I’d hoped for. For a few exhilarating hours I’d allowed the wall around my heart to fall ever-so-slightly and look what I’d gotten—an experience that was everything I’d always thought it could be.
She’d be thrilled to hear it. So would Leigh.
“So, what’s it going to be?” Rob asked Will after we’d made it to the edge of the parking lot and said good-bye to the senior Deckers. “Coming with us?”
I eyed Will carefully, begging my eyes to dare him to intrude on my time with Rob. But he only smiled at Rob, giving me not so much as a glance. “Have I ever missed going to the Sit-a-Spell after a game?”
“Yeah, I know. But you know you can sit with us, right?”
He looked at me,
eyes playfully narrowing. “If it’s all right with Ashlynne, I’d love to join you.”
And what was I to say? I could only mutter one polite thing, albeit insincere, and he knew it. “Of course, Mr. Decker. What could possibly be more fun?”
“The Sit-a-Spell is the place to go after a game,” Rob told me on the way there, “providing, of course, we won the game.”
“And if not?”
“Then we still go but only to lick our wounds.”
I smiled. “Y’all really do take football seriously, don’t you?”
His face turned slowly toward mine and he grinned.
“What?” I asked as he looked forward again.
“You just used the word ‘y’all.’ Now all you have to do is learn the difference between y’all and all y’all.”
I crossed my arms and settled farther into my seat. “Did I really?” I asked, even though I knew I had indeed said it. “I guess I’m starting to get comfortable here then.”
“Becoming a real Southern gal.” He pulled into the parking lot of the Sit-a-Spell, which was loaded with a few cars, but mostly trucks.
“Wow, this really is the place to go.”
Just as he had in the high school parking lot, Rob exited first, coming to my side of the car to open the door. While he walked around the back of the car, I stared out the windshield, taking everything in.
The Sit-a-Spell resembled a log cabin with a wide porch stretching across the front. Nearly every inch of it was occupied by picnic tables and benches, and most of them were filled with patrons. Massive picture windows spread across the front. Inside, people milled around or sat in red vinyl booths. Laughter and music—the same kind I heard in Will’s truck every time we got in it—permeated the night air.
Rob opened my door. “Hope you’re hungry. The Sit-a-Spell has some pretty good barbecue if you’re up for that kind of thing.”
Barbecue . . . “Like . . . what?”
We started toward the restaurant. “What do you mean?”
“Barbecue what?”
Rob seemed stunned by my question. “Say what?”
I stopped. “Don’t laugh at me.”
I saw his cheeks flush in the light coming from the porch. “I wasn’t . . .”
“I know, but . . . I know what a barbecue is. It’s one of those things you grill on. Or it’s when friends get together to barbecue. But I don’t know what you mean when you say they have good barbecue.”
Understanding washed over him. “Oh . . . I getcha.” He reached for my hand and walked me to the single step up the porch that wasn’t really a step at all. When I stopped to stare at it, he said, “It’s an old cut-down railroad tie.”
“Oh.” I put my foot on it and it moved enough to make me loop my arm with Rob’s.
“You kind of have to put your foot down and then go up with your other one real fast. These things aren’t known for being steady, but I guess it beats a cinder block.”
“A what?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, for the next several minutes we went from one outside table to the next, greeting friends of Rob’s whom—I suppose—he’d known his whole life. While they talked—in general about the game—I pulled my hair out of its ponytail. After raking my fingers through my hair and relooping the scrunchie, I looked around for anyone I might know. Or even Will. But he apparently hadn’t arrived yet.
From my left, a hand waved at me. I turned fully to see the arm was attached to Alma. “Girl, look at you,” she said as she approached. “At the Sit-a-Spell after a game.” She nudged me with her elbow. “I saw you sitting down there between Will Decker and your young buck,” she said.
Thankfully, Rob had engaged in a conversation with a woman who looked to be of our parents’ age, and hadn’t heard her. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Alma . . .”
She laughed. “Aww, you know.” She looked around. “I just came for a burger and some fries and then I’m back to the paper so I can write up my column. What a game. Did you like it?”
I nodded. “I did. A lot, actually.” I leaned closer. “And, listen. About what you overheard today . . . the argument between Will and me. I didn’t mean—”
Alma shook her head as though she were trying to loosen something. “You didn’t mean diddly-squat. I know you better than that.” She looked over her shoulder. “That Will Decker’s got you all riled up, I’d say.” She elbowed me again. “And I’m thinking I know why.”
Alma wasn’t one for office gossip—she’d made that clear—but I hoped she’d offer some wisdom to my situation. “Why?” I asked.
Alma crossed her arms. “I know opposites attract, that’s what I know. You two got just enough in common and just enough not in common.”
I raised a hand and opened my mouth to protest. To say, “No, no, nothing like that.” But before I could, a raspy voice came over the intercom. “Alma, your takeout is ready.”
