On Sunday after church, Tami left her doorway duties and came to stand by Eric at the fellowship table. "The muffins are really good," she said. "Mrs. Williams makes them from scratch."

"I know. I already ate two," Eric confessed. He licked a crumb off his thumb and then picked up a Styrofoam cup. "Is my dad being an ass to your father again? Telling him how to write his own sermons?"

"No. He's pretending to read the bulletin board while your mom talks to Mrs. Tidwell. He's kind of anti-social, isn't he?"

Eric filled his coffee cup and blew into it. The steam lifted and curled. He was being crowded by a pair of children hunting for the biggest cookie, and he jerked his head toward the covered walkway that separated the sanctuary from the offices and classroom wing. They went out there and sat on the brick ledge of a window. It was cold. There was no heat in this part of the church.

"My mom says it's because he was never really a kid," Eric said. "And then I reminded her that my father tried to make sure I never really was either." He shrugged. "But my Mom always played with me."

"Your dad never did?"

Eric extended his coffee cup to her. She took it to warm her hands.

"He threw the ball around with me. He played board games with me. But I wouldn't say he was ever playful about any of it. There was always some instructional goal to it with him. It was work." He reached for the coffee cup, took a small sip, and then handed it back to her. "I don't want to be like that with my kids, if I ever have any. I'm getting down on the floor with them. There are going to be tickle fests."

Tami smiled. Two months ago, she would not have been able to picture Eric as a playful father, but she could much better imagine the scenario now. "How mad is he that you're not going to A&M?"

"He thinks I should still go, even though they're not giving me a scholarship. I can get in on academics, and they'll probably take me on the team as a walk-on. He thinks if I do that, I can prove myself, and eventually I'll be noticed and get a lot of play time. And then some NFL scout will see me. He still thinks I can make it to the NFL, but some of these college guys…" He shook his head. "As good as I am, I just can't hold a candle to them. Even if I did by some fluke make the draft, I'd probably be cut the first time they pared down the roster."

Eric's practicality surprised Tami. Every Texas high school football player's dream was to make it to the NFL, and half of them seemed to imagine they could, even some of the second string players.

"But he says he'll pay for the tuition, room, and board at A&M, all four years, if I got there instead of TMU."

"He has that much money?" Tami asked.

"Not now. But he'd sell the bar. He expects it to be worth one and a half times what he paid for it by June. Instead of buying a new bar with the proceeds, like he usually does, he'd use that money to put me through school. Then he'd just go back to working in management again."

"Wow."

Eric sighed. "And I guess I should feel that's very generous of him, but I just feel like he's trying to control me. I was upset A&M didn't end up giving me a scholarship, but then the more I tried to talk myself into TMU, the more I succeeded. I want to go there now. I don't want to go to A&M. And I'm afraid to tell him that."

"You've got to tell him," Tami insisted. "This is your choice. Not his."

"I know. But I've been putting off that confrontation."

The door to the hallway opened on the foyer side, and Mr. Taylor walked in. He looked at Tami suspiciously. "We need to get going, Eric," he said. "Your mother wants to go to lunch."

Eric leaned forward and glanced through the glass door. "Looks like she's still talking to someone."

"She wants to go," Mr. Taylor said. "Come along."

Eric rose, but not without first whispering to Tami, "He wants to go."

Mr. Taylor nodded in Tami's direction, and then held open the door for Eric.

[*]

Tami grabbed Eric's fruit cup off his tray, which he hadn't touched, and opened it. Jack had left lunch a little early to see one of his teachers for some extra help in math. He must be really struggling, Tami thought, because he'd left lunch early three days this week.

"Help yourself, why don't you?" Eric asked.

"This is my payment…" Tami dipped in her spoon, "…for helping you figure out who you're going to date." She took a bite and swallowed. "I have some ideas."

"Do you?" he asked. "Of course you do."

"Kim Fischer. She's on the honor roll, so your dad will be pleased. She's athletic – plays girls' basketball. And she just broke up with Billy Mack."

"She's too tall. I can't date a girl who's taller than me."

"Sarah O'Connor."

"Too Irish."

Tami laughed. "What?"

"Sorry, it's just a criteria I have."

"You don't like red heads?" she asked.

He smiled. "Maybe a touch of red."

"Dolly Tanner," she suggested.

"Too short. I can't date a girl who's more than five inches shorter than me."

"So 5'8 is your cut off then? About my height?"

He nodded, and his lips curved into that smile she'd been noticing more and more, the one that looked like he was laughing at this own private joke.

"Then Sarah Hamilton," she suggested.

"Her breasts are too big."

"That has never before been said in the history of teenage boys."

"I like…uh…medium-large."

"Do you?" Tami asked, chuckling. "Then Sally Hamilton. Her sister."

"Aren't they twins?"

Tami pointed her spoon at him. "Oh, I know! Brenda Winthrop."

"She's in my Trig class. She talks way too much."

Tami dropped the cup and spoon onto the tray and pushed it aside. "You're picky. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"Well," he replied, "while beggars can't be choosers, kings can. And I have a lot to offer a girl."

She laughed. "Yeah. Let me hear the list."

"I drive a stunning chariot, for one. It's only ten years old, and there's only a little bit of duct tape on the rearview mirror."

Tami's eyes twinkled with merriment.

"And I'm an excellent dancer, as you yourself observed at Homecoming."

Tami chuckled.

"And I warmed the bench very nicely during the State Championship."

"What else?"

"Uh…Hmmmm…." He looked up. He put a finger on his chin. "I can't think of anything else at the moment."

"How about you're kind and responsible and loyal?"

"Nah, girl's don't care about that," he said, just as the bell rang. He stood up. "But tell 'em I can bench press 175% of my weight." He winked, she laughed, and they both dumped their trays and headed to class.

[*]

School soon let out for winter break. By December 24th, Tami wasn't crying herself to sleep anymore. She'd even let go of at least 75% of her anger at Mo. Well, maybe 62%.

That night, toward the end of the Christmas Eve service, the church was shrouded in darkness, and the congregants shared the light from their candles from person to person. Tami lit her candle on her sister's, and, being the last person in the front pew, turned to face the pew behind hers.

Eric stood there, dressed in his dark black suit and red tie. His family usually sat farther back, but because the Christmas Eve service was always so crowded, the Reverend had urged the "regulars" to sit forward.

Tami extended her flame to Eric. He bowed his candle to hers, and his wick caught, shivered, and then burst out against the darkness. In the slow dance of the flame she'd shared with him, his face was illuminated. He was smiling at her, and she smiled back.

Tami turned forward again when the congregation began singing "Silent Night." As the soft strains of the familiar song drifted all the way to the tippy top of the vaulted ceiling, she felt a powerful sense of peace wash over her.

For a moment, she wondered why she had ever cried over Mo McArnold at all.