Page 62 of Not Just a Trick Play

After the world’s fastest shower, I head to the parking lot. I pull my car up by the entrance of the stadium and leave it idling, waiting for her. If she argues about me sticking around instead of heading to her place while she takes the subway, I’m ready for it.

A few minutes later, she emerges with a group of colleagues, her expression stoic. She says something to them, even throws in a smile, but once they’re gone, her mask slips. She heads straight for me, no furtive glances to check if anyone’s watching. I open the passenger door without a word and circle back to get in on the driver’s side.

She’s still in half her costume, the bandages covering her face partially unraveled. Her head’s bowed, and dark strands have escaped the remaining gauze strips, sticking out in wild directions. I reach over and tuck a lock behind her ear, then carve my fingers around her neck. Sticky, clammy, with bits of hair. Her pulse is a dull thud under my touch.

Another shudder racks her as I put the car in drive and proceed to the exit, signaling to turn at the gate.

“What happened back there?” I ask, keeping my voice mild.

“Nothing. It was an…unexpected situation. I’m fine. Shall we?”

I snort. “Try again.”

She exhales long and heavy, her fingers knotting together in her lap. I wait, giving her space. The car ahead inches forward, and I press the gas, matching the slow crawl of traffic

“It was just a silly thing when I was a child,” she mutters, avoiding my gaze. She’s fiddling with the bandages at her wrists.

I offer a gentle “Yeah?”

“It was Boxing Day. Gran was swamped with dining requests.” She tugs at the edges of a loose strip, fraying it further.

“Go on.”

Voice tinged with reluctance, she continues, “I wanted to be helpful. Take a tray up to the top floor for her. But rather than using the stairs, I opted for the old dumbwaiter. I knew it was a lift for food, and don’t lifts carry passengers, too?” She casts me a wry sideways glance. “I crawled into it, barely fit—had to kick the outside lever to get it moving.”

The knot in my stomach tightens; I can sense where this story is headed. Amelia exhales, hunching over as if she’s trying to make herself smaller, take up less room, retreat. She seems to shrink, retreating inward as if to escape the memory.

“Got stuck halfway up. There I was, on my hands and knees, barely able to move.” Her laugh is humorless, painful to hear. “I still hate the thought of being trapped. And the smell of mushy peas.”

I slide a glance at her, and she meets my gaze with a half-hearted smile.

“Aren’t you going to tell me to get over it?” she asks, almost defiantly.

“Why would I?”

“Gran told me to buck up and carry on. Wanted to make me resilient, I suppose.”

Gransounds like a piece of work. Jesus, she was a kid.

“Still, it’s kind of funny, don’t you think? Ben always thought it was funny.”

We stop at a red light, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel and I’m imagining it’s fucking Ben’s neck.

“Ben, the pencil-dick boyfriend?”

“Ben, the pencil-dickex-boyfriend.”

She’s embarrassed. I can tell because she’s clamming up and going Mary Poppins on me. I hate it. “Hey, we’ve all got something we’re afraid of. If I’d seen a rat back there, I’d probably have jumped on your head.” I shudder in disgust. “Remember how I dragged you across the street like we were being chased by fire-breathing dragons the first night we went out because we spotted one of those little nightmares?”

A hint of a smile blooms on her lips, and I want to throw a fist in the air. “You’d think living in New York it wouldn’t be such a big deal. But I was kinda a stupid kid. Some boys and I snuck onto an abandoned farm upstate, got in the barn, and climbed up to the loft. Naturally, there were dares tossed around, and I decided why not prove my worth by jumping into a bale of hay? Didn’t break any bones—but landed right on top of a rat’s nest. The thing ran after me.” I cringe at the recollection.

“Oh my goodness. Did it bite you?”

“Nope, but try explaining that to my mom. I despised shots, but she insisted I get the rabies vaccine. ‘After all, I wouldn’t want to risk infecting my sisters, would I?’”

“And of course you did. You’d do anything for them.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t do enough.” My words hang heavy in the car. All these years later, and my intestines still knot up. “Yvonne got involved with a dickhead in high school who spread rumors about her being easy.”

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