“Now, why’d that kid get a foul?” she wants to know.
“Because that boy was charging,” Magda explains patiently. “When you have the ball, you can’t knock people out of the way if they’ve established defensive position—”
“Oh!” Sarah cries, seizing Magda’s wrist with enough force to cause her to slosh some of her soda. “Look! Coach Andrews is yelling at one of the umpires! Why’s he doing that?”
“Ref,” Magda mutters. She dabs at her white pants with a napkin. “They’re referees, not umpires.”
“Oh, what’s that man saying?” Sarah bounces up and down excitedly on the bleacher bench. “Why’s he look so mad?”
“I don’t know,” Magda says, flashing her a look of annoyance. Her endless patience isn’t so endless, it turns out. “How should I know? Would you stop that bouncing? You made me spill my soda.”
“Why is that boy getting a free throw? Why does he get to do that?”
“Because Coach Andrews called the ref a blind son of a—” Magda breaks off, her eyes getting wide. “Holy Mary, mother of God.”
“What?” Sarah frantically scans the court. “What, what is it? A steal?”
“No. Heather, is that Cooper?”
I feel my insides seize up at the sound of the word. “Cooper? It can’t be. What would he be doing here?”
“I don’t know,” Magda says. “But I could swear that’s him down there, with some older man… .”
At the words some older man, my heart grows cold. Because there’s only one older man Cooper could be with—with the exception of Detective Canavan, of course.
Then I spot them both, down by the Pansies bench. Cooper is scanning the crowd, obviously looking for me, while Dad is… well, Dad seems to be enjoying the game.
“Oh, my God,” I say, dropping my head to my knees.
“What?” Magda lays a hand on my back. “Honey, who is it?”
“My father,” I say to my knees.
“Your what?”
“My father.” I lift up my head.
It didn’t work. He’s still there. I’d been hoping, by closing my eyes, I’d make him disappear. No such luck, apparently.
“That’s your dad?” Pete is craning his neck to see. “The jailbird?”
“Your dad was in jail?” Tom wasn’t out of the closet back when I was a household name, and so knows nothing about my past life. He wasn’t even a secret Heather Wells fan back then, which is odd, because most of my most die hard supporters were gay boys. “What for?”
“Would you guys lean back?” Sarah complains irritably. “I can’t see the game.”
“I’ll be right back,” I say, because Cooper has finally spotted me in the crowd and is making his way determinedly toward me, my dad following, but slowly, his gaze on the game. The last thing I need is my friends witnessing what I’m sure is going to be a fairly unpleasant scene.
My heart pounding, I hurry to meet Cooper before he can join us in our room. His expression is inscrutable. But I can see that he’s taken the time to shave. So maybe the news isn’t all bad… .
“Heather,” he says coolly.
Well, okay. It’s pretty much all bad.
“Look who I found ringing our doorbell a little while ago,” he goes on. And although my heart thrills at his use of the word our, I know he doesn’t mean it in the domestic bliss kind of way I’d like to hear it. “When were you going to tell me your dad was in town?”
“Oh,” I say, glancing behind me to see if anyone from my gang is eavesdropping. Not surprisingly, they all are… with the exception of Sarah, who seems to have been hypnotized by the game.
“I was just waiting for the right moment,” I say, realizing even as the words are coming out of my mouth how lame they sound. “I mean… what I meant to say was… .”
“Never mind,” Cooper says. He seems to be as hyper-aware as I am that everyone is listening to our conversation—well, what they can hear of it above the screaming and the band. “We’ll talk about it at home.”
Hideously relieved, I say, “Fine. Just leave him here with me. I’ll look after him.”
“He’s not bad company, actually,” Cooper says, gazing down at my dad, who is standing stock-still in the middle of the bleachers—unconscious that all the people behind him are trying to see around him—staring at the game. I guess it’s been a while since he’s been at a live sporting event. And the game is pretty exciting, I guess, if you’re into that kind of thing. We’re tied at twenty-one. “Hey. Is that popcorn?”
Sarah surprises everyone—well, okay, me, anyway—by showing she was paying attention to us all along when she shakes her head and says, not taking her gaze from the court, “It’s almost gone. Make Heather go get more.”
“Get me a soda,” Pete says.
“I could use some nachos,” Tom adds.
“No!” Magda shrieks, apparently at a call down below. “He really is blind!”
Cooper says, “What?” and slides down into the seat I’ve vacated. “What was the call?”
“Offensive foul,” Magda spits. “But he barely touched the kid!”
Shaking my head in disgust, I turn and make my way down the bleachers toward my father. He is still staring, enraptured, at the ball court.
“Dad,” I say, when I reach him.
He doesn’t take his eyes off the game. Nor does he say anything. The scoreboard over the middle of the court is counting down the time left in the game. There appear to be nine seconds left, and the Pansies have the ball.
“Dad,” I say again. I mean, it really isn’t any wonder he doesn’t realize I’m talking to him. No one has called him dad in years.
Mark Shepelsky has the ball. He’s taking it down the court, dribbling hard. He has a look of concentration on his face I’ve never seen him wear before… not even when he’s filling out a vending machine lost-change report.
“Dad,” I say for a third and final time, this time much louder.
And my dad jumps and looks down at me—
Just as Mark stops, turns, and throws the ball across the court, sinking it into the basket right before the halftime buzzer goes off, and the crowd goes wild.
“What?” Dad asks. But not me. He’s asking the fans around him. “What happened?”
“Shepelsky made a three-pointer,” some helpful soul shrieks.
“I missed it!” Dad looks genuinely upset. “Damn!”
“Dad,” I say. I can’t believe this. I really can’t. “Why’d you come to the house? You said you were going to call first. Why didn’t you call?”
“I did call,” he says, watching as the Pansies run from the court, high-fiving one another, their expressions ecstatic. “No one answered. I thought you might be trying to avoid me.”
“Did it ever occur to you I might not be avoiding you?” I ask. “That I just might not have gotten home yet?”
Dad realizes, I guess from the stress in my voice, that I’m not happy. Plus, all the action on the court is over for the moment, so he actually spares a second to look down at me.
“What’s the matter, honey?” he asks. “Did I screw up?”
“It’s just,” I say, feeling idiotic for getting so upset, but unable to help myself, “things with Cooper, my landlord… I mean, they’re delicate. And you showing up like that, out of the blue—”
“He seems like a nice guy,” Dad says, glancing over at where Cooper is sitting. “Smart. Funny.” He grins down at me. “You certainly have your old man’s approval.”
Something inside me bursts. I think maybe it’s an aneurism.
“I don’t need your approval, Dad,” I practically shout. “I’ve been getting along fine for the past twenty years without it.”
Dad looks taken aback. I guess I shouldn’t blame him. It’s not his fault what he seems to think is going on between Cooper and me isn’t.
