Scrimmage Gone South (Crimson Romance) (35 page)

“I preferred to think of it as a journal,” she said.

“Yeah?” Nathan smiled a little. “I guess that’s a classier version of diary so that would have been what you had. Why didn’t you show it to me a long time ago?”

She shrugged. “You wouldn’t have read it. That, or you would have accused me of manufacturing it after the fact.”

“I wish I could deny that,” he said.

“You could,” Tolly said. “But that wouldn’t be true and that’s not who you are.”

Nathan said, “I hate myself a little right now and I cannot tell you the shame I feel. I thought you were a terrible person, but that I was going to love you anyway. I thought that was
noble
of me.”

The pain in his eyes was like daggers in her heart. She did not want him to hurt, no matter what. Tolly’s heart turned over, but she refused to let it hope. This was probably just tying up loose ends before moving on. No amount of tidying up would help her move on, but if he needed it, she’d do it; she’d say what he needed her to say.

“All along, I was the terrible person, not to mention stubborn beyond belief. I refused to see the goodness right in front of me — how you put Kirby first, the love and kindness you show everyone — the love and kindness you tried to show me and I fought.” He took a deep breath. “
I’m sorry
is all I’ve got to give you, besides my love. You’ve always had that, but it’s not much good to either of us without the regret for my mistakes.” He smiled then — not a big happy smile, but a warm, sweet, sad smile. “You have that regret now and only you can decide if the love is still worth having.”

Her heart lifted and captured the hope it had been searching for. “Your mistakes do not begin to equal mine.”

“Shh.” For the first time, he touched her. He placed his finger to her lips. “Past. Gone.” He closed his eyes. “When I think about some of the things I said to you — ”

And it was her turn to place her finger against his lips. “Shh. Past. Gone.”

He covered her hand with his own and brought it to his cheek.

“What about New York?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m not going. I have been doing some fence mending, making sure I still had a job before I came here. I’ve also been making damn good and sure that everyone in this town understands you didn’t cost me anything. You will take no lip about that from anyone. I’m going to stay here and teach English, coach my team, and, I hope, be the man who trusts and loves the Townshend of the here and now. If you can’t let me be that man, I understand, but I am still going to stay here and answer my calling.” He hesitated. “Do you think there is any chance I can be that man?”

A different woman might have made it hard for him, tested him, told him she needed time to be sure. But she wasn’t a different woman and she’d waited long enough.

They both had.

“All I’ve ever known how to do is love you,” she said. “That’s a done deal. But I’ve got a calling too. I have to make a family for a half grown boy who’s still going to need me for a while. Do you think you can be part of that?”

“Oh, Townshend.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “You are wrong. He’s not going to need you for
a while
. He’s
always
going to need you and you’ve already made a family for him. And if you will let me be part of that, I swear I won’t screw it up.”

It never occurred to her not to trust the joy that washed over her or the smile he delivered up.

“You have a brown bag,” she said.

“I do.” He held it out.

“Is there a jersey inside?”

“There might be. But not a fancy little book. I’m going to keep that.”

When she opened it, she expected to see crimson, but what she found was Merritt High Bobcat blue.

“What in the world?” She lifted it out. Number eighty-two. No name on the back. It was a tiny bit smaller than the jersey she’d had so long. “Isn’t this Will Adcock’s jersey? Why would I want a second string running back’s jersey?”

And he laughed a laugh of joy, relief, and promise. It was a beautiful sound.

“You really are a football mom. Yeah, that’s Will’s number and he probably isn’t going to be second string next year. But that’s not his jersey. It’s mine.”

She clutched it to her. “Yours? From high school?”

“Mine.” And he finally took her in his arms. “This is our home and this is the jersey I want to peel off you on regular basis.”

“We’ve got until the games on the west coast are over,” she said.

“Yeah?” He took her hand and led her down the hall. “All right, then.”

Nathan and Tolly could have been at the football game in person, but they were snuggled on the sofa in Missy’s sunroom, awaiting kickoff.

