“He came by to have lunch with me today, right about the time she showed up with the sketches. So he invited her to Calhoun’s with us. Flirted with her the whole time. I kept expecting to look under the table and see his hand on her thigh.”
“Bill!” She turned and waved the spatula at me reprovingly. “You’re incorrigible.”
“What? I seem to remember putting my hand on your thigh under the table a time or two, back in the day.”
“Back in the day? More like last week, at the provost’s dinner.”
I took a step toward her, pressing against her from behind, and slid my hands down to her thighs, giving them a fond squeeze. She swatted my hands away, but not immediately.
“You don’t want me to burn the potatoes,” she said. “Besides, Jeff will be upstairs any second now.” She leaned back and rubbed her hair against my cheek. “But hold that thought.” So I did.
I HEARD THE CLOCK striking eleven as Kathleen lay curled against me, her head on my chest. “Bill?” Her voice was low and drowsy.
“Hmm?”
“Wouldn’t it be great if Jeff found some nice girl?”
“He’s got a girl,” I pointed out. “Good old what’s-her-name. Tiffany? Brittany?”
“Madison. Oh, please. That girl has the brains of a Dalmatian.”
“True. But I’ve seen her in a bikini, and that girl has the body of a centerfold.”
“That’s the reason he’s going out with her. The only reason he’s going out with her.”
“Seems like a damn good reason to me,” I chuckled. I felt a sudden pain, as the point of an elbow gouged my ribs. “Ow.”
“Beauty’s only skin deep,” she murmured. “Stupidity goes all the way to the bone.”
“You talking about the Dalmatian, or about me?”
Her only answer was a soft, sighing breath, which ruffled the hair on my chest, like breeze ruffling a Kansas wheat field.
THE PHONE RANG THE next morning at seven thirty, just as I got back from my weekly trim at the barbershop. I snatched up the receiver, hoping to hear Sheriff Cotterell or Bubba Hardknot on the line; hoping that someone had ID’d the girl after seeing the sketches on WBIR or in this morning’s News Sentinel.
My hopes were quickly dashed. “Hi, Dad.”
“Jeff? Why aren’t you in school?”
“I am in school. I’m calling from the pay phone in the hall.” In the background, I heard the clamor of boisterous young voices.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick? Are you in trouble?”
“No, no, I’m fine. I just didn’t see you this morning. You’d gone to get a haircut when I came up for breakfast.”
“Did you need to see me this morning?”
“Mom said you told her about Jenny last night.”
“About Jenny? Yesssss,” I said slowly, turning to look at Kathleen. She was stirring her coffee with unusual attentiveness. “We did talk about Jenny. Why?” Stretching the phone cord to its limit, I leaned in Kathleen’s direction, into her field of view, and raised my eyebrows at her. She shrugged, as if she had no clue why Jeff was calling me. I took the gesture as proof positive that she’d put him up to it. To something.
“Quit beating around the bush, son. What’s on your mind?”
“I want to ask her out.”
“Go for it,” I said. “You don’t need my permission to ask a girl out.”
“I want to ask her out for this Saturday.”
“Fine by me. I wasn’t expecting to see much of you Saturday anyhow. Your mom and I’ll be at the UT-Florida game.”
“Thing is, I was hoping to take Jenny to the UT-Florida game.”
“Ha,” I said. “Good luck with that. That game’s been sold out for months. You couldn’t find a ticket . . .” A thought struck me—a thought so awful, I knew instantly that it was the truth. “You can’t be serious. Tell me you’re not calling to ask me what I think you’re calling to ask me.”
“Please, Dad.”
“You want my tickets to the UT-Florida game? You gotta be kidding. Wild alligators couldn’t keep me away from that game. You can have my tickets to the Arkansas game,” I said. “Or even the Alabama game. But Florida? You gotta be kidding.” Now Kathleen was desperately trying to catch my attention. Frowning, I mimicked her earlier shrug. “I love you a lot, son, but not that much.”
Kathleen sighed, shaking her head. Then she reached into the pocket of her bathrobe and fished out a cordless phone. “Jeff?”
“Hey, Mom.”
“Pay no attention to your father. Of course you can have our tickets to the game.”
“What? What the hell?” I squawked.
“Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad. Late for class—gotta go,” he said, and the line went dead.
“What the hell?” I repeated. “I’ve been looking forward to that game for a year.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “Don’t be stingy. Look at it as an investment in Jeff’s happiness.”
“What about my happiness?”
“Doesn’t it make you happy to see him asking out that nice girl?”