Mad About You

pointers."
    He still looked skeptical, but pulled himself up to a seated position.
    She took it as a good sign and nodded toward the door. "Put on your new shoes."
    After much huffing and sighing, he dragged himself up the stairs, but when he came back down wearing baggy shorts and the spanking new shoes, he had a decided bounce in his step. He leapt up to smack the door frame, grabbed the ball from her hands, launched over the steps, and zigzagged as he dribbled down the driveway.
    She smiled to herself, feeling her heavy heart lift a fraction. It was just a walk to the park, but it was something.
    The sun shone high and gloriously white in a cloudless sky. They passed other people on the sidewalk, mothers with strollers, groups of kids.
    "You know," she said carefully between his pronounced dribbling, "school starts in a few weeks."
    "So?" The sullen tone had returned.
    "So, I was wondering if you'd like me to arrange a visit before the first day, you know—so you can check things out."
    He shrugged, bouncing the ball between his legs. "Whatever."
    She took that as a yes. "You'll have to tell me what kind of supplies you'll need. This will be a first for me."
    He stopped dribbling and angled his head at her, then tried to spin the ball on his finger. "Are you going to be one of those mothers who hang around a lot and do the PTA stuff?"
    Momentarily shocked at his acknowledgment, she stammered. "I—I honestly don't know." She swallowed and took a gamble. "What kind of mother was Lois?"
    He jerked his head up and stared at her with wide blue eyes. She kept her expression passive, her gait casual. The ball hit the pavement one, two, three times before he said, "She was a great mom."
    She nodded. "I'm sure she was. Did the two of you do things together?"
    Bounce, bounce. "Sometimes, before she got sick."
    She felt a pang of sympathy for her son. "That must have been really hard on you."
    Bounce, twirl, bounce. "Not as hard as it was on her." He looked up at her. "She cried a lot."
    "From the pain?"
    Chad stopped, bent over, and retied his shoe. "Yeah, and she worried about me." Bounce, bounce.
    "I know how she felt," Virginia said softly. "I worried a lot about you too."
    He tossed the ball in the air and caught it, then tossed it up again. Looking ahead, his face split in a grin. "Wow! Four goals, with nets and everything!" He was off like a shot toward the nearly vacant courts. Virginia sighed and jogged after him.
    His driving layup was impressive as he pivoted, dodging imaginary defenders. By the time she caught up with him, he'd taken several shots, making more than he missed.
    "You're pretty good," she said breathlessly. "You'll have to go easy on me—I haven't played in years."
    "Here." He bounced her the dark orange ball. She took a minute to adjust to the weight and feel of the nubby surface, dribbling tentatively.
    "You dribble like a girl," he scoffed.
    She stepped behind the free throw line, aimed, and let the ball fly. It passed through the goal so cleanly, the net barely moved. Chad's mouth dropped open, and she laughed out loud. "I shoot like a girl too."
    They decided to play a hybrid version of horse, earning letters to spell the word by making baskets at different spots on the court. After marking the shot areas on the court with a piece of scavenged chalk, they agreed on two practice games. Chad won the first game convincingly, and Virginia won the second game by a nose. By the time the third game rolled around, they were laughing and sweating.
    "Ready?" Chad asked, poised for his first shot.
    Virginia nodded. "Ready."
    He made the H shot handily, then stalled out. "How'd you meet Bailey?" he asked after she'd missed her first shot.
    "In college," she said. "He liked my car."
    He shot and missed. "Yeah, he showed me all of his cars at the farm."
    She made two baskets and moved up to R before missing again.
    He made his O shot, then missed. "You two going to get back together?" he asked.
    Virginia missed badly. "What makes you think that?"
    Chad chased the loose ball, then made the shot and moved on to S, where he missed again. "He likes you."
    She made the basket and moved to S. "How can you tell?"
    His shot swished in and he moved to E. "He makes googly eyes at you when you're not looking." He missed, then bounced the ball to her.
    Her stomach churned, and it had nothing to do with the pressure of the game. "Well, unfortunately, there's more to marriage than googly eyes." She made the basket and