Page 40 of Good Guy Gabe

“No one’s ever broken in or threatened me here before, so I’m not too worried, but I’ll think about going elsewhere if it gets any worse,” I promise her as she heads into the shop.

“Do you think it is someone from before?” Tilly asks. “One of the kids, grown up now, came back to town and saw you were still here or something.”

“Maybe.”

I stare hard at the bottom corner of the B as I scrub it. It’s strange, but it happened so many times before and I’ve caught so many in the act — or at least seen them running away, in hoodies or masks so I couldn’t see their faces but could see their body shapes well enough — that I get the impression this is a woman. The toilet paper and mailboxes, the smashed windows, those were always boys. Slow, thought-out acts, the things that took the most time and were the most irritating to fix were always girls. A girl would pull out every single mum. And these letters are meticulous, someone that was thoughtful about the space they were filling and painted them a height they could beconsistent at. A girl who has experience painting giant letters, like on a sign.

Like on those signs the cheerleaders hold up.

“The way you saymaybemakes me think you’ve got some other idea in your brain,” Tilly observes as she sets the scraper down, replaces it with a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, and plops down on the step.

I sit down next to her and steal one of her chips. I don’t even like salt and vinegar chips, and the look Tilly gives me tells me she’s fully aware of this and I’ve lost my mind. I just want the salt. I’m a stress eater. It’s fine. “I have abadidea in my brain. One of the players on the Jugs is local, Evan—”

“Allore? I do pay attention to things, you know. Even if I don’t get to go to all the games for free.”

“If you were in town when they were, you’d be the one going with me! Cora even bought a Briggs jersey for you.”

Not that I think she’s giving up that jersey now, even if she refuses to talk about what happened that night.

Tilly pushes me with her shoulder. “Just messing with you. I’m going toallthe December games. But what about Evan? You think it’s him?”

I shake my head. “And I really don’t think it’s his wife, either, but . . . she’s been a problem. She’s . . . I don’t know who she is, but it sounded like one of her friends might have been a patient here. She was really upset when Gabe brought me to the gala, and then at the first game, one of the other wives had the Allores’ daughter in the stands a couple rows in front of us, and she made them move. So she really doesn’t like me, and I’m not going to be super mad about that, and it would be nuts for her to be doing this, but . . .”

“But what if she’s been talking shit and it’s driven someone else to do this?”

“It sounds even crazier when you say it.”

“Not really. This is something a crazy person does. Football people can be crazy. Could be one of Allore’s megafans, even.” Tilly shrugs and eats another chip. Halfway through chewing, she frowns, looks in the bag, crinkles her nose, and hands them to me, her face taking on a sickly pallor. “These are gross. Finish them.”

I understand enough to get up and take them to the end of the porch to finish this unexpected treat. I should set them out for Jerry, but I can’t believe how good they are. I’m half ready to dump the whole bag in my mouth.

“You need one of those camera doorbells,” Tilly suggests as a middle-aged woman and her husband exit the store.

The husband is laden down with a giant bag of fabric while she holds a single specialty ruler like it’s her most prized possession. She’s less than polite to Tilly, giving her a huffy “excuse me” and passing by before Tilly has the chance to get out of the way fully.

Tilly makes a face at her back, but Tilly’s never worked customer service. She’s not used to rude women who plow through the world with complete disregard for anyone deemed lower than them. Since Tilly’s in denim overalls, a paint-crusted tee shirt, and chunky work boots, the lady probably thinks I hired her to clean up.

It’s only when they reach their car parked on the street does she turn and notice I’ve been standing here the entire time. “Morning, Joss!” she yells, her voice sweet as tea. “Let Gabe know I’m rooting for him tomorrow!”

“Is that normal?” Tilly asks once they’re both in the car.

“Which part—never mind, yes. Yes, customers constantly forget that they were awful ten seconds ago, yes, everyone in town thinks that knowing me means Gabe cares about them now, and yes, apparently people who don’t actually know enough about the Jugs to know it’s a bye week still feel the need to involve themselves.”

Tilly shakes her head. “Wild.”

Chapter 19

Gabe

THE LAST TIMEI was on this field, the stands felt like they reached to the sky. Down on the field, I felt like a god. Center’s never been a glamorous position, but Coach Gregorson said I was going places. Didn’t have a football scholarship, but none of us did in this little backwoods corner of Minnesota on the North Shore of Lake Superior, practically Canada. When I told Gregorson I’d gotten on the team at Iowa State as a walk-on, he said that was it, everyone would see how amazing I was, how much I deserved it. And then every year when the mini-camps came and went, fewer and fewer people thought I had a chance, but Coach was always there cheering me on, telling me I was so close.

I was.

And now I’m back on this field that’s absolutely the tiniest fucking thing ever, its scoreboard still a wall of lightbulbs, its announcers’ deck not even roofed, just six flights of bleachers and then a platform for a local sports reporter to man, and I’m over the moon at the opportunity I’ve been given to present a plaque to Coach Gregorson honoring his years of hard work and congratulate him on retirement.

I was a god here twelve years ago. The way the crowd cheers for me at halftime, a sea of not just the local colors of purple and white but also a ton of Jugs ruby and saffron brought out when the clock ran down, makes me realize I’m a god again.

“And it’s all because of you, Coach!” I yell, and everyone cheers even more loudly. “You’re an absolute legend. To Coach Gregorson!”

---