Free Deep Down True by Juliette Fay

she’d memorized some of the player numbers by differences in their uniforms. Number nine had duct tape across his shoe; the one who adjusted his athletic cup almost constantly was number sixteen. When Coach Ro wasn’t organizing his players, he stationed himself by Dana, his elbow brushing against her shoulder, pointing out who was who. There was something impressive about him. He was energetic and fairly successful at teaching a bunch of seven-year-olds such a complicated game.
    “Why do you do this?” she asked. “You don’t even have a child on the team.”
    He smiled and shook his head. “I just love this game. And I miss playing. Me and a bunch of guys play touch football when they don’t have stuff to do with their families and such.” He ran a hand over his crew cut. “But it’s touch . It’s a whole different sport. I just love the idea of what these little guys have ahead of them—years of the real thing. Tackle football.”
    Years of this? she thought with a jolt. Years of watching people crash into her son at full speed as she prayed for all the pieces of his tender little body to remain correctly situated? Maybe he’ll take up tennis, she hoped without much conviction.
    “What about you?” he asked. “You ever play any sports?”
    “I played basketball in middle school,” she offered weakly.
    “I knew you were athletic—I can always tell.” He put his fingers around her upper arm and said, “Tense up.” Her biceps contracted of its own accord. “There you go! That’s a good strong arm. Nice triceps, too. Most women don’t have that. You work out?”
    “Um . . . a little . . .” she stammered.
    “Coach!” bellowed the referee suddenly. “You got too many players here!”
    Coach Ro jogged onto the field, yelling, “Ben, I told you, you’re offense!”
    Without quite knowing why, Dana turned to gaze up at the stands. Morgan was talking to Alder, her hands flicking this way and that. Alder put a hand over her mouth in sympathetic horror. Kenneth, however, was staring straight at Dana. Even at this distance, she could tell he was on high alert. In broad daylight, in plain view, practically onstage, another man had been touching her in a surprisingly familiar way, unmistakably appreciating her body. It was a visual for which Kenneth was clearly unprepared, and his shock was absolutely delicious. Dana turned back to the field, studying the clipboard so no one could see her grin.
    At the end of the game, Coach Ro made all the kids say, “Thank you Mrs. Stellgarten,” which they drawled in unconvincing unison.
    “Thanks.” He grinned, patting the back of her shoulder. “You’re a real asset on the field.”
     
     
    That night, after Grady had recounted every moment of the game as if she hadn’t been standing right there on the sideline, and Morgan had listed the many ways in which Tina was boring, including her light blue furniture that had replaced Kenneth’s in the condo, Dana went downstairs to fold sheets in the hall by the linen closet. The phone rang, and Alder answered it. “Jack somebody,” she said, bringing the phone to Dana.
    “Hello?” Dana cradled the phone against her ear as she stacked towels.
    “Hey there, Dana, it’s Jack Roburtin.”
    “Hi,” she said brightly, hoping a face would come to her to match the familiar voice.
    “That was some game today.”
    Coach Ro, thought Dana, relieved to have figured it out. “It certainly was,” she said, though she’d been so busy making checkmarks she wasn’t really sure how they’d played.
    “Those boys have come a long way since August,” he went on. “Their discipline’s improving, and I saw some excellent play execution out there today—I know you did, too.”
    “They were just great.” She had the strange sensation that he was about to offer to sell her the team. She recalled that he was a car salesman over at Manchester Motors.
    “And thanks again for all your help. I feel I control them pretty