Eddie Joyce - Small Mercies

Paul turned his head.

“Nancy, I’d appreciate it if you kept your opinions about Vinny to yourself. He’s doing his best.”

Nancy rolled her eyes.

“Jeez, Paul, you can’t be so thin skinned. It was a bad pass.”

“Yes, it was. I’m sure Vinny knows that. We do too. Enough.”

“It’s not his fault, Paul. Coach Whelan should have Matty playing point guard.”

Dana exploded off the bleacher, swung around, and put her finger in Nancy’s face.

“Shut the fuck up, Nancy. Shut the fuck up. I’m sick of hearing about your fucking Matty.”

Paul reached a hand over to corral his wife.

“Dana, take it easy. Calm down.”

Nancy swung her hand, knocking Dana’s finger away. Dana lunged, her hands reaching up for Nancy’s neck. Gail stepped in, tried to move Nancy away.

“Nancy, move. Jesus.”

Paul was holding Dana at bay, but it was taking some effort. Dana tried to wriggle out of her jacket so she could get at Nancy. Other parents noticed the commotion; some of the players on the Farrell bench did too.

“Fuck you, bitch.”

Dana’s face was red, maniacal. Gail tried to hustle Nancy down out of the bleachers. Jesus Christ, she thought , there may actually be a fight.

Nancy finally stopped resisting, stepped down, and walked off the bleachers to the other side of the gym. With a little help from the Keegans, Paul calmed Dana down. The whole gym had been watching, even a few of the players on the court. Dana turned to Gail, apologetic, the fury gone as quickly as it came.

“I’m sorry, Gail. I just couldn’t take another fucking word.”

Gail laughed nervously.

“It’s okay, Dana, most excitement I’ve had in weeks.”

Her heart was still racing. She looked up and there was Danny, looking sharp in a blue pinstriped suit and beige overcoat. In all the commotion, Gail hadn’t even noticed him come in. He waved hello to the whole group. He sat down next to Gail.

“So,” he said, a wry little grin on his face, “I miss anything?”

* * *

Two weeks of intermittent practices and holiday indolence had put the whole team in a torpor, but they somehow pulled the game out in the last few minutes. Gail watched, distracted, not sure how to act around Danny. He was quiet too, his charm shelved for the night. She felt like she was on a first date, as ridiculous as that seemed. After the game, they all moved down to the court, the usual crew huddled together, discussing the game. Nancy Duggan waited on the other side of the gym, giving Dana a wide berth.

Gail stood, not listening to John Keegan’s complaints about the referees. She was despondent. She’d thought for sure there was some connection between Danny and her, but she’d been wrong. They didn’t even have anything to say to each other. The whole thing had been foolishness. A bit of fantasy. Stupid.

“Gail?”

He touched her arm.

“Yes.”

“You okay?”

“Grand.”

He pulled her gently out of the larger circle, lowered his voice. He put his hand in his coat pocket, took something out, and placed it in her hand.

“Late Christmas present.”

She looked down: a tiny box wrapped in solid red.

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. A surge of desire welled up inside her. The smell on him. Jesus.

“Merry Christmas.”

She wanted to say something clever, something flirty and witty, but there was no opportunity because the team had begun emerging from the locker room in small groups; the huddles of parents were breaking down or expanding to accommodate their presence. Danny’s son, Kevin, was one of the first to emerge — bench players always were — and his sulky, disgruntled air did not square with the larger group’s geniality. He walked straight up to Danny, ready to go.

“Say hello to Mrs. Amendola.”

“Hello, Mrs. Amendola.”

Kevin pulled on his father’s arm, urging a hasty departure. Danny snuck a wink to Gail. She watched him walk across the gym, his hand draped over his son’s shoulder, his mouth near his ear, giving counsel she wished she could hear. Gail put the gift in her coat pocket, rejoined the other parents.

“What’s the matter with that kid?” Paul asked her, nodding in the direction of Kevin and Danny.

“His mother’s nuts. Certifiable,” Dana said.

“So sayeth the woman who nearly got into a donnybrook this evening.”

“I never said I wasn’t nuts. Besides, you knew who you were marrying. You can take da girl outta Bensonhurst, but you can’t take Bensonhurst outta da girl.”

She kissed her husband, her anger a distant memory. Gail winced. How long since she had kissed Michael? A long while.

Bobby and Pat Keegan emerged from the locker room, walked into the semicircle. The usual congratulations and idle commentary ensued. After a few minutes, Gail and Bobby broke away and walked toward the exit. Gail tucked her hands in her coat pocket and felt the gift. She was curious, but she couldn’t open it in front of Bobby.

Only Bobby was no longer beside her. She turned and he was five paces back, leaning down to talk to a short girl who was staring up at him with lovesick eyes. Gail watched their interaction with a smile. When Bobby noticed her watching, he shuffled over.

“Can we give Tina a ride home?” he asked. Gail tried to remember whether he’d ever mentioned someone named Tina. No, he’d never mentioned the name. Or any girl’s name, for that matter.

She’d been a little worried, in fact, at the lack of girls’ names. Peter and Franky had shown interest — could barely hide their interest — at much younger ages and each had had a girlfriend, of sorts, by their sophomore years in high school. But Bobby had said nothing on the subject, had shown no progress in that arena, and he was a senior. Gail wasn’t worried about his proclivities — she’d found a magazine shoved between his bed and the wall; was disturbingly relieved when she opened it and found the right kind of naked pictures — but he didn’t seem to possess any ability or desire to interact with actual, living girls. He barely seemed to notice them and he never talked about them, no matter how delicately Gail tried to raise the subject.

Yet, suddenly, here was Tina.

“She lives in Eltingville, on Winchester,” he added, the words flying out of his mouth.

“I hope it’s not too much trouble, Mrs. Amendola,” said Tina.

“No trouble at all.”

She was a sweet girl, cute as a button, and unfailingly polite. Everything was Mrs. Amendola this and Mrs. Amendola that. When they reached Tina’s house, Bobby got out of the car and walked her to the door. They didn’t kiss or hold hands. When he got back in the car, he offered no explanation. They drove home in silence and as soon as they walked in the door, he went straight up to his room, stopping briefly at the fridge for a plate of chicken cutlets and a jug of the ubiquitous yellow Gatorade. Gail waited in the kitchen for a few minutes, wondering whether she should say anything at all. She slipped the tip of her index finger into her mouth, gnawed at the worn nail.

She had to know.

She opened the door slowly in case he wasn’t decent. He was lying on his bed, still clothed, flicking a basketball up at the ceiling. His feet dangled off the edge of the bed. Thick headphones covered his ears, but he removed them when he saw her.

“Jesus, Mom, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Who’s Tina?”

His cheeks reddened, but the smile was irrepressible. She took another step into the room.

“Bobby, is Tina your girlfriend?”

He kicked his legs up at the ceiling like he was pedaling a bicycle. He started laughing; threw the ball against the ceiling and it ricocheted downward, hitting his stomach and then bouncing across the room. He sat up in bed.