Chapter Eleven

Eric's parents' room was directly above Tami's. She was waiting for them to fall asleep to sneak up to Eric. There was no way he was going to be hobbling down quietly on crutches to the guest bedroom tonight. Through the heating vent, she could hear them arguing, their voices falling almost unfiltered through the ducts. She'd had no idea there was so clear a line of communication between these two bedrooms, and she felt suddenly abashed about the sex she and Eric had shared in this very bed the last time she visited. She hoped his parents had been asleep back then. She certainly didn't remember hearing them talking.

"Eric's lost his chance at the NFL," Mr. Taylor was saying, "but he could at least settle for a career as a successful businessman. Instead, he's going to teach history! History! No thought for the future, that boy!"

"James, you yourself said they came up with a good financial plan for their future."

"For a few years, sure. To get them through. But it's not ambitious. I tried to give that boy ambition."

"Why? So he could realize all the dreams you didn't? Maybe he has different dreams, James. Did you ever think of that?"

"I just want the best for him. What's wrong with that? They shouldn't be getting married this young. Eric should establish himself first."

"You have to admit, Tami has been good for him. He's really come into his own since he's been with her."

"Come into his own?" Mr. Taylor scoffed. "That boy hasn't hadn't an opinion of his own since he started dating her. He goes to the inferior college she wants him to go to. He agrees to get married in the church she wants to get married in. When she says, Climb a tree, he asks, How high?"

"Well he never won a State Championship until he was dating her, did he? And she didn't ask him to climb that tree. Some little boy did."

"He did it to impress her. Rescuing a kitten. In a fragile tree. With snow. In winter! And there goes his future." Through the vent, Tami could even here the snap of Mr. Taylor's fingers. "And how could you just offer to pay for their wedding like that! Without discussing it with me first!"

"Well, James, I'm working full-time now, and I suppose I may do with my own money what I like. I'll pay you back for the check you wrote, if you want."

"I've always considered my money to be our money. You know that! But you should at least have consulted me first."

She huffed. "Like you've always consulted me before you make financial decisions?"

"Betty, dear, I studied business and accounting. I'm in management. You're a nurse."

"You say it like it's nothing! Like you have no respect for what I do!"

For a while, Tami could only hear the sound of footsteps and drawers opening and slamming shut.

"Enough," Mr. Taylor said. "I don't want to fight."

"Well maybe I do!" Mrs. Taylor shouted.

"Excuse me?"

"That's how this has always worked, hasn't it? You say you don't want to fight, and then it's over. And I go along with it, even though nothing is actually resolved!"

"What are you talking about, Betty?"

"My counselor told me that I shouldn't sublimate my own desires so much."

"Did he now?" Mr. Taylor asked. "Is that what happens in your little counseling sessions? He tells you what an awful husband you have?"

"No one said anything about – "

"-Is that how you feel? That I've just ridden roughshod over you all these years? I suppose that's why I quit the AFL for you."

"What? You didn't quit," she said. "You just didn't get picked up by the NFL after the merger."

"And why do you think that was, Betty, with my record?"

"I don't know. A lot of players were getting cut."

"Not players like me."

"What are you saying?" she asked.

"I'm saying, you wanted me to quit professional football, and I damn well knew it. It was hard on you, me being gone so much, and you with the little one at home. I knew how unhappy you were. And you worried about the women, the temptation – though I never succumbed. But you worried. So I took the package and I stepped aside. I took myself out of the running."

"You never told me that. You told me no one wanted to pick you up."

"Because I knew if you knew the truth, you would - what did you call it? Sublimate your own desires. You would have insisted I play, but then you would have been miserable. So I just told you I didn't have the opportunity, and I left it at that."

"You…what? But football was your life."

"You were my life. You still are. I love you more than football, Betty. I always have. If you don't know that by now…I'm sorry. I don't know how to communicate that."

"Well, words would work. Like the ones you just used." She laughed. "I always used to tell Eric that, when he was little. Use your words. I never thought I should have to tell you that."

