Page 45 of ClickBack

“Your aunt forwarded the right one. There’s no reason for every message they send to look alike.”

Graves looks over from beside me. I put her on speaker so he can hear what we are apparently going to be doing this afternoon.

“You at Von’s?” I ask.

“For now. What time are you coming?”

“We’re checking in first. I’ll meet you at the arena.”

“All right.” She pauses. “I want a picture with both my boys tonight. A proper one.”

“We’ll get one.”

“You said that last time. Your brother had his goggles on, and you were holding a bottle in front of your face.”

Graves turns toward the window.

“Wendell there?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

“You’re my witness.”

“I heard him.”

“Thank you. And you’re getting in it, too.”

That stops whatever private entertainment he was getting out of this. I enjoy the rest of the call considerably more.

When we hang up, I look out at the city. A boy near the pickup lane had Von’s jersey over his T-shirt, number twelve hanging nearly to his knees. I watched him hurry toward a car while his father called for him to slow down. They didn’t notice me. I liked that more than I expected to.

San Antonio has been my brother’s for three seasons. Here, people buy his number without needing to know mine first. Tonight he has a chance at a second championship, and I want to see his face when he knows he has done it.

I also want to know what it feels like to get that far myself. Both things are true before we clear the airport road.

Graves checks something on his phone, then says, “Cam’s leaving you alone until tomorrow unless something changes.”

“I talked to him.”

“He wanted to make sure somebody who answers knew.”

“You enjoying your expanded responsibilities?”

“Enormously.”

I should leave it there. Instead, I ask whether he thinks people will make something of me being here.

He looks at me. “People made something of you ordering a sandwich last month.”

“That was a bad sandwich.”

“And now everybody knows. You can’t stay home every time somebody might have a question.”

“I’m not home.”

“I noticed.” He puts his phone away. “Try being here.”

At the hotel, I send Giselle a message while Graves confirms the car for later. She tells me she has been finding money in somebody’s miscellaneous expenses. I picture her at a desk, glasses on, giving a grown man the same look she gave me over those shorts. I want to see her working. That is new enough to hold my attention after I put the phone down.