him at close range.
Rake gave him an award for the Ugliest Touchdown of the Year.
In the tenth grade, Nat had tried playing safety, but he couldn't run and hated to hit. In the eleventh, he had tried receiver, butNeely nailed him in the gut on a slant and Nat couldn't breathe for five minutes. Few of Rake's players had been cursed with so little talent. None of Rake's players looked worse in a uniform.
The window was filled with books and advertised coffee and lunch. The door squeaked, a bell rattled, and for a momentNeely was stepping back in time. Then he got the first whiff of incense, and he knew Nat ran the place. The owner himself, hauling a stack of books, stepped from between two saggy shelves, and with a smile, said, 'Good morning. Lookin' for something?'
Then he froze and the books fell to the floor.'Neely Crenshaw!' He lunged with as much awkwardness as he'd used punting a football, and the two embraced, a clumsy hug in whichNeely caught a sharp elbow on his bicep. 'It's great to see you!' Nat gushed, and for a second his eyes were wet.
'Good to see you, Nat,' Neely said, slightly embarrassed. Fortunately, at that moment, there was only one other customer.
'You're looking at my earrings, aren't you?' Nat said, taking a step back.
'Well, yes, you have quite a collection.' Each ear was loaded with at least five silver rings.
'First male earrings in Messina, how about that?And the first ponytail.And the first openly gay downtown merchant.Aren't you proud of me?' Nat was flipping his long black hair to show off his ponytail.
'Sure, Nat.You're looking good.'
Nat was sizing him up, from head to toe, his eyes flashing as if he'd been guzzling espresso for hours. 'How's your knee?' he asked, glancing around as if the injury was a secret.
'Gone for good, Nat.'
'Sonofabitch hit you late. I saw it.' Nat had the authority of someone standing on the sideline that day at Tech.
'A long time ago, Nat.In another life.'
'How about some coffee?I got some stuff from Guatemala that gives one helluva buzz.'
They wove through shelves and racks to the rear where an impromptu cafe materialized. Nat walked, almost ran, behind a cluttered counter and began slinging utensils. Neely straddled a stool and watched. Nothing Nat did was graceful.
'They say he's got less than twenty-four hours,' Nat said, rinsing a small pot.
'Rumors are always reliable around here, especially about Rake.'
'No, this came from someone inside the house.' The challenge in Messina was not to have the latest rumor, but to have the best source. 'Wanna cigar? I got some smuggled Cubans. Another great buzz.'
'No thanks. I don't smoke.'
Nat was pouring water into a large, Italian-made machine. 'What kinda work you doing?' he asked over his shoulder.
'Real estate.'
'Man, that's original.'
'Pays the bills.Pretty cool store you have here, Nat. Curry tells me you're doing well.'
'I'm just trying to breathe some culture into this desert. Paul loaned me thirty thousand bucks to get started, can you believe that? I had nothing but an idea, and eight hundred bucks, and, of course, my mother was willing to sign the note.'
'How's she doing?'
'Great, thanks. She refuses to age.Still teaching the third grade.'
When the coffee was brewing properly, Nat leaned next to the small sink and stroked his bushy mustache.
