“I’m Callie, by the way. And this,” she tickles the toddler’s stomach, “is Will.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Lainey Burrows.”
“It’s nice to meet you. Are you new in town, Lainey?”
“Yeah, my son Jason and I moved here a few weeks ago from North Jersey. We’re in the old house on Miller Street.”
Callie’s eyes go wide. “Really? That place is . . .”
“Haunted.” I nod. “So I’ve heard. Haven’t seen any 18th century ghosts yet, but I’m keeping my eyes peeled.”
She laughs. “It’s an old legend around here.”
“I’m getting that. You’re from Lakeside?”
“Born and raised.” Will stands up between her legs, holding her hands and bouncing. “It’s a great town—a nice place to grow up, raise kids.”
I look down toward the field at the wall of large, padded football players’ backs and ask Callie, “Which one is yours?”
She points. “The tall, dark-haired one with Coach Daniels written across the back of his jersey.”
I follow her pointed finger to a handsome guy wearing a headset, talking animatedly to two players about to take the field.
“Garrett coaches and teaches history and I teach theater here at the high school.”
Next to Garrett Daniels, facing the field, I spot my son’s teacher-hero from his jersey—Coach Walker. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, wearing his own headset and jeans, which he fills out very nicely. Coach Walker’s got a great butt.
A woman in front of me stands, blocking the view.
“Come on defense! Let’s go, Lions!”
Will steps away from his mother, braces his hands on my knees and climbs up into my lap. And it’s nice—the sweet scent of his hair, his cuddling arms. This time next year, I’ll be holding my own little boy or girl, and I relish that thought.
“Boo!” Will says, cracking himself up.
“He’s a charmer, huh?” I say to Callie.
“Oh yes. Just like his Dad.”
Will holds his arms out toward. the field. “Daddy!”
But the team is too far down for his father to hear him.
“What do you do, Lainey?”
“I’m a lifestyle blogger—interior design, life hacks, that kind of thing. I have a webseries on Facebook called Life with Lainey and that’s why we moved here—I’m redecorating the house on Miller Street.”
“No kidding. That’s so interesting!”
“Yeah, it’s never boring. I’m lucky.”
Callie smiles warmly. “I’m going to check out your videos.”
The gray-haired woman beside Callie leans over and says in a gravelly voice, “I’m going to look at your videos too. Callie, you’ll have to help me with that internet. I want to redesign our kitchen in the spring.”
Callie gestures to the couple. “This is my mom and dad, Anne and Stanley Carpenter. Mom, Dad—this is Lainey Burrows.”
Mrs. Carpenter grasps my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Lainey. We should talk.”
I smile, nodding. “I just finished the kitchen in the lake house. I could definitely give you some pointers.”
Mrs. Carpenter leans back to her seat, then she takes a cigarette from her purse and lights up.
“Mom, what are you doing?!” Callie snatches the cigarette from her mother’s fingers and tosses it in the cup of soda at her side, waving the smoke away. “You can’t smoke here.”
“We’re outside! What kind of world do we live in that a grown woman can’t smoke outside? So many rules you kids have today.”
“It’s not so many rules—it’s two rules. You can’t smoke around your grandson or your pregnant daughter. It’s not that difficult.”
Mrs. Carpenter waves her hand dismissively and returns her attention to the game.
I glance down at Callie’s abdomen beneath her oversized football jersey.
“When are you due?”
“Late March.”
I put my hand on my own stomach. “Me too. Well—early April.”
Callie puts her hand on my arm. “Congratulations. How’s the morning sickness treating you?”
“Oh my God, it’s so bad.” And it’s pretty great to have someone to talk to—someone who understands. “How about you?”
Will shifts back to his mother’s lap.
“You know, I was sick as a dog with Will, but this time there’s been almost nothing. Garrett thinks we’re having a girl because this pregnancy is so different.”
“This pregnancy is definitely different for me. But it’s been fourteen years since I had Jason, so it could be that I’m just old.”
Mrs. Carpenter cackles. “If you’re old, honey, I’m an antique. Thirties are the new twenties.” She gestures to herself and winks. “And seventy is the new forty. They say a woman’s sexual peek is in her forties and I can tell you from experience, they’re not lying.”
Callie covers her eyes and groans. “Mom, please don’t.”
And that’s how it goes for the next few hours. The Lakeside Lions rack up the touchdowns, but I don’t really watch the game. I spend the time talking with Callie and the Carpenters and playing with baby Will.
Jason and his friends find me, just after the final whistle blows.
“Hey, Mrs. Coach D,” Jason’s friend Louis greets Callie.
“Hey, guys.” She smiles, standing up with Will on her hip.
“Mom, we’re going to go to Dinky’s Diner,” Jason tells me. “Quinn will drive me home. Is that okay?”
“Sure. Do you have money?”
He nods. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Okay, I’ll see you at home.”
After they walk off, Callie nods toward the empty football field. “I’m going to let Will run off some of his energy on the field while I wait for Garrett, so he’ll sleep tonight. It was great talking to you, Lainey.”
“Same here—this was a lot of fun. I tend to hibernate when I’m working, so this was exactly what I needed.”
She waves. “I’ll see you around town. And, my email is on the school website—if you ever want to grab lunch and commiserate about the joys of pregnancy, just drop me a message.”
“I will, thanks, Callie.”
And I really am glad I came out. When you spend so much time communicating online it’s easy to not notice how lonely you are. Isolated. That you can go days or even weeks without talking to an actual live human being.
But this—the fresh air, the conversation, the vibe of the town, everyone so warm and friendly—it makes me feel invigorated and refreshed.
It makes Lakeside feel like home.
After the bleachers have mostly emptied out, I make my way down the steps and walk toward the school where my car is parked in the lot outside the gym.
~ ~ ~
Dean
There’s a singular satisfaction in winning a football game. It’s better than playing a pounding tune to a charged-up crowd and more s
atisfying than solving the most impossible math problem. It’s the payoff of months of bone-crunching work and mental preparation, and it’s every bit of a rush as a coach as it was as a player. Victory and pride and adrenaline floods your blood stream, making you feel invincible, driving you to celebrate—to drink, dance, fuck long and wild and all night long.
After Garrett gives the team the short-form congratulatory speech and warns them not to be idiots at whatever postgame parties they’re going to, the players clear out of the locker room, and I walk out to my car with my duffel back slung over my shoulder. It’s just starting to drizzle and a cool, misty haze hangs in the air.
“Nice game, Coach,” a parent calls.
“Good win tonight, Walker,” someone else says.
I nod and lift my hand to the faceless voices. Then, I pop my trunk, put my bag in the back and close it.
And then I see her. A woman, walking alone across the parking lot a few dozen yards away. Her face is shadowed, but the blond locks that spiral down her back shimmer like a beacon under the halo of the street lights. Her limbs are lithe and long and there’s something about her—about the way she moves, the swing of her arms and the sway of her hips, that makes my heart punch against my ribs and my cock twitch.
The damp air fogs on my glasses, so I rip them off my face, wiping the lenses on my shirt. When I put them back on, she’s already climbing into a pickup truck and closing the driver side door.
And that weird surging feeling—the same one from the grocery store—streaks up my spine and shoves at my shoulders. To move. To sprint the hell over there. To tap on her window and see her face . . . to see if it’s her.
Right.
Cause that’s not too creepy or anything.
Holy shit, I’m losing it.
I shake my head and watch as the red eyes of the truck’s break lights blink, then back out and pull away.