Page 77 of Caught in a Storm
Lawson nods up to the main house. “Extra bedroom. Not a bad little setup. One of those feather beds. Like sleeping on a giant Muppet.”
Billy tries to imagine Robyn leading him up the stairs, handing him clean pillowcases.
Lawson tosses a ball up underhanded. It rolls around the rim and falls in. “You haven’t seen our girl yet today, have you?” he asks.
“She’s apparently at a farmer’s market with Robyn.”
“Perfect day for it. Hey, is that an espresso?”
Billy looks at the little glass hooked to his index finger.
“Reckon that’s quite good.”
Billy can hardly believe the question he’s about to ask. He has to ask it, though, right? It’s just common decency. “Um, do you want one?”
“That’d be lovely. Thanks, mate.”
A moment later, Billy returns to the driveway with an espresso for Lawson and a new one for himself. Lawson holds Caleb’s basketball in his armpit and clinks his little glass against Billy’s little glass.
A jogger passes, a woman a few years younger than Billy and Lawson. She does a double take, then a triple take, then stumbles over the curb.
“Morning, love!” Lawson calls, then he drains his espresso in a single gulp. To Billy, he says, “Fancy a shoot-about?”
“A what?”
“One-on-one? Twenty-one? Horse?”
“Do they even have basketball in England?”
“Here and there,” says Lawson. “I played rugby when I was a lad. Picked basketball up stateside. I was up for a part. A Spike Lee Joint about a phenom baller from the inner city. When I started playing, it just…well, came natural. I’m a bit of an athlete, as you can tell.” He rolls the ball to Billy, then jogs in a short circle. “Here, mate, feed me.”
Billy passes Lawson the ball. The actor banks it off the glass. Not a difficult shot, but Billy is aware that he’s yet to see him miss.
“Lawson, I don’t wanna sound unfriendly, but…what are you doing here?”
Lawson seems almost offended. “I think I made my intentions quite clear last night. To you. To Mar. To the rest of the lot. That said, I understand that this puts you in a somewhat awkward position.”
Billy isn’t sure where he should be aiming his eyes. Looking directly at Lawson, he finds, is unsettling, and the two espressos he’s had are starting to enter his bloodstream like a swirl of tiny jackhammers. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. So maybe you should, I don’t know…go?”
“Go?” says Lawson. “Go where?”
“Away. A hotel. Or back to…where did you come from?”
“Last night? Oh, L.A. Flew commercial.”
“L.A., then,” says Billy. “Go there. Or anywhere that isn’t here. Seriously, anywhere.”
Lawson dribbles twice, hits a quick layup, then he and Billy both turn at the sound of the front door opening. Caleb steps into the driveway wearing joggers and sneakers, a long-sleeved T-shirt.
“Perfect,” says Lawson. “We’ve got another player. A tall one at that.”
“Dad?” Caleb says. “What’re…what’re you guys doing?”
“We’re just talking, Cay,” says Billy. “It’s fine.”
“Here, show us your moves, stretch.” Lawson passes to Caleb. Caleb catches it but clearly has no idea what to do next.
“Go on, then,” Lawson says. “Shoot. Pop the J. Fire the rock. I could go on with basketball phrases if you’d like. I know quite a few.”
