Chapter 9

They sat facing each other at the tiny table in the narrow kitchen with its metal cabinets, sharing sections of the paper, avoiding each other's eyes. They drank orange juice and ate cereal, sipped acrid coffee. "I guess we should make some decisions," he said as she poured them more coffee. It was strange, his mind was clear, his ever-present regrets had evaporated. No ghosts at all this morning. Very odd.

"You still subscribe to the Post? Pretty expensive when you could get it at school, I mean the library gets two copies I think." She put sugar in her coffee. "What is it, half a buck a day?"

"Something like that I suppose. Take it as a business expense. IRA never questioned it, done it for years." His brain was processing, finding nothing to dwell on, like empty shelves. "I actually like the Evening Star better, but it's a mess, a dying mess the last few years."

"Yes, well," she exhaled, "guess I should move in, fetch my stuff. I mean if that's what you have in mind. I don't have much. If that's what you want, you know." She put down her cup and smiled at him. "I think we, well, we belong together. I guess." She smiled. "Seems like a good fit."

"Yes, that's exactly what I want. You. Permanently. What sort of deal do you have with your house-mates?" He returned her smile and turned off his head, not satisfied but content, knowing there were all sorts of bits and strings dangling. There's more to this, a new chapter. Too sudden, immature, but very pleasant. This is a precipice. The hell with it. Onward.

"I'll have to pay my share until they find somebody."

He nodded. "And change your address and phone number at school."

"That ought to give Miss Price something to talk about."

He laughed. "Shall we do it now, go get your stuff?"

She smiled, nodded and finished her coffee, tempted to take him back to bed. They stood facing each other, and he kissed her gently, his hand at her waist. "I don't have a car. Never bought one after the accident." It had been a long time, this feeling, this wonderful feeling, a very long time.

"It's OK. Mine's parked at school."

His JV team struggled and was behind 22-12 at halftime. The new boy had evidently never had a coach and knew nothing about playing defense or even about reporting in as a substitute. All the way through the first half he sat beside the coach, and Mr. Thompson told him which players to watch. He watched.

Then at the break, after they all got a drink, he told them. "OK, Joe's going in for Neal. He'll play out front, go for steals. He knows what to do. And feed him. You know he can shoot." He sent them back out to shoot a few baskets and sat down beside the lean freshman. "Don't worry about defense, but try to slow the guy bringing the ball down, get in his way, make him pass if you can. Keep your hands low, don't foul. And shoot, every chance you get, put it up. OK? Just step back and fire."