For most of Alabama, the turkey, the jellied cranberry sauce, and the pecan pie was no more than a prelude to the real event of Thanksgiving weekend — the Iron Bowl. Many — even those who did not reside in the Southeastern Conference — lauded the annual matchup between the University of Alabama and Auburn University as the biggest rivalry in college football. The stadium was always full to capacity with those lucky enough to have tickets. For the ticketless, the Iron Bowl parties were as thick as dots on a 1983 computer printout.

An Iron Bowl party entailed gathering to watch the game on television, eat, drink, and argue about what the outcome was going to be. At the end, there would be gloating. At some Iron Bowl parties there would be fighting and policemen. This would not happen at the Bragg house — at least it hadn’t yet.

Though Harris Bragg could have had excellent tickets, he preferred his Iron Bowl experience in the comfort of his home, with a TV in every room, first-rate food, beer, and friends — mostly Alabama fans, but with enough Auburn fans thrown in to make it interesting. Much to Missy’s disdain, he required Chex Mix, pigs in a blanket, and cheese dip made with Velveeta and Rotel. It was a superstitious thing that he wouldn’t talk about — though Tolly knew the year Aunt Mary Alice hadn’t made the Chex Mix, Alabama had lost.

Missy wasn’t about to let a little thing like being one rough ride across a railroad track away from being flat on her back in a delivery room stop her from having a nacho bar with three kinds of homemade chili. Harris had tried to talk her out of having the party this year, or to at least have it catered. He had lied and said he no longer considered it bad luck to not have the retro snacks that she considered, if not beneath her contempt, not worthy of her time and cooking skills.

“Seems like we should be doing something to help Missy,” Nathan said.

“Believe me, we have all tried,” Tolly said. “She wouldn’t even let me make the Chex mix. I think she was afraid I’d buy it and transfer it to a bowl.”

“You would have.” Nathan smiled and smoothed her hair.

“Maybe. Probably. I guess since Thanksgiving got out of her control, she was not taking any chances with this party.”

The sentiment among the Lees, Braggs, and Harrises had been that it would be better to have Thanksgiving in Merritt than for Missy to travel in her condition, but that she could not be allowed to do the work. So they had arrived with turkeys and casseroles, while Missy’s own mother and grandmother had been in charge of the cornbread dressing, congealed salads, and desserts.

“I thought she was going have apoplexy when they put the Pyrex dishes right on the table and brought out the paper napkins and plates.”

Nathan cupped her cheek and gave her that sweet misty look. “It was my best Thanksgiving ever.”

Tolly felt her face flush with pleasure. Settling into where forever was going to be a happy place was still taking some getting used to.

“Ah!” Nathan ran his finger over her cheek. “There’s that pretty little blush.”

Tolly held her hand up and admired the ring on her left hand. It was so perfect, so her — small sapphires and diamonds in an antique gold setting. It was unassuming but of exquisite workmanship. Nathan had worried that it didn’t look like a typical engagement ring but he had not worried that it wasn’t flashy like Missy’s and Lanie’s rings. He knew her.

“I love this ring,” she said, not for the first time in the four days since she’d had it. They had not settled on an exact wedding date yet, but it would be some time next summer before football season started for Nathan and Kirby. Her wedding, like the rest of her life, would have to be arranged around football. And that was fine with her — more than fine.

“You should see the ring I wanted to buy you thirteen years ago,” Nathan said.

“Oh?”

“It was a little — ” He searched for a word.

“Flamboyant? Gaudy?”

“Like I thought our lives would be.”

“I like our lives,” Tolly said. “And I like this ring. And you.”

Nathan was about to close in for a kiss when hurricane Missy blew through. She was wearing a number twelve Alabama football jersey with BRAGG lettered across the back. Like the jersey Tolly wore, it had seen real playing time. Tolly ran her finger over the tear at the neck from a holding penalty that had never been called.

Missy placed on the table a stack of crimson cloth napkins with
Roll Tide
embroidered on the corner. “What are y’all doing in here alone? Can I get you another drink? Tolly, I love them. I do, but I was so glad when your mother, grandmother, and aunt left this morning!”

And she was gone.

“It was really great of your family to take Kirby to the game with them,” Nathan said.

“They were excited about his scholarship offer from Alabama. They’re hoping he’ll take it.”

