Page 87 of Shame the Devil
“He wouldn’t,” Harlan said. ‘He liked when she was pregnant. I think it …” He blew out a breath. “It made him feel like you said. Like she’d stay.”
“So why did he say it at all?” she said. “Why was it on his mind? Did that happen before?”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “With me. Sad story of his life.”
“Ah.” She sat back and started to eat her stew again. “It’s not that I’m not emotionally invested in your story,” she told him. “It’s just that I’mreallyhungry.”
He smiled himself, just briefly, but he started to eat again, too. She said, “Let me guess. He felt trapped.”
“You got it. He played football in college, but when my mom got pregnant with me, they got married. His folks made a big deal of it. Insisted. They’re the hard-line type. Ultra-religious, in that really cheerless way. And he couldn’t keep up with school and a job and football. So he quit the team. He was sure he had a shot to go big. Blamed her forever.”
“Her,” Jennifer said, “and you. You’re his big second chance, obviously. Did he even see you? I mean, who you were?”
Harlan stopped eating and said, “I never thought about it.”
She’d bet she knew the answer. She asked,“Didhe have a shot?”
“Hell, no,” Harlan said. “Do you know how many college players make it to the NFL? One-point-six percent, that’s how many. And even if you’re drafted, unless you’re taken in the first round, the odds aren’t great from there, either. Anywhere from ten to forty percent of those guys make it five years. A whole lot of them don’t make ittwoyears.”
“And he wasn’t one of them.”
“This game takes more than talent,” Harlan said. “More than skill. More than hard work, even. Takes knowing how to suck it up and own your mistakes. Everything’s easy when you’re winning. The test is what you do when you lose. And that’s a test he’ll never pass.”
36
Doing the Mom Thing
She had dinner—spaghettiBolognese, because she’d never win the “most innovative home chef” award—simmering on the stove, and she was on the phone. Harlan’s sisters were at their hotel, but coming over for dinner later, and Harlan had gone to the park with Annabelle to practice her batting, which was exactly right, in Jennifer’s opinion. The ball, bat, and mitt were almost the first things Annabelle had grabbed yesterday when they’d been packing, proving that athletic passion ran in the family.
She’d already emailed her boss to say she’d be out for a day, an action that had filled her with terror. She never missed work. Not when she wasn’t at death’s door, anyway. Never. But here she was doing it anyway.
Which was what she was trying to explain to her grandpa now.
“I’m sure you’re a real big help,” he said. “About the best person you could get for the job, probably. You might be getting in over your head with this thing, though.”
She stirred her sauce and turned the heat on under the big pot for the spaghetti, ignored the faint swirl of mingled hunger and nausea that rose in her at the smell of ground beef and tomatoes, and laughed. “I’m so far over my head, it’s not even funny. How do younotbe over your head in a situation like this? Who would know how to do this? But you should see Harlan, Grandpa. You should see how this is tearing him up. Poor Annabelle, too. How can I not help?”
“Doesn’t the guy have any friends?” Oscar sounded grumpy now.
“I’m sure he has lots of friends. But this is a rough one.”
“Yeah, I get that. Just not sure why you’re nominated. How’d he do when you told him about the baby?”
“Kind of …” She needed another can of tomato sauce in there. “He was surprised,” she said cautiously.
Oscar snorted and said, “I bet,” and she had to smile.
“But he’s been so sweet to me since then,” she said. “Looking out for me, making sure I eat, that I’m not too tired. To his sisters, too, but even to me. Even though he doesn’t know whether the baby’s his.”
“Uh-huh,” Oscar said. “Yep. Sounds like you’re doingrealgood at not getting involved.”
“Grandpa.” She dumped the tomato sauce into the pan, managed to splatter a few drops on her new sweater, and thought,At least it’s purple.“I’m realistic, OK?”
“Uh-huh,” Oscar said again. “So when are you coming back?”
“Tomorrow. I have to get back to work, and anyway, Harlan and Annabelle are leaving then. But there’s the bail hearing, and I’m not sure if he wants to go to that. He’ll drop me off with the jet, though, on the way back to Portland.”
“He’ll drop you off with the jet,” Oscar said. “I’m not going to say anything.”
