Hannah Gersen - Home Field

Laura returned to the table with two glasses of whiskey. “I decided I was tired of beer.”

Dean took a sip of the amber liquid, savoring its warmth. He thought of his sons, sleeping cozily at Joelle’s, probably tucked into the twin beds in the guest bedroom, the one with the shaggy carpeting that smelled vaguely of breakfast foods (it was right above the kitchen). He and Nicole used to sleep there, on Christmas Eve, when the farmhouse was still occupied by Nicole’s parents and they all lived by the fiction that Santa Claus made just the one stop. Dean wondered how well the boys remembered those days and whether they missed them. He was a bad father to leave them alone without warning, thrusting them onto their Jesus-freak aunt. He was shirking his responsibilities, he was a shirker, he was behaving just as Joelle said he would. Joelle had never trusted him, not really. When he and Nicole announced their engagement, Joelle made him promise never to move her away. And Dean had promised, because he was in love, and what did he care where he lived, as long as he could coach his own team and be near this beautiful, melancholy woman and her eager, chatty toddler. His life came into focus after he met them.

“I did worry about living here,” he said. “Now that I think about it. Not because I didn’t like it here. But I thought maybe, one day, after I got some experience, I’d want to coach a bigger team, at a bigger school. A place with more money. More talent.”

“What changed?” Laura asked.

“I don’t know. I became a father. Life got busy. I stopped thinking about what else might be out there. Or maybe it’s that people started to accept me.”

“How long did that take?”

“Longer than I thought it should. People around here are friendly, but they’re not as friendly as they think they are.”

Laura nodded. “Most of them have never had to start over. They don’t know.”

Dean remembered a secret wish to start over with Nicole. To move to a place where people would assume he was Nicole’s only love and that Stephanie was his biological daughter. There were times when he almost had Nicole convinced, when she and Joelle had one of their minifeuds or when her father, Paul, was being especially rigid. But then she would worry about leaving her mother alone, or about taking Stephanie from her grandparents. And Dean would see that these were excuses, that she was too scared to go someplace new. He might have coaxed her, but his own fears intervened. The last thing he wanted was to get stuck someplace where they knew no one and she was pregnant and resentful and borderline depressed. He didn’t think their marriage was strong enough for that. Or maybe he wasn’t strong enough for it. Same difference.

“Maybe I’m having a midlife crisis,” Laura said. “I’m getting it out of the way early.”

“You would know if you were having a midlife crisis,” Dean said. “Trust me.”

“Oh, Dean,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Here I am, talking about my stupid life and you have real problems.”

“I like talking about your stupid life,” Dean said. “You know that.”

THE BARTENDER KNEW Laird, and they bought drinks without any trouble. They sat in the back where no one would notice them, a corner booth that afforded a glimpse of everyone in the bar. Stephanie had never really seen Willowboro’s nightlife and on some level she assumed there was none, that everyone did their socializing at football games or church. She associated bars like this — wood-paneled and sports-themed — with movies and TV shows, and so its very banality struck her as exotic. She felt almost glamorous sitting with this good-looking boy, a boy who was trying to impress her by bringing her to a place he considered adult. They drank rum and Cokes, and Stephanie felt the booze hitting her in a floaty, festive way.

“I knew we would see some teachers from school,” Laird said. He nodded toward a woman standing at the bar. She wore a cap-sleeved tee and jeans with a beat-up old belt that Stephanie admired. Her hair was in a low ponytail from which wispy strands had escaped, framing her face. She looked familiar but Stephanie couldn’t quite recognize her in the dim light. Stephanie wondered how you got to be like her: young but grown-up. She wished she could leap over the next ten years and just be an adult with a job and a boyfriend and a vintage belt.

“Is she new?” Stephanie asked. “I don’t remember her.”

“That’s because you’re not a guy,” Laird said.

“You think she’s sexy?” Stephanie was surprised; she thought this woman’s appeal was too subtle for teenage boys.

“Definitely,” Laird said. “Especially for a teacher. She talks like us and she has this leather jacket she wears.”

“Oh my God, you totally know all about her.”

Laird shrugged, unembarrassed. “I would see her in the halls. I wonder if she has a boyfriend. She wasn’t married.”

They both watched as she carried two drinks across the crowded room. A man was waiting for her at one of the small square tables against the wall, a graying older type, but Stephanie barely glanced at him; she was more interested in this woman. She tried to picture her walking down the hallways at school, wanting to remember how she knew her.

“Uh-oh,” Laird said. “We better get going.”

“Why?” Stephanie said, unnerved by Laird’s tone.

He looked confused. “Isn’t that your dad?”

Stephanie looked back at the woman, now sitting at the table with the older man. Her first split-second thought was that Laird was mistaken, that her father was not as old as the man she’d glimpsed, but all at once she realized he was right. Her heart began to pound, as if her blood was actually pulsing with this new information. And she had gathered so much more information than she realized: In those objective seconds, before she recognized her father, she had seen a portrait of two people who were more than acquaintances or even friends. They had the kind of physical attraction that you could see across a room, like someone had drawn a circle around them, bringing them together.

“We have to go,” Stephanie said. But she didn’t make a move to leave. She couldn’t stop staring at the woman. She recognized her now; she was the lady from church, and before that, the lady in the cafeteria. Stephanie had never given any special thought to her, but it was as if some part of her mind had detected something amiss and held on to the memory of her.

“Come on.” Laird guided Stephanie out the back door. Outside it was unexpectedly chilly, as if autumn had arrived while they were inside. Stephanie shivered in her thin cardigan and jean skirt, and Laird put his arm around her as they walked to his car. When he pulled away to get his keys, she wouldn’t let him and instead put his other arm around her. He laughed and said, “Okay,” even though she hadn’t said anything, and he kissed her softly, their lips barely touching because his head was bent awkwardly. Stephanie leaned back against his car, and they began to kiss in earnest. He was calm at first, deliberate, but as their kisses deepened, his breathing got heavier and he took a step away from her. “What?” she said, feeling her cheeks redden. Her whole body felt like it was blushing. All she could think was more . Nearby they heard someone getting out of their car, the doors slamming shut, laughter.

“I was just thinking — we could go to my old house. No one bought it. I still have the key.”

DEAN THOUGHT IT would be exciting to be in Laura’s car, this small, intimate space, but instead he felt cramped. He was disappointed to learn that she was messy, to see the empty soda can in her cup holder and the backseat cluttered with papers and binders. She was a good driver, but she drove fast, especially considering how much she’d had to drink. The familiar countryside spooled past, everyone’s house lights out, everyone’s lawn full of dark, innocent shapes: hedges, lawn ornaments, picnic tables. Sheetz loomed in the distance, an alien, neon-lit structure. If Dean were alone, he would stop and get something to eat. A slushie, a sub, a chocolate-frosted doughnut. Anything to extend the night. That was the problem with staying up this late. Something happened after midnight; he lost his strength, the tiny bit of willpower he needed to get through those chasm minutes alone in bed before he fell asleep.