I leaned back in my chair. Huh. Wow. I was really, really flattered. So I typed back:
Sure thing. Thanks for thinking of me.
I picked up my phone to text Daisy. But then I decided she’d had a tough night, and my good news wasn’t what she needed. I’d checked in with her a few times. Sarah had been discharged around 2 a.m., and Daisy took her back to her place. I knew she’d had a fitful night’s sleep, checking Sarah’s vitals and temperature every hour or two just to besafe. I admired her dedication to other people, especially considering that DSS was arriving in just a few minutes, at 10 a.m.
You good? Anything I can do?
She responded immediately:
Just dropped Sarah off and am headed back home. You have done so, so much. I can never repay you.
As I read the words, my mind wandered to the night before, in my bedroom, to what almost happened between us, to what I really, really wanted to happen between us. Daisy was beautiful and funny and kind, and I couldn’t quite predict what she was going to say or do next, which, I know, was kind of a game, but God help me, I loved it. I typed:
That’s what neighbors are for.
Then I wrote:
Hey, want to come over tonight?
I deleted that and changed it to:
Hey, want to hang out tonight?
She responded:
Sure! You, me, George, Greer, and Tilley? That’s what you meant, right?
I groaned. I’d forgotten she was babysitting. Talk about wrecking my plans. Punishing me years after I’d done anything terrible to him. Well played, Parker. The smarter brother really did win in the end.
Ah. Right. I’ll come see you guys! Bath time over there is a bitch.
I groaned again, wondering how I was possibly going to wait four entire days to be alone with her again.
“What’s wrong?” a familiar voice asked.
I looked up to see Andy Christianson, Drew’s dad. He worked at a bank a few miles away and always wore a suit.Note to self: Wear a suit.I practically leaped up from my desk. Did he know? Had he heard? Had Drew figured out that his secret girlfriend had had his secret baby? And, if so, where did that leave Maisy?
“Andy,” I said, composing myself, walking around the desk to shake his hand. I’d finally dropped the “mister” act, considering that, despite the fact that they had matured much earlier than I had, these players’ parents were usually only about five years older than I was.
“Coach, I have some news,” Andy said.
Okay. He had some news. Well, that was good, right? If he had news, that indicated that he didn’t think I alreadyknewthe news.
“Have a seat,” I said, my mind racing. I decided to play dumb. My old chair squeaked as I sat down.
When Andy smiled, his face almost breaking in two, I was confused. Then it hit me that he probably wasn’t here about Maisy.
“We finally got the call,” he said.
I slapped my hands on my desk. I didn’t need to know what call. Drew was being recruited by a lot of fine schools. And I was careful—as were his parents—to make sure that we always emphasized how great his options were. But Drew had his eyes on one prize, and, if I had to guess, I figured Andy, a fourth-generation Tar Heel, did too.
“Andy, man, that is awesome. I feel like I should hug you.”
“Oh, I think if anyone has earned a hug, it’s you.”
It was true that I had molded Drew these past few years, but I wasn’t the one who had coached his peewee league and spent hoursin the yard throwing the ball with him. “Let’s just say it takes a village, and our village is freaking awesome.”
Andy laughed. “We aren’t in yet. The UNC coach wants to come talk to all of us.”