Mr. Taylor's was suddenly louder, closer: "Why is this vent open? We need to keep it closed so the first floor will stay warmer."

There was a squeaking above as the vent closed, and then Tami heard only indiscernible murmurs.

[*]

Tami waited twenty more minutes before sneaking to Eric's room. Their lovemaking had been cautious since he got the cast. She was always on top, carefully straddling him, and sometimes there were as many shouts of "Ow!" and "Sorry!" as there were of "O God!"

He woke up when she slid into bed next to him and curled up against his non-broken leg.

"I just want to talk," she said.

He yawned.

"Do you regret going to UH to be near me?" she asked.

"I regret trying to rescue that damn cat." He stroked her hair. "Look, if I've seemed a bit off lately, it's just, you know, my dream kind of imploded. I'm still adjusting to that."

"But…do you blame me for that?"

He raised his neck slightly to look at her. "Why would I blame you?"

"Because, if you had gone to UT, like your dad said – "

" - Tami, I love you, but you weren't the only reason I went to UH. I never wanted to go to my father's alma matter. I don't want to be him. I want to be me. And I can be me with you." He kissed her. "And the truth is, even if I'd gone to UT…even if I hadn't fallen out of that tree…such a small percentage of guys get drafted." He shrugged. "This way I can always say I would have made it, if not for that damn cat."

"And maybe you would have made it if you and I never met."

"Maybe. Or maybe I wouldn't even have gotten this far." He kissed her. "And I keep thinking…what if my dream had blown up, and I didn't have you? I'd of had nothing left. And then I realized…as long as I've got you by my side, I can handle anything that comes my way. Anything."

She smiled and slid her hand into his boxers. He closed his eyes and moaned softly. "I thought you just wanted to talk."

She kissed his earlobe and whispered, "Well, we can still talk."

"Dirty?"

"Mhmhmmm…"

[*]

The next evening, Tami went out onto the Taylors' back porch where Mr. Taylor was smoking a cigar alone. They had an outdoor fireplace built into the stone wall of the half-covered patio, and the flames were leaping high.

The Taylors had a much lovelier house here in Odessa than they'd had owned in North Dillon. It had two stories, four bedrooms, a grandiose eat-in kitchen, and a separate formal dining room. Eric's parents had always seemed middle class to her. They had lived in a middle-class neighborhood in North Dillon. They all drove used cars. Eric had worked part-time all through high school. Tami wondered how much Mr. Taylor had banked while he played for the AFL, if he could afford this house and still write $6,000 checks with a flick of the wrist. Most professional football players blew through their money and ended their careers in debt. Eric had told her his father had invested half of his income. Maybe those investments were paying off now.

She sat down at the outdoor table across from Mr. Taylor and pushed him the check. "We don't need it," she said.

"Don't need it or don't want it? I'm going to guess the latter, because I'm pretty sure you need it."

"We'll find a way. It'll be a very small wedding."

"You'll break my wife's heart if she can't send her son off in style. Take it, Tami. Humble thyself."

"This isn't about humility."

"Yes it is. For both of us."

"I'm not too proud to take your money," she told him. "But no one wants a gift that's given grudgingly. I know you don't like me. I know you wish I'd never dated your son."

"I never said that."

"It doesn't need to be said."

"Well then this does." He set his cigar in his ash tray. "My wife is fond of you, and I can see that you've made my son happy. Maybe he's not making quite the decisions I would like to see him make, but he's happy. I love my family. And my family loves you." He nudged the check back toward her. "Take the gift, even if the giver is imperfect – even if he's a little proud, a little closed-off at times. You're committing yourselves to one another for life. That's a very big thing. There's no reason you have to do it in a very small way."

Tami looked down at the check. She picked it up. "Are there strings attached to this money?"

"Yes. One."

Tami sighed. Not the church again. "What's that?"

"I get to dance with the bride."