Easton
I wasn’t called into Coach’s office for a meeting Monday. But Tuesday morning, I’m set up in the video room and told to watch tape for hours and hours. This is my punishment for what happened the other night. Even though what happened was nobody’s fault.
I go to Coach’s office to foolishly try to talk some sense into him. He’s not having it.
“Whose fault was it, then?” He leans back in his chair after I tell him it wasn’t my fault. “Jamal’s fault?”
“No!” I am not throwing my teammate under the bus, for Chrissake. “It was nobody’s fault! It was a freak accident.”
“How about the way you reacted?” Coach says. “You do not talk back to me. I expect respect in the dressing room.”
I swallow. There’s so much more I want to say. But I don’t. “Yes, sir.”
* * *
—
“It’s fudiculous.”
Lilly smiles. “Another good word.”
My smile is wry. “Yeah.”
I’ve told her what happened yesterday. We’re sitting in the back of a taxi on our way to Spyscape. It was her idea; I’ve never been there.
She’s the one who calms me. Who always makes me feel like there’s hope. I need that. I need the distraction too.
“How was your day?” I ask.
“Great! I got three calls today from potential clients. I’m meeting two of them tomorrow morning, and another one next week after the holiday weekend.”
“That’s fantastic.”
She grins. “I think they see your name and they figure if Easton Millar trusts me to walk his dog, they can too. So thank you.”
I wave a hand. “I’m sure your reputation is getting known.”
“Aw, thanks. Anyway, with the other clients I’ve gotten the last couple of weeks, I’m getting really busy!”
“That’s so good. You deserve it.”
“Penelope and I were talking the other day.”
I nod. I know Penelope is her friend at the animal shelter. She’s a dog groomer and she volunteers there too, providing grooming for the pets at the shelter.
“I told her someday I’d like to expand from just dog walking to maybe a doggie daycare. And she wants to start her own grooming business. So we thought we could maybe team up.”
“That sounds like a great idea.”
“Right? It would be perfect. We get along great, and I know she’s good with dogs.” She sighs. “We have the same ideas about what we’d want to do with the business. It’ll be a while before either of us can afford it, though.”
“Lilly.” I stop.
She tilts her head. “What?”
“I have money.”
She rolls her eyes. “I know.”
“I mean, I could help you start your doggie daycare, if you want to do that.”
Her eyes fly open. “Are you kidding me?”
“Uh…no.”
“You can’t do that!” She gives her head a violent shake. “And I don’t want that! I’ll do it on my own.”
I wince, remembering her reaction when I offered to let her use my name. “Right. I know that’s important to you.”
Her face softens. “It is. But thank you.”
At Spyscape, she wants to pay the admission for both of us, so I let her, after that conversation. We spend a few hours learning about spies and spy gadgets and doing interactive activities and we get to see James Bond’s famous Aston Martin. “I want this car,” I tell Lilly with a deep longing.
Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously. Okay, maybe not this exact one. I should check into dealerships.” A new car might cheer me up.
She gives me a look like I just told her I can fly. “An Aston Martin. Just like that.”
I scrunch up my face. “I, um, can afford it.”
She closes her eyes. “Of course you can.”
“Am I being a dick?” I don’t flaunt my money. I think.
She opens her eyes and shakes her head. “No. I just can’t relate.”
“Let’s not talk about money.” This never seems to go well. I get that she’s sensitive about the imbalance, even though it doesn’t bother me.
“Fine with me.”
We continue our exploration of the museum.
“This place is sick,” I tell Lilly with delight. “We need to come back here.”
She beams a gratified smile. “I’m glad you had fun.”
After, we walk to a nearby Mexican place for sangria, chips and queso, and enchiladas. We sit in the bar where there are TVs playing sports.
“Did that distract you from your worries?” Lilly asks, picking up a chip.
“Yeah. It did. For a while.” I grimace.
“That’s good.”
“I’ll be more distracted shopping for an Aston Martin.”
Her smile unravels more of the coil of tension inside me and I lean back in my chair. One of the big screen TVs on the wall is playing the Islanders versus Oilers game.
“Who are you cheering for?” Lilly asks, nodding at the TV.
“Oilers.”
“Really.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Why?”
“They’re not in our division. It’s Thanksgiving this week and that’s an important date for the playoffs.”
She leans her chin on her hand, her elbow on the table, and regards me with fascination “How so? Playoffs are months away.”
“I know, but statistically, about twelve out of the sixteen teams in playoffs spots as of American Thanksgiving will still have a playoff spot at the end of the season.”
“Huh.”
“So everyone’s looking at standings and how teams are performing as of that date.” I shrug. “It has some merit.”