A slight crack in the ice as she exhaled and seemed frustrated.She leaned forward and rested both elbows on her knees. The door opened behind them and Mrs. Lane shuffled out with a tray. "Thought you might like some hot chocolate," she said, placing it on the edge of the porch, in the large space between them.
"Thank you," Neely said.
"It'll keep the chill off," Mrs. Lane said. "Cameron, you should put on some socks."
"Yes, Mother."
The door closed and they ignored the hot chocolate. Neely wanted a long conversation, one that covered several issues and many years. She once had feelings, strong ones, and he wanted to confirm them. He wanted tears and anger, maybe a good fight or two. And he wanted to be truly forgiven.
"You were actually watching a football game?" he said.
"No. Jack was watching the game. I happened to be passing through."
"He's a football fan?"
"Not really. If he'd been a fan, I wouldn't have married him."
"So you still hate football?"
"You could say that. I went to Hollins, an all-girls school, so I could avoid football. My oldest daughter has started school at a small private academy—no football."
"Then why are you here now?"
"Miss Lila. She taught me piano for twelve years."
"Right."
"I'm certainly not here to honor Eddie Rake." Cameron picked up a cup and cradled it with both hands. Neely did the same.
When it became apparent he was in no hurry to leave, she opened up a little. "I had a sorority sister at Hollins whose brother played for State. She was watching a game, our sophomore year, and I walked into her room. There was the great Neely Crenshaw, moving Tech up and down the field, fans going wild,the announcers giddy over this great young quarterback. I thought, 'Well, good. That's what he always wanted.A big-time hero.Adoring masses.Coeds chasing him all over campus, throwing themselves at him.Constant adulation. Everybody's all-American. That's Neely.'"