from
somewhere far down inside her. Over the years, and especially after
the death of her mother forced her to depend on her own judgment,
Martha had learned to trust what came from that deep, quiet
place.
Brushing aside Tony’s compliments on her
attire—although she couldn’t help noticing the appreciative gleam
in his eyes as his gaze flicked over her body—she hustled him out
to her car. When they reached the restaurant a few minutes later, a
little hole in the wall with amazingly good Chinese food, she was
relieved to find it three-quarters empty. Even better, the waiters
obviously didn’t recognize them. That hardly surprised her, since
she was far from a recognizable figure to most folks in
Jacksonville. Her picture had appeared in the sports pages of the Times-Union a few times, but who in this city of more than a
million paid attention to anything about the Thunder other than a
few thousand die-hard soccer fans? And while Tony Branch was an
A-list celebrity in England, most people here wouldn’t recognize
him from their lawn guy.
Tony picked up the little paper sleeve that
contained a pair of fragile-looking wooden chopsticks. “Classy,” he
said. “I love it.”
“Now, don’t you be getting all snooty like
some English lord of the manor,” Martha said, wagging her finger at
him. “I told you we’d have to go someplace where I’d be comfortable
that we wouldn’t be recognized.”
“Well, I think you definitely accomplished
that. Anyway, as long as everything doesn’t come to the table
covered in some neon-colored sauce, I’m sure it will be more than
fine.” He tore open the package and slipped out the sticks.
“The décor isn’t much, but the food’s really
good here,” Martha said. “Though I admit I’ve only eaten it out of
paper cartons to this point. But you’re a working class guy—you’re
not much into fine dining, are you?”
He leaned back in the basic metal and vinyl
chair and smiled at her. “My idea of fine dining is a fat sausage
with mustard at the stadium, and a pint of Guinness afterward.”
“Amen to that, brother,” she sighed, thinking
longingly of the wonderful sausage sandwiches she’d periodically
indulged in when she’d lived near the Little Italy neighborhood in
South Philadelphia.
The waiter brought them each a Tsingtao beer.
After Tony suggested she order the dishes, Martha quickly reeled
off a list of her three favorites.
As she finished, Tony said, “Speaking of the
stadium—”
“Which we weren’t,” Martha interrupted with a
warning scowl.
“…Rex and I are definitely going to take in
your match with Nashville tomorrow,” he finished, ignoring her
salvo.
When she glared at him, he held up his hand.
“Yes, I know I’m breaking our rule tonight, but I did want you to
know that. Since you’re not a fan of surprises, I thought I’d give
you a heads-up.”
Martha hadn’t given the remotest thought to
the possibility that he might want to attend a game while he was in
town. Of course, it made perfect sense. But the last thing she
wanted was Tony Branch sniffing around her team.
“Well, uh, fine, I guess,” she said
lamely.
His mouth went flat in a disapproving gesture
she was beginning to recognize.
Don’t be rude, Sugar,” her father’s
voice whispered in her ear.
She dredged up a smile. “Actually, I’ll be
interested in your opinions, if you care to share. God knows I can
use all the help I can get.” And that made sense too, come to think
of it. If she had to ask someone for advice or insights, she
couldn’t pick anyone better than him.
He smiled at her recovery. “I hope you’ll get
a better crowd than in recent matches,” he said, sounding genuinely
concerned.
She waggled her hand in a maybe/maybe
not gesture. “Advance sales aren’t great, but there’s usually a
good-sized walkup on the night,” she said with as much perkiness as
she could manage.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Another thought occurred to
somewhere far down inside her. Over the years, and especially after
the death of her mother forced her to depend on her own judgment,
Martha had learned to trust what came from that deep, quiet
place.
Brushing aside Tony’s compliments on her
attire—although she couldn’t help noticing the appreciative gleam
in his eyes as his gaze flicked over her body—she hustled him out
to her car. When they reached the restaurant a few minutes later, a
little hole in the wall with amazingly good Chinese food, she was
relieved to find it three-quarters empty. Even better, the waiters
obviously didn’t recognize them. That hardly surprised her, since
she was far from a recognizable figure to most folks in
Jacksonville. Her picture had appeared in the sports pages of the Times-Union a few times, but who in this city of more than a
million paid attention to anything about the Thunder other than a
few thousand die-hard soccer fans? And while Tony Branch was an
A-list celebrity in England, most people here wouldn’t recognize
him from their lawn guy.
Tony picked up the little paper sleeve that
contained a pair of fragile-looking wooden chopsticks. “Classy,” he
said. “I love it.”
“Now, don’t you be getting all snooty like
some English lord of the manor,” Martha said, wagging her finger at
him. “I told you we’d have to go someplace where I’d be comfortable
that we wouldn’t be recognized.”
“Well, I think you definitely accomplished
that. Anyway, as long as everything doesn’t come to the table
covered in some neon-colored sauce, I’m sure it will be more than
fine.” He tore open the package and slipped out the sticks.
“The décor isn’t much, but the food’s really
good here,” Martha said. “Though I admit I’ve only eaten it out of
paper cartons to this point. But you’re a working class guy—you’re
not much into fine dining, are you?”
He leaned back in the basic metal and vinyl
chair and smiled at her. “My idea of fine dining is a fat sausage
with mustard at the stadium, and a pint of Guinness afterward.”
“Amen to that, brother,” she sighed, thinking
longingly of the wonderful sausage sandwiches she’d periodically
indulged in when she’d lived near the Little Italy neighborhood in
South Philadelphia.
The waiter brought them each a Tsingtao beer.
After Tony suggested she order the dishes, Martha quickly reeled
off a list of her three favorites.
As she finished, Tony said, “Speaking of the
stadium—”
“Which we weren’t,” Martha interrupted with a
warning scowl.
“…Rex and I are definitely going to take in
your match with Nashville tomorrow,” he finished, ignoring her
salvo.
When she glared at him, he held up his hand.
“Yes, I know I’m breaking our rule tonight, but I did want you to
know that. Since you’re not a fan of surprises, I thought I’d give
you a heads-up.”
Martha hadn’t given the remotest thought to
the possibility that he might want to attend a game while he was in
town. Of course, it made perfect sense. But the last thing she
wanted was Tony Branch sniffing around her team.
“Well, uh, fine, I guess,” she said
lamely.
His mouth went flat in a disapproving gesture
she was beginning to recognize.
Don’t be rude, Sugar,” her father’s
voice whispered in her ear.
She dredged up a smile. “Actually, I’ll be
interested in your opinions, if you care to share. God knows I can
use all the help I can get.” And that made sense too, come to think
of it. If she had to ask someone for advice or insights, she
couldn’t pick anyone better than him.
He smiled at her recovery. “I hope you’ll get
a better crowd than in recent matches,” he said, sounding genuinely
concerned.
She waggled her hand in a maybe/maybe
not gesture. “Advance sales aren’t great, but there’s usually a
good-sized walkup on the night,” she said with as much perkiness as
she could manage.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Another thought occurred to
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