Alma’s large chocolate eyes grew larger. “That’s me.”
“No, wait . . . ,” I said, again hoping to correct her assumption, but as I did, Rob turned. “Oh, hey Alma.”
“Hey yourself, Romeo.” She winked.
My face grew hot. Rob blinked as though his eyes had caught dust. “Oh, go on . . . ,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. Before I find myself so far over my head, I drown. “See you Monday, Alma.”
“Let’s go in,” Rob said. “See if we can’t find a booth.”
“You don’t want to sit out here?”
“Well,” Rob said, “not really. Most of the smoking and drinking goes on out here and the inside is a little more family-friendly.”
My eyes swept across the porch. He was right. Nearly everyone sitting or standing outside held a beer bottle. A light veil of cigarette smoke hung in the air, but with the ceiling fans spinning overhead, I’d not noticed it so much before. “Okay.”
We went inside where the music wasn’t as loud but the laughter just as contagious, and were shown to a booth about halfway back. Rob stood aside, I slid along the bench facing the front of the restaurant, then he slid in beside me. Before we could get truly comfortable, a teenage girl bounced up and asked if we knew what we wanted to drink.
Something told me they didn’t have Pellegrino. “Water and lemon,” I said.
“Sweet tea.” Rob shot a look at me, then back to the girl. “I can go ahead and order for us, if that’s okay.”
She stood poised and ready. “Go ahead, Mr. Rob.”
“Two pulled-pork dinners.” He looked at me. “You like coleslaw?”
I had no idea. I’d heard of it, of course, but had never eaten it. Still, I was willing to try, if doing so was part of the after-game ritual. “Sure,” I said.
“With coleslaw and baked beans.” He looked at me again. “You like baked beans, don’t you?”
Gram made the best baked beans, using a recipe she said she’d had since she and my grandfather had first married. “I do.”
“Corn bread or Grecian?”
Again, Rob looked at me. “Corn bread?”
Again . . . no idea, though, again, I’d heard of it. I smiled. “I’ll try just about anything once.” Just about. Even a football game couldn’t make me eat too unhealthy.
Rob’s brow furrowed, and for a moment I thought he would ask me if I was serious. Instead, he turned back to the girl and said, “Corn bread with your honey-pecan butter.”
When the server had stepped away from the table, Rob turned back to me. “What are you grinning at?” he asked.
“The way you said pecan. Pe-cahn.”
He shrugged. “What do you say? Pee-can?”
“Well . . . yeah.”
The table rocked slightly as Will slid into the opposite side of the booth. “The age-old debate,” he said, pulling his hat off and placing it on the seat beside him. “Does it really matter?”
I felt my lips pull tight. Well why didn’t he just jump right into the conversation like he owned the place? Because he was William Decke
r, that’s why. A man with no boundaries. No fear of what others might think or say or do.
No, no, no. Alma was wrong if she thought his antagonism had anything to do with a romantic inclination toward me. He’d made that clear at lunch the first day. No more than any other girl, he’d said, when speaking of Brianna. Will Decker was not the “looking for love” type.
No sooner had Brianna come to mind than, again, she appeared. Copper-colored hair whipping behind Will’s shoulder caught my attention. “Brianna?” I called over the music—a song about some girl being everything the singer ever wanted. Everything he needs.
Brianna turned from a small group of people getting into the booth in front of ours. “Hey,” she drawled, her eyes bright. “Hey, Rob. Will. What did y’all think of the game tonight?” She brought one knee up and rested it on the bench where Will sat.
“Good one,” Will said.
“Where’s that little girl of yours?” Rob asked.
Brianna’s eyes momentarily looked toward the ceiling. “With her daddy. It’s his weekend.” She looked at me. “He brings her back on Sundays before church. So you’ll still get to meet her on Sunday.”
“Oh, good,” I said.
“Heard she did real good over at the 4-H fair last weekend,” Rob interjected.
The what?
“She did,” Brianna said, her smile growing wider. “Her pig got first place.”
“Her what?” The words blurted from my lips before I had a chance to catch them.
Brianna brought her attention back to me. “Her pig. She showed him at the 4-H fair last weekend.” She sighed dramatically. “Truth is, it’s her daddy’s pig, but she loves that thing so much, Cliff lets Maris claim it.”
Brianna looked over her shoulder at the booth where her friends ordered their drinks from our server. “I reckon I’d better be getting on back.” She looked at Will and then at Rob. “Good to see you both again. Y’all come on by the drugstore sometime for lunch, all right?”
“See you soon, Brianna,” Will said.
“See ya Sunday,” Rob said.
I looked at him as Brianna waved good-bye to me and turned away. “You’ll see her Sunday?”
“We go to the same church.”
The Road to Testament Page 16