Page 5 of Please, Sir

There is no conversation between us as I drive the rest of the way up the road, gravel plinking against the side of the truck, the only noise in the cab between us. She rarely sits at my booth with me at the farmers market, and now I’m losing her midweek, too? Janie flashes through my mind, and I try to think of what she may do, but it’s been so long since she’s been around, I just don’t know. Make lemonade out of lemons, that’s what Dr. Tanner always suggests during uncomfortable teenage emotional growing pains.

I put the truck in park as Jo Jo unclips her belt, letting it thud against the seat. “Saturdays are the game days, Dad. I can’t ride on Saturdays.” She pops open the door and our eyes come together over the space between us. It’s just a seat but it feels like a goddamn world. “I just… can’t ride with you for a while, okay? I’m cheerleading.”

The door shuts, rattling the truck, and I stay behind the wheel, my eyes on her as her ponytail swishes behind her all the way up the steps to the front door. She uses her house key and doesn’t bother glancing back at me before the door swings closed.

No more horseback riding.

I haven’t dated in years–hell, I haven’t dated since I dated Janie. Even so, right now, I’m all too familiar with a broken heart.

CHAPTER

TWO

The bellon the door clatters, but I don’t look up. Tuesday at ten past five–I know just who it is.

“Jo Jo trying out for the team?” Dean asks, drifting in lazily, letting each heel of his boot drag across my worn natural wood floors. Wearing a navy blue Bluebell Bruisers pullover, Dean plunks down at the stool opposite me at my work table. He drops his hat onto the surfaceand runs his fingers through his hair with a long sigh. After I nod he says, “Man, it’s still warm when it should be coolin’ down.”

I lift my head to meet his gaze, lowering my burnisher down to the counter. I’ve been working on a saddle for Jo Jo for the last few months. My plan was to give it to her at the end of this school year, as her graduation gift. After she graduates each grade, I’ve established the tradition of giving her a handmade leather good. When she was little, she loved it. Coin purses, sandals, headbands–she loved every damn thing Dad made. Now, though, she’s growing away from me and our traditions. Still, I’m making the fucking saddle.

“Now I know you aren’t here to talk about the weather, so let’s get down to it.”

Dean chuckles, reaching into his back pocket to tug out a tri-folded piece of graphing paper. He smooths it out on my work surface amidst the scraps of leather and tools, and tugs a mechanical pencil from his breast pocket, clicking twice.

I’m ready for it, grabbing my tool to refocus on smoothing out the roughly cut edges. But I feel Dean’s gaze on me, and irritation pricks at me. “What?”

I notice his shrug in my periphery. “Just… you know. You didn’t say much about Jo Jo trying out for the Bluebell Bruisers cheer team, that’s all.”

I lower my burnisher again, this time with an annoyed sigh. “C’mon now, Dean. How do you think I feel? I feel like my girl would take up a sport she hasn’t had a lick of interest in just to avoid spending time with me. I feel like I’m losing her to growing up and she’s annoyed by even the sound of my breathing!”

Dean listens, and I don’t talk seriously too often, but when I do, he pays attention. “High school is all about fitting in,” he offers softly, smoothing his hands over his already flattened paper.

“I went to high school with you. I remember what it’s like,” I quip, letting the burnisher sting against my fingers because right now, the heat alleviates the burning in my chest.

Dean’s head wobbles as he mindlessly curls the edge of his paper, his focus on me. “Yeah but… I work there, Jake. I’m in the classroom and out on the field with these kids almost every day, and I’m telling you, Jo Jo is only trying to find a place where she fits.” He lifts his brows, his face cautious but serious. “It’s about her, not you.”

I hate that what he’s saying makes sense, and I hate even more that he could be right. If it’s not about me, I can’t fix it. Right now, all I wanna do is sulk and moan. “Quit sulkin’, Jo Jo will ride with you again. It ain’t over. But let her put it on hold for now.” He reaches beneath the workbench to the six-can fridge I have stashed there, taking out two beers. He cracks them both open. Dean slurps the foam from the rim after sliding me the other, then takes a longer drink. “All that sage advice. I earned this beer.”

I drink mine, but not without rolling my eyes first. “Just get to it,” I tell him, refocusing on the leather in front of me. I’m working on smoothing out the holes for the laces right now. I decided her first custom saddle would be embellished with leather lacing around the edges, and now that the holes are done, I can see the tree through the valley, and it’s gorgeous.

Dean clears his throat and presses the tip of his pencil to his paper, starting with the first line item.

“Tanner Colt.” He doesn’t bother glancing my way, but I still ask the obligatory question.

“How’s his arm? Still actin’ up?” I ask, a burn creeping through my fingers from the burnisher heating up. I reach formy glass tool and swap them, cooling my hand as I continue to work over the rough edges of each grommet.

“Arm’s all square. He’s been throwing great. Same Tanner, natural leader, great attitude.”

I nod my head. “Starting QB.”

Dean scribbles a check mark and continues moving through his roster of boys. He’s been the varsity football coach at Bluebell High since he finished his teaching credentials seventeen years ago. The star quarterback himself, he’s great with kids and teens alike, and was made to be the head coach. Still, he likes to run his starting lineup past me before each game, and tomorrow is their first scrimmage. Dean always gives the guys the day off from practice before the scrimmage. He says it’s for rest, but the truth is, it’s so he can come here and brainstorm starters.

When it’s all said and done, half the saddle’s grommets are smooth, leaving me the other half for tomorrow. Dean’s lineup is set and the mini fridge beneath the desk is empty.

My phone rings, and I know it’s nearing six. That’s when Jo Jo has been calling me to pick her up. Her life is all about after school cheer camps for the last few weeks. A few of those days she got home earlier than six, some around five, even one day she got out shortly after four. But now, according to Jo Jo, it’s going to be nearly six everyday. She leaves before eight and I don’t see her till six, and then she goes straight to her room.

Dean claps me across the back as he filters past me out the door. “Thanks, buddy. Tell Jo Jo I said hello. And tell her I said congratulations when she makes it. I know she will.”

I lock the door at Turner Saddlery and adjust my hat, pleased to feel evening overtaking the midday heat. “You’re at high school around high schoolers everyday,” I repeat hiswords back to him, adding, “tell her yourself.” Then I smirk. “I’ll tell her.”

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