Page 107 of Unstable

“SORRY, BABY. MAN, YOU were right. That was awful. It’s a miracle we escaped with our lives,” Keaton can hardly rub it in without laughing on our drive home. “I swear, when Loy offered you a piece of gum and then Patty had the nerve to bring over a slice of your favorite pie, on the house no less, I thought I was gonna have to start throwing punches.”

Speaking of throwing punches. That might just be how I remove the annoying, pompous gratification off his face.

Everyone at the diner was as nice as they could be, exactly how, if I think back long and hard enough, I remember them. And some of the older, more outspoken folks, even commented on how nice it was to finally see Keaton and I together.

I think Frank Miller’s exact words, as he was clapping Keaton on the back were, “Managed to get her to give ya a look, huh? ‘Bout damn time, now Martin can pay up on our bet before he kicks the bucket. Old bastard probably thinks I’ve forgotten. No dice, he owes me twenty bucks.”

I let out a small laugh and look over at Keaton, not so aggravated with him anymore. “Lunch was very nice, babe. Thank you for getting me to go in. I wouldn’t have ever done it without you, and, it was good for me.”

“You’re welcome, and I’m proud of you.” He gives me a sly wink and focuses back on the road.

“I still can’t believe people had a hunch, or bet, going about us though. First of all, I didn’t know folks their age ever paid that much attention to what the teenagers were doing, especially the subtle inner workings. And, I had a boyfriend, while you also had at least three girls hanging off your arm and every word at all times. One of our moms, or both, must’ve gossiped about their suspicions.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a suspicion for my mom. She knew exactly how I felt about you, and I promise ya, she didn’t say a word. Neither did yours. This is a small town, Henny. Every fair, church service, rodeo, ball game…any time we were both in the same place at the same time, which was often, all anyone had to do was have their eyes open and they’d know. The only one oblivious to what always existed between us, was you. But that’s all in the past now. Thank Christ. Oh, and no being nice to Martin if you happen to see that crotchety old fart. He was betting against us. Traitor.”

I giggle, staring out the window, and my mind suddenly takes itself on a trip.

“Are you cold?” Hadley asks me.

“F…freezing.” My teeth chatter as I hug myself, trying to stay warm.

“I told you to bring a jacket. Football in October isn’t known for being warm. You wanna go?”

Yes, but I’d never admit it. My sister looks forward to the football games all week and I’m not about to make her leave early.

“No, I’ll be fine. It’s almost over anyway, right?”

“Uh…” she snickers, “it’s not even halftime, Henley. Come on, we can leave.”

Just as we’re about to navigate our way through the crowd and down the bleachers, I hear my name being shouted. And then again, loud enough to be heard over all the raucous noise of a football game.

“Henny, down here!” I look toward the voice and see an arm waving from the sidelines.

“Oh look,” Hadley nudges my arm, “Keaton’s got a jacket for you. Go get it so we can stay!”

Sure enough, Keaton just happened to notice, in the middle of a game in which he starts, that I, amongst everyone else in the bleachers, was cold. And is now holding up, not just a jacket, but his letter jacket, that it appears he dug out of the duffle bag at his feet.

Great.

The very last thing in the whole world that I want to do, besides freeze to death, is walk down there and accept, then wear, his damn letter jacket in front of the whole damn town.

Who keeps their bag and coat on the field with them anyway? Keaton Fucking Cash- that’s who.

But my sister’s already up on her feet cheering again, gabbing about how good so-and-so’s butt looks in his uniform with the girl beside her, wearing a huge smile…so I start descending the bleachers.

I’ll be warm, and she’ll be happy. The latter is all that really matters to me, and to ensure it, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.

I get to the bottom and lean over the rail, but there’s no way I can reach. So Keaton, seemingly unconcerned with rules, safety, or the audience I know we now have, scales the fence like a pole cat and hangs by one hand, offering me his jacket with the other.

“Hey.” He gives me an easy smile. “Put this on. You make a damn pretty popsicle, but I don’t want ya cold.”

I glance down the line, spotting Merrick sitting on the end of the bench with a bunch of other second and third stringers. He already won’t be happy after the game, having sat through it, but me wearing Keaton’s jacket will send him to a whole new level of angry, so I’m hesitant to accept.

“Fuck what he thinks,” Keaton follows my line of vision and snarls. “If he’s not gonna notice you or that you’re shivering and take care of it, I am. It’s his own damn fault for being a shitty boyfriend. Put on the coat, Hen, and if he gives you any shit about it, you let me know.”

“Cash, get off the fence and your ass on the field, Romeo!” Coach Van Wyk screamed, and with a parting wink, Keaton dropped to the ground, grabbed his helmet and went in to score a touchdown.

I shake my head and look over at him in lingering thought. He’s right…the signs were always there, flashing brightly, even in public. But I had my misconceptions that at the time I thought were just, so I simply chose not to let my brain process the truth.

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