“Bribery?” Nathan said. But Tolly knew Nathan was hoping Kirby would choose his alma mater too.

“I think they just want to show him a good time and, if he gets a good feeling about the campus, well — ”

“You know, when they left, your grandmother was in the SUV with your parents and your grandfather and Kirby were in the Jaguar. And Kirby was behind the wheel.”

“What? Nobody asked me! I don’t want Kirby driving in that game day traffic!”

But her eyes filled with happy tears. Papa had bought that sports car in 1974 and it was his baby. He’d polished, tuned, and kept it in mint condition all these years. And he’d never let anyone drive it until Harris — and later Tolly — had learned to drive. When her mother and aunt had occasionally complained good-naturedly that
they
had never been allowed to drive the car, Papa had always laughed and said grandchildren were the only ones special enough to drive his car.

“Hey.” Nathan gave her a worried look and laid a finger next to her eye. “I think Kirby will do fine. No crying. You’ve cried enough.”

She laughed. “I’m a crier, Nathan.”

“I noticed. Give me your grandfather’s cell number and I’ll call him and tell him not to let Kirby drive back. I’m not scared of them like Missy is.”

“Sure about that?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. “Thanks for not telling them when we first met.”

“Believe me, I would be the one in trouble. They might ground me and take my phone, even now.”

“We’ll tell them,” Nathan said. “Eventually. Maybe at our youngest child’s wedding.”

“Sounds like soon enough to me.” She presented her face for his kiss.

Truth was, though her family was a force to be reckoned with, they loved Nathan and Kirby. Her mother would be a mother to Nathan, just as her grandfather would be a great-grandfather to Kirby. She didn’t need to tell Nathan that. Time would show him.

Nathan got that
I’m going to kiss you really good
look just as Missy came barreling in.

“Knock it off, Cupid and Psyche. You’d better get some food if you want it. Almost time for kickoff.” Lanie and Lucy were behind her, nachos and drinks in hand. Missy adjusted the volume on the television and they settled in.

Harris stuck his head in the door. “Hey, Nathan, don’t you want to come watch on a decent TV?”

He tightened his arms around Tolly. “I think I like it right where I am.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there,” Harris said. “You’ll get over it.”

“Hey!” Missy said. “Mess with me and I’ll have this baby during this game. I’m willful. You know I can do it.”

Harris sent her an air kiss and a wink.

Phillip Pearce, off from Heavenly Confections today, wandered in. His eyes settled on the remaining vacant chair in the room.

“Looks like the best seat in the house.” He flashed his charming smile around.

“And it’s yours,” Missy said enthusiastically. She particularly liked Phillip, probably because he had committed to memory her Iron Bowl party rules. You didn’t have to tell him twice.

“Yes, do come in,” Lucy said. “Missy is always afraid someone she doesn’t like will try to sit with us.”

Missy shrugged. “There are televisions all over this house. Harris even hooked up one on the back porch. No reason for chatty people to be in here.”

Phillip wandered over to the window and looked out. “Uh oh.” He turned to look at them. “Do you suppose there are actually people out selling burial insurance today?”

“Why?” Missy asked.

Phillip looked out the window again. “Because it’s eight minutes ‘til kickoff and a guy is coming up the sidewalk. And he is not wearing his colors. So I figure it a burial insurance salesman. No one invited to Missy’s Iron Bowl party would dare show up this close to kickoff.”

Missy was sitting forward, frozen. She had a nacho halfway to her mouth. “I wait all year for this,” she said.

And the doorbell rang.

Missy set her nachos on the coffee table in front of her, and, with Nathan’s help, awkwardly struggled to her feet. She walked to the door like an inmate headed to the lethal injection room. They all knew better than to offer to get the door. It was Missy’s house and she would greet her guest — no matter how many rules he’d broken.

Lanie looked out the window and laughed. “It’s the only person in the universe who could arrive this close to kickoff without wearing his team colors and live to tell it.”

“Who?” Lucy asked, her eyes wide.

Just then Missy opened the door and squealed like a third grader on Christmas morning. “Brantley! You said you weren’t coming home!”

“Really?” Lucy was on her feet talking into her cell phone. “That’s wonderful! I’ll be there as soon as I can.”