“And he gave you the tickets for tonight,” she added, but I shook my head.
“No. He’s just nice. We had a good time together that night.” I watched her face. “Did you, with that guy?” I couldn’t help myself. I was too curious to hold it in.
“Sure, I had a good time,” she said, averting her eyes and nodding.
“I didn’t want to walk over and bother you because it seemed like you wanted to be left alone,” I said guardedly. “You looked a little…you looked like you were living out some spy fantasy!” I finally said, leaving the guarded stuff in the dust. “What’s going on?”
She hesitated before she spoke. “I’m dating someone but I haven’t told anyone. It’s a huge secret.”
“The old guy you were out with? He’s your secret boyfriend?”
She frowned. “Gravy, he’s not so old! And I don’t call him that, the B-word.”
“What is he to you, then?” I asked, then remembered that I wasn’t going to bother her. “If you want to say,” I conditioned.
“Well, we’re dating, yes. We see each other in a relationship kind of way, yes. But he’s more like…more like a…”
“Boyfriend.”
“Ok, fine!” Gaby glanced around, as if anyone else in the stands cared about her secret boyfriend but me. I was personally on tenterhooks. “Yes, he’s my boyfriend,” she whispered. “But you can’t tell anyone. It’s a complicated situation, because he’s…he’s…” She stopped and l leaned forward.
“Tell me right now,” I demanded. “Right now!”
“He’s married!” she finished. “But they aren’t really together and they haven’t been in years. They don’t love each other. They’re still legally tied because if they get divorced, she’ll take half of his business, and he spent his whole life building it! And their kids would be so upset and one of them, his daughter, has all these problems with her life and he doesn’t want to make things worse.” She went on longer about the many reasons that this guy wouldn’t leave his wife, and I sat with my mouth hanging open.
Gaby Carter was dating a married man?
“But you were a cheerleader!” I burst out when she concluded by explaining how the wife, whom Gaby called “she,” spent most of her time in Florida, at least during the winter, and when she was in Michigan, the two of them were barely together here, either.
“What does me being a cheerleader in high school have to do with anything?” Gaby asked, confused.
“I just mean, you’re pretty much perfect! How is it possible that even you can’t find a normal boyfriend?”
She stared at me angrily and then, horrifyingly, her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe you just said that to me. That was so mean,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
I couldn’t believe it either. What was wrong with me? “Gab, I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry. I’m just shocked, I think.”
She turned away and I could see her dabbing at her eyes with the napkin from the hot dog I’d eaten.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I just think you’re so wonderful. Even if you believe that he’s not really married, he really is married, and—”
“You don’t understand! This is exactly why I don’t tell anyone.” She sniffled.
“And also, you don’t tell anyone because he probably doesn’t want you to,” I added.
“Well, of course not! She could take half his business that he worked so hard for! She could poison their kids against him, and she’s very vindictive, so I’m sure she would!” Gaby told me, spinning back to face me angrily.
“If you found out your husband was having an affair, wouldn’t you be poisonous and vindictive too?” I asked, but she shook her head, her beautiful hair flying out then settling back on her shoulders in a glossy sheet.
“You don’t understand.”
“I don’t,” I admitted. “But are you happy with this? Does he make you happy?”
I watched as emotions seemed to move across her face. Confusion, sadness, anger, shame—I didn’t see happiness there.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Shep makes me really, really happy.”
I put my hand over my mouth to prevent myself from speaking because I recognized that name. Shep was her boss. Shep was Shephard Sterling of Sterling Standard Realty. I kept my fingers pressed against my lips while I counted to ten and formulated my next remark. “If he makes you happy, then I’m glad. If he doesn’t, I’m here to help you,” I finally said.
“He does. I’m so happy.” She puffed out a breath. “This is really a relief to tell you. I just didn’t think any of the other girls would understand. Can you imagine Holland? She would never be able to keep this a secret! She would never get it.”
Yes, Holland would broadcast this news, because she was a snake, but I thought it would be very difficult for anyone to understand. Why would beautiful, sweet Gaby would be involved with a married man who looked closer to my grandfather’s age than ours? “It’s,” I started to say, and she turned to me, waiting. “It’s…” Think, Hallie! “It’s surprising,” I said lamely.
“No one was more surprised than I was!” she promised me. “I mean, I knew how I felt, but then to find out that he felt the same way! And then, working together, and with her around,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s really hard. Stressful. I’ve spent so much time crying.” Her eyes filled with tears again, just talking about it.
“But it’s worth it?” I asked skeptically.
“He’s worth it! Shep is everything I could ever want.”
Except for being an old, adulterous jerk who didn’t have a problem with dating a subordinate. “Ok. And what has he said to you about the future?”
“I’m living in the moment,” she told me. “I’m happy right now, and that’s enough.”
I had never heard anyone who sounded less convinced of anything. “That’s good,” I said awkwardly, and she nodded her head, hard.
“It is. It’s great,” Gaby answered. I saw her throat move as she swallowed. “It’s also difficult, but being with Shep makes it wonderful. Wonderful,” she repeated, and I wonder who she was trying to convince.
