Sam shakes his head. “You’re the guy threw a fist at me for trying to quit, so don’t tell me you think it’s worth the risk of getting canned right now. The one thing Laliberte isn’t going to let me get away with is felonious assault. I’ll just have to be paranoid for a while. I got the rest of my life after roundball season’s over to settle scores. And I will, slick, I will.”
“You gotta let those two pricks know they can’t fuck with you and get away with it now!”
“No. I want Deanie safe from that creep and everything else back to normal,” Sam says softly. “Don’t you see, they win if they succeed in getting me to fuck up? Eyes on the prize. I want that gold ball for us, I want one for Deanie and the girls.”
“Yeah, all right,” Rick agrees with no enthusiasm. “All the same, you watch your back. And I’m watching your back too.”
Across the table, they shake on it.
After Rick and Sarah leave, girl and cat curl together on the couch in a pale arabesque. Slowly stroking the cat’s arching back seems to be as much effort as Deanie can manage, as if the visit had consumed all her meager store of energy. It’s a surprise when she says, “I’m going to school tomorrow.”
Weak as she is, it strikes Sam as a terrible idea but then it occurs to him she’ll be with him. He’ll be able to keep an eye on her.
Then she tells him she has arranged an appointment to see Dr. Spellman after school. “I don’t see why I can’t play again as soon as my eye’s completely open again. The wound’s closed. It’s not going to open up if I run or jump.”
“What if you take a ball or an elbow in the face?”
She gives the cat a push and the cat takes the hint and jumps to the floor. Digging in between the cushions, Deanie extracts a rolled-up magazine and flops it open. It’s a copy of Sports Illustrated and the page she shows him has a photograph of Detroit Piston Bill Laimbeer. Covering half of Laimbeer’s face is a clear plastic mask.
“He’s worn it almost the whole season.”
Her right cheek pinks with excitement. She thinks she’s found a way back to what she loves, the only place in the world she feels as good as anybody else. It’s so little, stacked against what she’s been through.
“It would be great if you could play again,” he says.
Abruptly headachy, he tucks her in and heads for the bathroom to shower.
On his way to his room afterward, he knocks on Reuben and Pearl’s door. His father sprawls on the bed in his clothes, eyes closed, baby asleep on his stomach. Pearl looks up from packing the diaper bag for the next day and gives him a warm smile. He hesitates, mutters goodnight and starts to withdraw. Reuben lifts a heavy eyelid and smacks his lips sleepily. “Sammy.”
“Judy Gauthier is covering for Lord. The cops are thinking about working a deal where Judy’d give up Deanie to DHS custody in exchange for no charges against Lord.”
In the course of the recitation, Reuben gets the other eye open and manages a noncommittal, “Might be best.”
Relieved to have avoided a full interview, Sam ducks out.
A choking cry breaks through his heavy sleep and brings him downstairs. Deanie sits on the edge of the day bed, shivering in sweat-soaked pajamas. He skins her out of the damp pajamas and into dry ones. The sheets are damp too. Bundling her into quilts on the couch, he changes the bed and then brings her back to it. She’s still trembling. He makes spoons with her. It’s a comfort to him too to hold her close.
Hours later and at first only dimly, he becomes aware he is hard, cock nestled comfortably in the cleavage of her bottom. As his consciousness focuses, he grows harder. Her breasts rest on his right forearm. With a sigh, he makes himself lift his left hand, and gently dislodges her from his arm.
“Mmm?” she asks thickly.
“Go back to sleep,” he mutters, swinging his legs out from under the quilts. He leans forward, pressing down. “I ought to go upstairs.”
Her near hand scrabbling for his inadvertently touches his prick. Hastily he draws her hand away, flattening it on the pillow, weaving fingers with her. From under sleep-thickened eyelids, she peeks at him. He makes himself smile, brings her fingers to his mouth and kisses the tips and she closes her eyes again and turns her face to the unhurt right.
Morning rush is complicated by Deanie’s preparations. When he comes down to shave, he realizes she has to use the shower so he takes his tackle to the kitchen sink and cuts himself twice in the small mirror propped on the window ledge, hurrying to finish before Pearl hits the kitchen.
Outside, the storm has left the ground treacherous. With no boots to wear and no treads left on her high-tops, Deanie has to accept his help just getting from the back porch to the truck and again when they arrive at the school. He carries all their gear in one hand, and wraps an arm around her waist to keep her upright. Skidding and slipping and swearing, she staggers against him but the cold and adrenaline bring a rose suffusion to her skin and a glisten to her eye. Any kind of normality is suddenly an adventure to her. They are laughing as he boosts her up the steps and through the doors.
The gym is already open and everyone else is waiting. The two of them go in happy—forgetful for the moment that anything has changed—and are met with a stunned silence at the damage to Deanie’s face. There are gasps and downcast eyes and awkward efforts to be cool about it. Sam
