“You can bank on that,” Junior said with a laugh. “He never takes no for an answer, so I went out for football. I’d never even touched one, and I nearly got the crap kicked out of me that first day of practice. The other boys naturally resented me.”
“For being the richest kid in town?”
“It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it,” he said with an engaging grin. “Anyway, when I got home that night, I told Dad that I hated Purcell High School and football with equal amounts of passion. I told him I preferred pale little bastards any day of the week over bullies like Reede Lambert.”
“What happened?”
“Mother cried herself sick. Dad cussed himself into a frenzy. Then he marched me outside and threw footballs at me till my hands bled from catching them.”
“That’s terrible!”
“Not really. He had my interests at heart. He knew, even if I didn’t, that out here, you’ve got to play, eat, drink, and sleep football. Say,” he interjected, “I’m rambling on. Aren’t you cold?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“Want to go?”
“No, I want you to keep rambling.”
“Is this a formal interrogation?”
“Conversation,” she replied, tartly enough to make him grin.
“At least put your hands in your pockets.” Taking one of her hands in each of his, he guided them to the deep pockets of her coat, tucked them inside, and patted them into place. Alex resented the intimate gesture. It was presumptuous of him and, considering the circumstances, highly inappropriate.
“I gather you made the football team,” she said, deciding to ignore his touch.
“Junior varsity, yes, but I didn’t play, not a single game, until the very last one. It was for the district championship.”
He lowered his head and smiled reflectively. “We were down by four points. A field goal wouldn’t have done us any good. There were only a few seconds left on the clock. We had the ball, but it was fourth down and miles to go because of penalties. Both the A- and B-string wide receivers had been injured in the previous quarters.”
“My God.”
“I told you, football’s a blood-drawing sport out here. Anyway, they were carting the star running back off the field on a stretcher when the coach looked toward the bench and barked my name. I nearly wet my pants.”
“What happened?”
“I shrugged off my poncho and ran out to join the team in a time-out huddle. Mine was the only clean jersey on the field. The quarterback—”
“Reede Lambert.” Alex knew that from the newspaper accounts.
“Yeah, my nemesis. He groaned audibly when he saw me coming, and even louder when I told him the play the coach had sent in with me. He looked me right between the eyes and said, ‘If I throw you the goddamn football, preppie, you fuckin’ well better catch it.’ ”
For a moment Junior was silent, steeped in the memory. “I’ll never forget that as long as I live. Reede was laying down the terms.”
“The terms?”
“Of our becoming friends. It was then or never that I had to prove m
yself worthy of his friendship.”
“Was that so important?”
“You bet your ass. I’d been in school here long enough to know that if I didn’t hack it with Reede, I’d never be worth shit.”