I thought about her sitting in the dim restaurant in a hat and sunglasses with that old man, and I hugged her. She hugged me back, then sat up and used the hot dog napkin to wipe her eyes again. “They’re coming back out,” she said briskly. “I’d expect to see more of a run game in the second half.”
She was right about that, and the Woodsmen won. It hadn’t seemed to be in doubt statistically, but Gaby swore that she’d seen other teams return from worse, and the Cottonmouths’ quarterback really did put on a show right up until the finish. Gunnar was battling the entire time, taking thunderous hits that seemed to reverberate right to me up in the stands. I watched at the end of the game as he took off his helmet and then he and a few other Woodsmen players talked to some of the Cottonmouths, the quarterback and the wide receiver who had been so good. Gunnar had been right, because they didn’t look violent or mean or even angry with each other right now. I watched him until the players started to head to the locker room and Gaby nudged me again. When I looked over at her, she was smiling.
“Had enough ogling for the day?” she asked.
“I’m not ogling!” I defended myself, and she laughed.
“Sure, sure. Are you ready to go?”
We walked up the concrete steps and she looked back at our seats longingly. “Those were great. Better than my dad’s old season tickets. Do you think Gunnar would ever get them for you again?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I can ask him, if I ever see him. He’s so busy.”
“You know where he’ll be on Monday. At the closing for the bookstore,” she reminded me, then her features took on a concerned cast. “Every time I mention you selling the building, you get that look!” she told me. “Like I kicked you or something.”
“No, I don’t!” I defended myself again. “It’s just strange that it’s not a part of my li
fe anymore and every time we talk about it, or I get an email about the sale or whatever, I’m reminded of that. I was there almost every day until I left for college. I sat at the counter and did my homework and hung out with my dad. There are pictures of me taking my first steps in the fiction section.” I realized suddenly how ungrateful I sounded. “Gab, I know how much work you’ve put into selling it and I’m very thankful for that. You did way more, above and beyond, what you had to do and you got a great deal for me.”
“Well, Shep—I mean, Mr. Sterling, was really helpful,” she said quickly, then made a face. “I guess I can call him ‘Shep’ with you. It’s weird to call him mister in front of other people and then when we’re alone we…” She hesitated. “It’s just weird not to call him by his name.”
The entire situation was weird, but I prevented myself from saying that to her. Just barely.
We hugged again when we got to the parking lot, then Gaby saw a bunch of people she knew and ran over to walk the rest of the way to her car while I unlocked mine and waited for a space to clear to pull out. I listened to Herb and Buzz’s take on the game on the drive home, hearing their analysis of how the different positions on the team had done. Herb and Buzz graded on a four-point scale, which I appreciated. The offensive line, Gunnar’s line, got a 3.3, which worked out to a B plus if there was no weighting involved for any honors or advanced classes. I assumed no weighting in their system.
B plus? Were they joking? I had seen total A work on the field from Gunnar tonight. I listened, incensed, as Herb picked apart some mistakes they had made, like some errors in timing, some missed blocks.
“I think they did they best they could!” I told the radio. “You guys are lowballing. Anyway, a B plus is a fine grade!” Of course, I would have absolutely died and then worked my tail off to improve it if I had received one of those myself. But at heart, both the commentators were among the Woodsmen’s biggest fans, so they finally agreed that the problems were all due to rust and adding some new members to the offense, and that by the next game, everyone would be in Fat City. Which I thought they meant as a good thing.
I got home and tried to read but I was too keyed up to sleep, worried about what Gaby had told me, but also as excited and happy after the win as if I had somehow participated in it myself. I understood why she loved the games, and in person, I could understand more and more why football was slightly harder than what I had thought earlier, that guys hit each other and fell down just as I often did. There was definitely more skill involved than when I had landed on the pavement yesterday after falling out of my car because my hands were slippery with heavy-duty lotion. I had touched down hard on my butt.
That area ached some again after sitting so long in the hard stadium seat and I checked it out in the bathroom mirror. There was a fresh, ugly bruise right over the red scar where the roof nail had poked me, making it look more than a little repellant. I sighed but felt secure that no one would be seeing that part of me in the near future, or maybe, my butt would be safe from scrutiny forever. I sighed again and pulled up the old sweatpants I had on to cover the offensive marks.
After a while of reading, I decided to walk on the beach, telling myself that I wasn’t waiting for anyone to come down, but turning and staring every time there was a noise. The sand and rocks were icy cold and I could feel fall in the air. It had always been my favorite season, because despite my social problems at school, I had looked forward to new classes, new teachers, new books. I found myself thinking of Marley and hoping, praying, that she would move up this year and not have to repeat if she hadn’t passed her summer school classes. I wondered if she was a football fan and had watched the game. I wondered what she was going to do in the upcoming week when we had a short vacation from each other before regular school started up.
I wondered also when Gunnar would be home, and thinking about him again, I walked up from the cold sand and replaced the flip flops on my feet. I followed the slight path through the trees toward the Feeney place, feeling my way and only wandering into a few trunks and branches that didn’t do any real damage. It was a perfect night to be outside, full of stars in the big, black sky.
