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“Here you go, Jar.” Ray slides a poorly wrapped package my way.
“Little something from the team and us,” Colin says.
I unwrap what I know is a jersey, with my number and my hated nickname from the media, Jarsy, on it. It’s covered in get-well wishes, and I immediately know I’ll be framing it as soon as I get the chance. With the front showing and not the back, obviously.
That same balding suit repeats his question. He wants an autograph. “Yeah, sure,” I say. For me, the evenness of my tone is worth a round of applause. Is this, like, one of their friends or something?
He smiles and pulls up a thin sheet of wood. I take it from his hands with a grin, like I love the joke. He doesn’t need to know how close he is to getting punched or hit over the face with it. He’d probably like it if I did it, anyway. Some of the weirdest fans are the business type. They’ll chase you down for a slap to the face. I know.
I sign it and keep to myself the fact that the good Mrs. Wilkensen would rather lose another outdoor coffee table than pick a subpar decking board like the one he’s clutching. I picture him dragging the thing all the way up to his office somewhere and immediately decide to call him Daryl. He looks like a Daryl.
After a few more unpleasantries, I’m finished with the world’s most unprofessional meeting and begin driving home. All in all, I’m glad they wanted to talk about the crash more than Melody. The media’s been eating it up and giving it five stars. I guess people like the idea of a reformed party animal, especially one who works with kids for nothing.
I’ll definitely be heading back to Hallorann more from now on, and I’ll make sure to check up on all my future superstars. Melody isn’t the only thing I’m growing to love about small towns. For one, it’s got some of the best folks around, and two, those folks don’t think wearing a mer-jersey is cool enough to brag about.
If this thing works out with me and Melody, and I’m confident it will, I’m definitely warning Tina and Ryan to never play drinking games based on work-related vocabulary. Not with phones anyway. Or alongside anyone who will tell the people who pay you.
“I never considered myself boyfriend material,” I confess into my cell as soon as Melody picks up. And it’s the truth. In the last month or so, another more serious word hasn’t left my mind. Up there with mer-jersey in the way it affects me. Except in the best possible way. “But I’ve finally been given something that tells me I might be wrong.”
“Oh, really?” I’ve missed her songlike voice, but I worry I’m on speaker and Ryan will tease me. Tina, too. They’ve made a game of how much I can call, which reminds me to ask what number this is.
“Three,” I hear Ryan answer. “Not bad, not bad. But the day isn’t over.”
“And he hasn’t started on how much he misses Aunty,” Tina adds. “Jaromir, do you miss Coach Verog, too? Because I asked if he wanted us to relay a message and he has one for you.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask as I pull up to the gate leading to my Washington home, a giant cabin-in-the-woods with plenty of property. The gate is open, and I wonder if the reason is what I hope it is.
Sometimes fans do figure out where I live and decide they’re the one person alive who doesn’t look weird creeping up on a stranger’s property. I’ve heard more than half a dozen horror stories. And those are just the ones I remember.
“Oh, really? What?” I ask as I cruise up the drive leading to my house. Sure enough, Ryan, Tina, and Melody are there to greet me. I honk my horn as Tina leaps off the wide steps with the phone to her ear.
“Surprise!” I roll my window down as I pull up to her. She gives me a big grin and hangs up the phone. “That was Coach Verog’s message.”
“It’s a good one,” I reply, climbing out of the car as Ryan and Melody join us.
I hug Ryan and Tina both, then envelope Melody in what I think is a very PG-13 hug.
“Oh, get a room,” Ryan teases, and I wonder if it’s because he hasn’t found the right girl to lift and spin.
I tell him this as we enter the house, and he frowns, obviously not buying into my hypothesis. “Of all the hugs, it’s the most romantic. Remember that.”
“Also remember it’s dangerous,” Melody advises. Suddenly, she’s Nurse Melody, a version of her that I’ve noticed sounds more direct and clipped. “If you think one leg kicking you hurts, you’re going to hate two being swung your way at the same time.”
“More reason never to do it,” Ryan says.
After the kids unpack, I give them all a tour of the house, ending up in the game room like I always do. People love the myriad arcade games the most, though the foosball, pool, and hockey table seem to be Ryan and Tina’s favorites.
“I’ll play you!” they say in unison, each standing in front of a different table.
Ryan jiggles a foosball handle while Tina picks up a pool stick. I wonder how long it will take for them to decide on what to play. I ignore my growling stomach and look at Melody. My conflict resolution skills aren’t as good as hers, so I’m happy to see she’s accessing the situation on her own.
“Let’s try some air hockey, huh?” she says, and the kids oblige.
“First one to score three points gets to sleep inside!” I say, winking at Melody as the kids take their places. Tonight’s going to be much livelier than I thought.
30
MELODY
