I can’t believe he said that. “Jer and I used to walk out of our way to church so he could pet that concrete Dalmatian.”
Chase grins. “My dad is always on me about being too much of a city boy to be a real Panther. Guess this proves I’m not so different from you Grain guys after all.”
“Yeah, right,” T.J. mutters. He laughs, but it doesn’t sound real.
“Come on,” Chase says. “I’m into birds, cats, dogs, hitching posts, and buggies. And fire station Dalmatians. What more does a guy need to be a real Panther?” He looks at me to back him up. “Right, Hope?”
“Maybe,” I admit.
Chase turns to T.J. “See? Even Hope agrees I’m a regular Panther.”
T.J. still won’t go for it. “Yeah? Well, she must not have seen you at batting practice. None of the regular Panthers work that hard at it.”
T.J.’s got a point. I have seen Chase at practice. Jeremy and I watched him at the batting cages too. Talk about intense.
“I have to work hard,” Chase answers. “I don’t have your natural swing.”
“I don’t know about that,” T.J. says, obviously pleased.
“Do you play sports, Hope?” Chase asks.
T.J. laughs. I glare at him. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean you couldn’t play sports. You’d probably be great, if you ever stuck with anything long enough.”
It’s true, the part about not sticking with things. “So I’m a born quitter,” I admit.
“I find that hard to believe,” Chase says.
I stare over at him, wondering why he’d find that hard to believe.
“And regardless,” he continues, “I still say I’m no different from you two, or anybody else in Grain.”
I tilt my head, sizing him up. “I’ll bet you’re a morning showerer.”
“I shower in the morning, after my run.”
“But you’d shower in the morning even if you didn’t run,” I guess.
“Yeah. Is that important?”
“It is where we come from. Right, T.J.?” He nods, agreeing with me. “White-collar workers shower in the morning because they can,” I explain. “Blue-collars shower at night because they have to. They need to get the dirt and grime of the mine or factory off. I’m a night showerer by birth.”
Chase narrows his eyes at me. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. “Hope Long, you may be the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”
I have nothing to say to that. Neither does T.J. Nobody has ever told me I was interesting, much less the most interesting person they’ve met. Maybe it’s a line he hands out. If it is, it’s a good one. Without thinking, I tug the rubber band out of my hair and free the ponytail Raymond wanted me to wear in court. My hair follicles tingle, thankful for the freedom.
Mrs. Bowers shuffles into the kitchen, a giant purse over one arm. “I’m sorry I have to leave.” She sets her purse down in the middle of the floor and reaches into a cupboard. “You children have to try these.” She brings down a box of cookies and takes out a plate. “They just came off the line last week-Monster Nuts and Chips.” She dumps the whole box onto the plate and sets it in front of us.
“Thanks, Mrs. Bowers.” I take one, even though I don’t like nuts. “That’s really nice of you.”
“It is,” Chase agrees, taking a big bite. “It’s great.”
T.J. keeps staring at the table. “Bye, Mom. Thanks. See you in the morning.” His voice is strained. His fingers clench and unclench.
The second his mother leaves, T.J. springs to his feet, grabs the plate of cookies, and takes them to the counter, where he puts every cookie back into the box.
“T.J.? Are you okay?” I’ve never seen him like this.
For a second, he doesn’t answer. Then, without looking at me, he says, “I’m tired. It’s pretty late. I don’t think the TV van will still be at your house.”
I glance at the clock, amazed it’s almost ten. “I didn’t realize it was so late.” I scoot out of the booth. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for letting us come over.”
He nods, still not looking at me.
“I’ll drop you off,” Chase says, moving for the door. “Bye, T.J.”
T.J. doesn’t return the goodbye. Something’s going on, and I don’t know what.
When we’re outside, I turn to Chase. “What was that back there?”
He doesn’t answer until we’re in the car, pulling away. “I guess T.J. knows how to hold a grudge.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He didn’t tell you? It was stupid. At the last practice, Mrs. Bowers showed up with cookies-you know, from the factory? She said it was to get us ready for the big game with Wooster. People were bringing us all kinds of things, like we were headed for the Olympics. Anyway, soon as she left, one of the guys broke out laughing. We were all dead tired from practice. Before we knew it, we were all laughing-the cookies really are pretty bad. Then Coach said, ‘Let’s save the cookies and give them to the Wooster team. All’s fair in love and war.’ That did it. Everybody cut loose. I kind of thought T.J. joined in, but I guess I was wrong. We didn’t mean anything by it.”
I feel bad for T.J. He loves his family, and so do I in a way. More than once, I’ve shown up on the Bowers’s doorstep after a bad fight with Rita. They always welcome me, feed me, and ask no questions. But I guess I’m not that surprised that T.J. didn’t tell me about what happened with his mom and the team. We’re both pretty private. We know what subjects to stay away from. We don’t talk about Rita. Or Jeremy, really. But T.J. is always there when I need him. And it’s just good to have somebody to eat lunch with at school and do homework with sometimes. T.J. gets A’s, and he deserves them. He works hard. I’m fine with B’s, but he’s always up for helping me if I want to shoot for more.
Chase punches the radio on and station-hops until there’s loud music pouring out of the front and back speakers. I don’t know the songs, but I’m grateful to have music blaring in my head, drowning out thought. This is Rita’s kind of music. I’m not about to tell Chase, but my kind of music is way different. I love old songs from the forties, especially the ones written during the war, when people pined for each other-“I’ll Be Seeing You,” Billie Holiday’s “Lover Man.” The Andrews Sisters. I used to try to get Jeremy to jitterbug with me, but he was too stiff to jive.
Chase’s phone rings.
“Guess your cell really is okay,” I say.
He glances at the number, then shuts it off. “I think Dad needs a cooling-off period.”
“He’s really mad, isn’t he?”
Chase shrugs. “He’ll get over it. He has to control everything. Guess it’s part of the package when you have a cop for a father.” He passes a semi, and I can see a little boy on the seat next to the driver.
“At least you have a father.” I say this in my head, but it comes out in words too. My mind drifts back to my imaginary father. Every time things got tough with Rita, I’d imagine leaving with my dad. We’d take Jeremy and go live somewhere far away.
“Where is your dad, Hope?” Chase asks. “Unless you don’t want to talk about him.”
I never talk about him. There’s not much to talk about. “He died when I was three. Sometimes I think I remember him, his face, and his eyes. He was tall and thin. I can almost picture him wearing a red baseball cap. But I might have imagined the memory. I do that sometimes.”
“How did he die?” Chase has slowed so much that the semi passes us back.
“He was run over. He drove a truck for a living, and it was a truck that ran him over.” I have a picture of this in my mind, but I know I’ve imagined that one.
“You think Jeremy remembers him?”
“Maybe. But he wasn’t Jeremy’s father. We didn’t have the same dad. Rita used to tell Jeremy that he didn’t have a father. I guess it was true, in a way. We sure never saw him. But Jeremy believed her literally. He was so excited the first time somebody at church told him God was his father. He came right home and asked Rita where she and God met and fell in love.”
“That could sure screw up a kid,” Chase observes.