shrugged. “I’ve just heard it a bunch of times. It comes on the radio now and then.”
Tibby’s eyes bored into his with such force, Brian sensed she wanted more.
“Also, my dad used to play it.”
Tibby swallowed abruptly. She dropped her eyes, but Brian didn’t.
“My father was a musician—a pianist. Did you know that? He died.”
Tibby gaped. No, she hadn’t known that. She didn’t know anything about Brian’s life, and this was a hard place to start. She swallowed again, poking her finger into the point of her pencil. “He did? I mean, he was?”
“Yeah.” Brian took off his glasses, and she was struck by how deeply set his eyes were. He took a lot of pains in rubbing his glasses into the hem of his T-shirt.
“He played that?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
Tibby bit savagely on the inside of her cheek. What kind of friend was she, that she didn’t even know this single most important thing? She knew Brian had had a lonely, sad life so far. She knew it, and yet she’d never bothered to find out why. She’d avoided it like she avoided so many things.
And Tibby knew, in that way you just know things sometimes, that Bailey had known. Bailey had known that Brian’s father had been a musician and that he was dead. Bailey had probably known how he died. She’d probably learned it inside the first hour she met Brian.
Tibby, on the other hand, had spent hundreds and hundreds of hours with Brian striving for the comfort of not knowing.
“R usty is getting open.”
Billy Kline turned around and walked two steps toward Bridget. “Sorry?”
“Rusty there. Your teammate? He’s faster than you think he is.” Bridget had never been great at keeping her mouth shut on the soccer field.
He shook his head as though to confirm the reality of the strange girl sitting on the sidelines giving him pointers.
She shrugged. She was sitting in the sunshine chewing a piece of grass like she used to do when she was a little kid on this same field. She’d forgotten how much she loved watching the game, even when it was a bunch of amateurs. “Just a thought,” she said.
He was fairly cute when he scowled. “Do I know you?”
She smiled at his accent, his grown-up voice. She couldn’t help it. She shrugged again. “I don’t know. Do you?”
Her manner seemed to throw him off. “I’ve seen you on this field a few times, I guess.”
“That’s because I’m a fan,” she said.
He nodded at her as though she were most likely a stalker, and moved back onto the field.
If she had still been her old self, he would have known she was flirting with him and he would very possibly have asked her out by now. As it was, he didn’t.
During the final minutes of the scrimmage, Rusty got open, and Billy, after waiting a beat, passed it to him. Virtually undefended, Rusty scored.
Bridget cheered from the sideline. Billy looked over at her, and he couldn’t help smiling.
Carmabelle: Hey, Len. Talked to Tibby finally. Told her we’d be there when she gets home around seven. Brian’s visiting her and driving home with her.
Lennyk162: I talked to her too. She’s funny. Still has no idea that Brian’s in love with her.
Carmabelle: You think Brian loves her in that way?
Lennyk162: I think he loves her in every way.
“Tibby, turn it off.
Please?
”
“Fine. I’ll go film somebody else,” Tibby said.
As happy as Lena was to see Tibby, she was not happy to see her video camera. She always felt horribly awkward in front of it.
“Do you want to do a dozen more or call it a day?” Tibby’s mom asked, holding up a brown paper bag full of corn. “Up to you.”
Lena checked her watch. She had half an hour before she needed to be at work. “I’ll do it,” she offered. She actually enjoyed husking corn. She was sitting at the round table in the Rollinses’ kitchen. Tibby’s mom was making some sort of salad for the Fourth of July party the following day, and Loretta, the housekeeper, was watching
Tibby’s eyes bored into his with such force, Brian sensed she wanted more.
“Also, my dad used to play it.”
Tibby swallowed abruptly. She dropped her eyes, but Brian didn’t.
“My father was a musician—a pianist. Did you know that? He died.”
Tibby gaped. No, she hadn’t known that. She didn’t know anything about Brian’s life, and this was a hard place to start. She swallowed again, poking her finger into the point of her pencil. “He did? I mean, he was?”
“Yeah.” Brian took off his glasses, and she was struck by how deeply set his eyes were. He took a lot of pains in rubbing his glasses into the hem of his T-shirt.
“He played that?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
Tibby bit savagely on the inside of her cheek. What kind of friend was she, that she didn’t even know this single most important thing? She knew Brian had had a lonely, sad life so far. She knew it, and yet she’d never bothered to find out why. She’d avoided it like she avoided so many things.
And Tibby knew, in that way you just know things sometimes, that Bailey had known. Bailey had known that Brian’s father had been a musician and that he was dead. Bailey had probably known how he died. She’d probably learned it inside the first hour she met Brian.
Tibby, on the other hand, had spent hundreds and hundreds of hours with Brian striving for the comfort of not knowing.
“R usty is getting open.”
Billy Kline turned around and walked two steps toward Bridget. “Sorry?”
“Rusty there. Your teammate? He’s faster than you think he is.” Bridget had never been great at keeping her mouth shut on the soccer field.
He shook his head as though to confirm the reality of the strange girl sitting on the sidelines giving him pointers.
She shrugged. She was sitting in the sunshine chewing a piece of grass like she used to do when she was a little kid on this same field. She’d forgotten how much she loved watching the game, even when it was a bunch of amateurs. “Just a thought,” she said.
He was fairly cute when he scowled. “Do I know you?”
She smiled at his accent, his grown-up voice. She couldn’t help it. She shrugged again. “I don’t know. Do you?”
Her manner seemed to throw him off. “I’ve seen you on this field a few times, I guess.”
“That’s because I’m a fan,” she said.
He nodded at her as though she were most likely a stalker, and moved back onto the field.
If she had still been her old self, he would have known she was flirting with him and he would very possibly have asked her out by now. As it was, he didn’t.
During the final minutes of the scrimmage, Rusty got open, and Billy, after waiting a beat, passed it to him. Virtually undefended, Rusty scored.
Bridget cheered from the sideline. Billy looked over at her, and he couldn’t help smiling.
Carmabelle: Hey, Len. Talked to Tibby finally. Told her we’d be there when she gets home around seven. Brian’s visiting her and driving home with her.
Lennyk162: I talked to her too. She’s funny. Still has no idea that Brian’s in love with her.
Carmabelle: You think Brian loves her in that way?
Lennyk162: I think he loves her in every way.
“Tibby, turn it off.
Please?
”
“Fine. I’ll go film somebody else,” Tibby said.
As happy as Lena was to see Tibby, she was not happy to see her video camera. She always felt horribly awkward in front of it.
“Do you want to do a dozen more or call it a day?” Tibby’s mom asked, holding up a brown paper bag full of corn. “Up to you.”
Lena checked her watch. She had half an hour before she needed to be at work. “I’ll do it,” she offered. She actually enjoyed husking corn. She was sitting at the round table in the Rollinses’ kitchen. Tibby’s mom was making some sort of salad for the Fourth of July party the following day, and Loretta, the housekeeper, was watching
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