Page 43 of Broken Halos
“I’m free for the day,” Esther said then looked at Mamma and Henry. “What about you guys? Willing to risk the snake venom?”
“Sure,” Henry said with a grin.
“I’m game,” Mamma said.
“I’ll go wherever Ollie does,” I said boldly, loving the way his hand on my waist gripped me a little tighter after hearing my declaration.
“Great!” Millie said. “I’ll take the lovebirds with me, and you can follow me.”
“Sounds good,” Mamma agreed. “Oh, and, Millie, never let my son drive you anywhere.”
“Hey!” I said. “I’m a fabulous driver.”
“If by fabulous you mean taking corners on two wheels, speeding through yellow lights, and weaving in and out of lanes like a NASCAR race, then yes, you are,” Mamma said.
“I have places to go and people to see,” I scoffed.
“I’m thankful every day that one of those places isn’t a morgue and one of those people isn’t an undertaker.”
“Maybe I could slow it down a little bit,” I offered.
“One of my prayers has been answered,” Ollie said dramatically. “I do believe in miracles.”
“I’m about to remember something important I should be doing,” I threatened.
Ollie removed his hand from my waist and reached for my hand. “I’ll play nice.” I didn’t mind when he played dirty, but I preferred to do that in the privacy of a bedroom.
And if I thought I’d learned all of Ollie’s surprises then I was wrong. Millie drove us to a dive in the middle of nowhere called Burt’s. “They serve the best beer and wings here,” she said when we all stood outside the door. “What?” she asked when she saw my surprise. “A Christian woman can’t enjoy a beer and some wings while watching football on Sunday?”
“She absolutely can, and should,” I amended, opening the door for her.
“I love manners on a person,” she told me.
“That means no belching after drinking a beer, Esther,” I teased.
“Wiseass,” she muttered under her breath as she followed Millie to a corner booth.
The semicircle booth was big enough to seat all of us and allow us a great view of the game that was about to start. “I’m so glad the game is on the normal broadcast network,” Millie said. “I can only take so much of Troy and Joe calling a game before they turn my stomach and ruin my appetite.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I told her.
Millie wasn’t lying about the wings and beer being the best. They worked with local IPA brewers and offered the big-name brands as well to provide a stunning array of beer. Millie’s dark ale reminded me of something you’d find in England. I was impressed by the bold, crispness of it but still preferred my lighter ale with stronger floral and fruit undertones. Everyone else chose sodas or water instead of beer. We munched on wings, potato skins, and coleslaw while talking about the game and arguing calls until halftime.
“Archie, are you riding home with us?” Mamma innocently asked after we settled the bill and walked outside.
I looked at Ollie, unsure how to answer. I wanted to stay with him longer but didn’t want to inconvenience him if there were things he needed to do. We didn’t live hundreds of miles apart, but an hour round-trip would be an inconvenience to some.
Not Ollie. “I’ll bring him home whenever he’s ready. If that’s okay with you, Arch.”
Mamma smiled broadly. “It’s fine with him. Come on, Henry and Esther. We better get going. The Reds have a late start time this afternoon and traffic will be a disaster getting back into the city.”
“Be careful,” I told Mamma, pulling her into a hug. She’d chosen not to drink, but she wasn’t wrong about the flood of traffic into the city. It was always chaos when football and baseball season overlapped. People seemed to lose their minds and drive like…me. “I’ll call you soon.”
We all hugged each other goodbye and got in our separate vehicles. Neither Ollie nor I said much during the drive back to his house. Millie mostly tsked about the things being said on talk radio. “Why must they be so hateful?” she asked. “I like to win as much as the next person, but I don’t feel the need to say such terrible things about these men. Do you think it’s because we forget they’re men? Does their athletic ability somehow transport them to a higher plane in our subconscious? They’re just men who have families who love them and have to hear and read such utter garbage. Why, I’d have to keep my television and radio turned off and cancel my subscription to the Cincinnati Enquirer if I was married to one of them.”
“Little young for you, aren’t they, Mama?” Ollie teased.
“I wasn’t being literal, Oliver. You know Randall still has my heart.”