Sixkill

'I'm going to start Rollie next week,' Stockard said. 'I'm gonna sit you until you're ready to play.'

Zebulon nodded. They both sat for a moment. Then Stockard got up and came to stand in front of Zebulon.

'Goddamn it, Z, you're special, you got a chance to be Riggins, Csonka, Jimmy Taylor.'

Zebulon didn't know who those men were.

'Don't let it go,' Stockard said. 'Most people never get the chance. You got the chance. Don't let it go.'

Zebulon shook his head as if there was something in his ear. He stood, and in standing, pushed Stockard a step back from him.

'Fuck this,' Zebulon said.

He walked out of the office. Stockard watched him go. Kid was the best he ever coached. Stockard wanted to save him but didn't know how. He couldn't let one of his players shove him, for crissake. Kid was always kind of sullen. No, that wasn't fair. Kid was always very quiet. No excitement. He was so good. It came so easy. But he seemed to have no rah-rah. Play this game, you needed a little rah-rah. Rollie wasn't as good as Z. No one was. But Rollie was good. And he was excited with it. And excited with the game. Maybe if it wasn't so easy for Z. After the Arizona State game, Stockard took a deep breath and cut him.

16

IT WAS KIND OF COLD for a picnic, so Susan and I sat in the front seat of my car and ate submarine sandwiches and looked at the river from a parking lot near WBZ. That is to say, I ate my sandwich. Susan deconstructed hers and ate it like a composed salad from the wrapper in her lap.

'Did you arrange for Henry to be there?' Susan said. 'Or was it serendipity?'

'Serendipity,' I said.

Susan plucked a small slice of pickle from the sandwich and ate it.

'Well, it was fortuitous,' she said when she had finished chewing. 'Don't you think?'

'Susan,' I said. 'If you keep talking like you went to Harvard, I may be forced to withhold sex.'

'When's the last time you did that?' Susan said.

'Well,' I said. 'I haven't ever had to actually withhold. The threat was always enough.'

'Besides,' Susan said. 'I did go to Harvard.'

'Well, I suppose that gives you a mulligan,' I said.

Susan said, 'Whew,' and carefully ate a tomato slice.

There were a lot of high clouds in the sky, and the river was gray in the raw spring light, and it moved past, without seeming to, at a pretty good clip. The college crews were out. But they seemed always to be out, except when the river was frozen. There were recreational rowers, too. I ate some of my sandwich. Susan took a bite off of the edge of a cold cut.

'How did he take it?' Susan said. 'When Henry showed him up?'

'Z? Not bad. Like he took it when I beat him. He was startled and then puzzled, except with Henry he wasn't drunk.'

'What time of day?' Susan said.

'Early afternoon,' I said.

'Many people are not drunk in the early afternoon,' Susan said.

'But some are,' I said. 'And this particular early afternoon, he wasn't.'

Susan nodded.

'And he gave you no excuses?'

'No. He'd been beaten, and he knew it.'

'He wants you still to train him?'

'He does,' I said.

'And you will,' Susan said.

'Yes. Try to get him in shape, too.'

'Has he told you anything new about that girl's death?' Susan said.

'I haven't asked,' I said.

'Why not?' Susan said.

I shrugged.

Susan looked at me while she nibbled another quarter-inch bite off the edge of the cold cut.

'Because you don't want him to think you're training him just to get information,' Susan said.

'That's probably correct,' I said.