Catching His Eye

Scott waved away the boy’s explanation and smiled to show he’d been kidding. “I know what you mean. Sure, sure. We can do that. Just not today.”

“Anytime, sir.”

“But we can’t go if you keep calling me sir. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. I mean—”

“Scott. Scott is the name you’re looking for.”

The boy, who Scott still couldn’t believe was old enough to play football, grinned like he’d just won a new car. “Great. Maybe tomorrow? Or Tuesday. Tuesday would be just fine.”

“You seem to have some free time on your hands.”

“I do. A little, I mean. With school and practice and homework—”

“How’d you like to talk about football three, four times a week?”

Bobby’s eyes widened until they were almost as large as Mrs. Weeks’. “Oh, man! Are you serious?”

Scott nodded. “I need a stock boy. Part-time.”

“A job?”

“A job.”

“Wow. I’d have to make sure the hours wouldn’t interfere with practice. Coach says—”

“I know what Coach says. What do you say tomorrow you give me your schedule, and we’ll work around it. When we have our soda, that is.”

Bobby nodded vigorously. “Sure thing, Scott.” He said the name as if it were underlined.

It was Scott’s turn to thrust out his hand. The boy took it eagerly and, after a rousing shake, he let go and headed out of the bread aisle.

Scott wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this little conversation. He was glad to have the help at the store, but he wasn’t very comfortable with all that sir stuff. And he didn’t want to talk about football. Not much, anyway.

He didn’t want to be one of those guys who sat in bars and talked about the glory days. Not at twenty-six.

He looked at his watch. Another hour until he could get out of here. Meet with Emily. That would be good. Of all the people he knew in Sheridan, Emily and Coach were the two he respected most. Coach, because he was the best strategist in high school football. And Emily? Emily because, well she was Emily.

As he walked to the stockroom, he wondered if she was married. Probably. Smart men snatched up women like her.

EMILY SAW THE CHIP in her nail polish just as Scott walked up to the table. She smiled as if her manicure was perfect. He slid into the booth with a sigh.

“Hey, Em,” he said so casually anyone would think they met like this every week. In fact, she’d figured out exactly when they’d last sat down to talk. Senior year, graduation. Just before the ceremony was about to begin, Scott had walked right up to her, taken her hand, and led her to a bench on the quad. Her heart had pounded so furiously she was sure he could hear it.

But his stealing her away wasn’t quite as romantic as her imagination presumed. He thanked her for all the times she’d listened to him go on about school and Cathy and football. He thanked her, in his shy, stumbling way, for helping him with English. And then he said goodbye, even though it wasn’t even summer yet. He’d said goodbye like he wasn’t ever coming back.

Who would have guessed that nine years later they’d be sitting in the last empty booth at Zeke’s Place? That the afternoon sun would stream through the holes in the plastic window shades in such a way. That he’d look at her with the same friendly eyes. As she thought it, she realized with a start that his eyes weren’t the same at all. They were older, although not by much, but that wasn’t the thing. Her memory of that day in the quad was vibrant inside her, and the most vivid of the memories was the look of excitement in Scott’s eyes. A look that held every promise, a look a man might have just before a great voyage. Now, his eyes seemed dull, defeated. She hoped it wasn’t so. “You look tired.”

“I am.” He signaled the waiter, who came right to the table. “I’ll have a Corona.” He looked at Emily.

“Iced tea, please.”

The waiter nodded and left to get their drinks. Then it was just her, Scott and the butterflies in her stomach. Tired or not, he still did it for her. Did it in a major way. A small part of her wanted to tell him how she’d loved him back in high school. But then sanity reared its blessed head. “So,” she said, steering the conversation in the direction it was supposed to go, “why are you so tired?”

He shook his head and her gaze was caught by his hair. The overhead light showed his subtle highlights, but it was the thickness that made her want to touch it. “The store. It’s taking a lot more work than I imagined.”

“I was so sorry to hear about your father.”

“Thanks. I miss him.”

“I’ll bet,” she said, amazed that even though he still made her nervous, it wasn’t all that hard to talk to him. In fact, it was more like old times than she ever would have imagined. “And I’ll bet your mother misses him, too.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s having a hard time of it.”

“How wonderful that you could come back to help.”

His jaw flexed, and his gaze shifted away. He put down his menu, then moved his water glass an inch to the left.

“Rather be somewhere else, eh?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “How did you…?”

“You may be a great football player, Scott, but you’re as subtle as a bull moose.”

He grinned. “Boy, some things never change.”

“Pardon?”

“You never did have a problem telling the truth, did you?”

She shrugged. “Only to myself.”

He studied her for a long while, as if he’d just realized who she was. What was he seeing? Was he marching down memory lane, too?

The drinks came, distracting him.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked.

“What?”

“Where you’d rather be?”

The left side of his mouth quirked up. “This is just like high school, remember?”

“The library.”

“And the bench by the fountain.”