The next day Maggie showed up at work carrying her husband's black woolen coat. He hadn't worn it since she gave it to him last Christmas, and though he hadn't told her it wasn't his style, she knew this was the case. He would likely never miss it.
When Ted had called from the job site in Jersey last night, she'd surprised herself by not telling him about her encounter with Spider-Man. She was going to, but when Ted had asked about her day, she'd said simply that it had been fine. She wasn't sure now if that had been the right thing to do. She never kept things from her husband. But this had felt wrong to tell over the phone. Saturday when he was back she would tell him, she figured. A lot might happen between now and then anyway.
Just before eleven that morning, Maggie saw the young hero return. She caught his eye right away, pointing to the far table he'd occupied the day before. She'd been shooing customers away from it all morning, at the cost of one her breaks to Jackie.
After Maggie extricated herself from a group of indecisive older ladies, she made her way to his table. Hardly an inch of tabletop was visible for all the books and papers he'd spread out. "Back again, huh, Sport?"
"You kidding?" he asked, and proudly held up two dollars.
Just as she'd done the day before, Maggie ordered him a ridiculous amount of food. When it was ready, she carried it to his table with far less nerves than the day before. "What is that you're studying?" she asked him, as he pushed books and papers out of the way for his plates. "Math?"
"Physics. Practically the same thing, of course," he added, as if she'd known this, and he didn't want to insult her by telling her.
"I'll take your word for it." She tucked the empty tray under her arm. "If you need anything else, just holler. My name's Maggie."
"Thanks, Maggie." He held out a hand to her. "I'm-"
"Sport," she interrupted, and took his hand, wondering only after she'd gripped it if she were in danger of sticking to him. But his hand felt just like her husband's: rough and strong. "I'll call you Sport. Because, you know, you look, um, sporty. Athletic."
Judging by the upward motion of his eyebrows this was a comment he didn't hear very often. "Really?"
"Like a runner. Thin. In shape. You run fast, I bet."
One corner of his mouth pulled upward. "Pretty fast."
"There. You see?" With a nervous laugh, she retreated behind the counter. He was going to tell me his name, she kept thinking. Why did I stop him from telling me his name?
A sound very much like a thick physics book hitting a linoleum floor made Maggie jump. Over in the corner, Sport bent over, visibly embarrassed, to pick up the book he'd knocked from the table.
"Sorry," he said to the crowd at large, and received several disdainful looks from a group of teenaged girls who had jumped at the noise. The nearest of them made a face at him as he sat up, and in a voice that carried across the diner, said "dork".
Maggie turned her back on the ensuing laughter, suppressing an urge to go over and whack the girl with her order tray. How dare she treat him like that, she thought. He deserved to be treated like the hero he was, not like some awkward college kid.
But then Maggie remembered what her friend Gary from the train had said about him. "Only a kid," she whispered, and realized at least part of the reason why she'd stopped him from telling her his name. It was the same reason why she wanted to defend him now. She wanted to protect him.
Maternal instinct kicking in again, Maggie thought. Damn, I am getting old.
Almost an hour later, after not two but three omelettes, Maggie noticed Sport gather his books together. After depositing her husband's coat by the front register, Maggie headed to his table. On her way she noticed Jackie hauling out a huge plastic basin from deep under the coffee station. "What are you going to do with that old thing?"
Jackie wiped dust off of the top rim of the basin. "Clear off Tables Two and Three."
"You fill that up and you won't be able to carry it."
"Sure I will. I've been workin out, remember?"
"Looking for single Jewish doctors in the coffee shop at the gym does not count as working out," Maggie pointed out, and received a gesture from the young Long Islander that would have horrified the group of old ladies who had just left the diner.
When Maggie reached Sport's table, she realized he'd retrieved his notebook from his backpack and was scribbling yet another equation in it. "Here's your tab."
He reached for the check without looking up. "Thanks, Maggie."
Maggie studied the complex diagram he was drawing a long moment, but came no closer to deciphering it than she had at first glance. "What's that supposed to be?"
"Decay rate of hydrogen electron shells."
"Oh," she said, as she watched him quickly write out an equation containing symbols she'd never seen on any calculator. "Looks, um, interesting."
"Interesting but wrong. I can't believe I almost forgot to factor in the rate of-"
The clatter of dishes interrupted him. Across the diner, Jackie was staggering under the strain of holding the huge basin and its mountain of dishes. As they shifted in the container, Jackie stumbled sideways, caught her ankle on a chair, and with a crash of dishware fell backwards.
Maggie couldn't remember later actually seeing Sport move from his seat. He was simply there across the diner, catching Jackie around the waist with his left arm, grabbing the soaring basin of dishes with his right. With ease he swung the heavy container over his head and back down, using the force of its arc to flatten its contents to its bottom.
After setting the basin on a nearby table, he helped Jackie stand upright. She did so with what Maggie considered to be more than the necessary grabbing onto his arm. "How did you do that?" the young woman breathed.
He shrugged. "Just happened to be standing here."
Jackie gaped at him as he returned to his table. Only after he glanced over at Maggie twice while gathering his things did she realize she'd been staring too.
"I work out sometimes," he said, obviously feeling that an explanation was in order.
"Sporty," she noted. "Just like I said."
Turning her back to hide her smile, she led him over to the cash register. After he'd paid, she pulled out her husband's jacket from under the counter. "I thought you might be interested in this. I got it from Lost and Found. I think it's your size."
"This looks new." He held the black wool jacket out at arm's length. "I can't take this. What if the person who lost it comes back?"
"It's been there a year. We were going to trash it."
He turned the soft material over in his hands. "Well, if you're sure… Okay. Thanks."
As the door closed behind him, Maggie stepped over to the front plate glass window. Outside on the sidewalk she saw him set down his backpack and shrug off his old coat. The late fall sun shone down on his clothes as he moved, and for just a second, Maggie swore she could see a hint of red under the white of his dress shirt.
"Yowza," came a voice from beside her.
Maggie glanced over at Jackie's profile. "Yowza?"
"You know. Wow. Zowie." Jackie pressed her nose against the glass. "Yowza."
"So now he rates a yowza?"
"His tight little butt puts him way over the top."
"Jackie!"
"What? So your nephew's got a nice tuchus! Sue me for noticing. How can you not?"
"You didn't notice yesterday. Remember your whole beefcake-not-brains speech?"
"Oh, he's beefcake all right. Oy vay but he's got muscles in his arms. Felt like I was grabbing onto an iron railing."
Together they watched him hoist his backpack onto his back with what Maggie thought was a little too much ease to be discrete.
"So if you want," Jackie said, "tomorrow I could take that corner table for you-"
"Not a chance," Maggie said, and left Jackie by the window, steaming up the glass.