A while later I saw headlights flash as Gunnar’s car pulled into his driveway, maneuvering around a pile of lumber, a pile of dirt, and a pile of concrete chunks. The door opened after he came to a stop and illuminated his face, tired and set into a frown. I waited as he got out and I heard him sigh, and then I softly called to him.
“Gunnar.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” He threw everything he had in his hands into the air and spun around to peer toward me in the darkness. “Who’s there?”
“It’s just me,” I assured him. “Just Hallie.”
“Hallie? What are you doing in my yard? Are you down in the ditch?”
“No, I’m sitting next to it, on the upside-down jacuzzi tub. I guess they haven’t hauled it away yet. I’m sorry I scared you.”
He took a few steps and nearly fell over some other construction debris. Rebar, I thought. “Damn it! Come over here,” he told me. I picked my way around what I could see, only tripping a few times myself, to Gunnar’s car. He was feeling around on the ground and gathering up the things he had tossed in shock when I’d spoken.
“Wonderful,” he muttered as he held up his phone. The screen now looked almost as bad as mine, and there wasn’t any tape to hold it together.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were so jumpy,” I said, and he stared hard at me in the faint light from his car.
“I’m not jumpy. It’s midnight and you’re hiding in the dark in my yard. Anyone would have been startled.”
“I wasn’t hiding! I was just coming over to say thank you again for the tickets because we had so much fun, and also, you played so well. I was really impressed.” And I had wanted to assure myself that he was all right, but he did seem to be moving very tentatively as he bent again to pick up his keys from the rutted driveway. I moved quickly to get them for him and smashed my head into his.
“Sorry,” I said again. “Um, you might need some ice for that one.”
He rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Yeah, I could have that, if I had a working refrigerator. They plugged mine into a temporary kitchen yesterday and it started a small fire. Apparently, the Feeneys had done their own upgrades to the appliances, and they’re no longer legal to use.”
“Oh, right. I remember my dad talking about them switching everything over to be powered by ethanol. He wasn’t sure why they did that.”
“They were crazy. I was crazy to buy this house.” Gunnar shook his head. I couldn’t see him very well, but it was late, and he did seem so tired…
“Come to my house instead,” I said. “You should. I have ice, and furniture where you can sit down. I could make you something to eat,” I tempted. “I have a refrigerator that works so I have food too. It’s from Martha’s, not the other place with the rats.”
He sighed again, but it turned into a soft laugh. “Cold, non-rat food does sound tempting.”
“Doesn’t it? I also have tape we can use on your phone. Is the flashlight in it still working?” He tried it and it was, so we went back toward my house with that to guide us, slowly and carefully. That was always the best way to walk, but also, Gunnar definitely wasn’t moving with his usual speed.
“You sit,” I directed him when we walked inside. His head came very close to the ceiling that loomed far above my own. He walked the two steps into the living room and I got out one of my cold packs. I considered, then removed several more from my electrically-powered freezer, in case he had any other injuries from the game that I couldn’t see. The way he had winced when he sat down on my couch made me worried.
Gunnar looked ridiculously large there, too large for the whole room, really. I had another fleeting thought of him in my narrow twin bed and kept my head in the freezer briefly to reduce the flashes of heat on my face. Then I arrayed the selection of ice on the cushion for him to choos
e from and leaned over to brush aside his blonde hair to examine the mark on his forehead. I left my fingers there, against the warmth of his skin and his soft hair. It was thick, but manageable, and the color was something that hairstylists could only hope to emulate. Basically, he had my dream hair. I ran my fingers through it again.
“I got you pretty good there,” I said. I looked into his blue eyes, his face close to mine. “I’m sorry.”
“I have a hard head,” he answered, and pulled back slightly from my hand. I dropped it to my side like his hair had burned me. What had I been doing, caressing him? I rushed back into the kitchen to start cooking.
“How’s the roof?” Gunnar asked as I chopped up a red pepper and got out the eggs. Omelets were my specialty. The only thing I could really do well, actually.
“The roof is getting repaired next week,” I told him. “I got another job, so I can pay for it.”
“You finally got a call-back after a phone interview? Are you moving?”
I looked up from my cutting board. He had sounded actually worried, and pleasure filled me, despite the fact that in reality, the latest interview for the San Diego job had also been a bust. When I had called back to check on the status of things, they had thanked me for my time but informed me that they were going in another direction. “No, I’m not moving. I didn’t get a real job. I mean, I got another temporary position, not something for my actual career. I’m working at a restaurant.”
“Really? Waitressing?” His face demonstrated his disbelief.
“I understand your reluctance to imagine me carrying trays of breakable items and burning hot food. No, I’m working in the back, just doing some dishes,” I said. “I wear gloves but my skin seems to react badly to them and my hands get wet anyway, so I’m always putting on lotion. That was why I fell out of the car yesterday.”
“Lotion made you fall out of a car? A moving car?” he asked quickly.
“No!” I said, and he nodded, like he was relieved. “Not this time, but that does really hurt. I just had a little slip out of my stopped car, but I’m ok.”
The Last Whistle Page 14