Page 44 of Summer Lessons

Still, it took Mason a minute to process what those two things had to do with each other. “Money,” he grunted. “Sorry.” All of Tesko employees got to choose, but Kaiser was cheaper. And, of course, if Skipper had been born in Kaiser—possibly on welfare, if his childhood had been as bleak as he’d said—he would have kept his number for life. Sutter was pricier, but the reputation for service was better. Great. He even had bourgeoisie health insurance.

“No, don’t be—I wasn’t trying to be shitty. I’m glad it’s the good kind—you could be waiting at Kaiser for a while.”

That reminded him! He grabbed the phone and called urgent care, reporting his ETA as fifteen minutes. When he hung up, he leaned his head back and sighed.

“This is so embarrassing. You know it’s probably a minor sprain—you totally would have hopped up and scored a goal or something.” Mason tried not to picture himself going right over and flat on his face. “God—way to make an impression!”

Terry’s schoolboy giggle didn’t exactly surprise him. “Yeah, it was pretty epic. We’ll be giving you shit for that for years. Like, every time you come down the field, someone’ll yell ‘Timber!’—it’ll be great!”

For years? Oh hell. “Yeah, if I wanted to relive fifth grade again.”

“No, no—see, when you get to be a grown-up, it’s good to do that. When you’re a kid, you don’t know how to own that shit, but now? You just make a whistling sound like a tree falling, and you’ll be in!”

Mason chuckled in spite of himself. “I never thought I’d be using my fifth-grade social skills to make friends as an adult.”

“Why are you?” Terry asked.

The question caught him by surprise, but he didn’t have to think about it long. “Right before Dane and I moved to Sacramento, I had, like, a major breakup.”

“Bummer. Did you cheat?”

Mason let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Of course not. No, he did. With my boss. It was weird. I mean,Iwas the one who was sort of fucked over—or fucked under, I guess. But they ended up with all the friends in the split.” Mason shrugged, trying to remember the last time he’d really missed Ira. “It’s just as well. He thought I was an idiot, and he liked to talk down to me. I… I hate it when I think I’m a rich douche bag who might be just like him.”

“No,” Terry said, merging onto the freeway with the practiced ease of someone who knew this stretch of road well. “No, you’re great. You’re nice and you treat me like a human. Don’t worry—once we start calling you Timber and you laugh with us, you’ll be in!”

“That’s comforting,” Mason said, thinking it was true. “Maybe you can come golfing with me, Carpenter, Dane, and we can think of a good nickname foryou.”

Terry laughed. “Squirrel!”

“Where?” Mason didn’t want to look—a squirrel on the freeway was just too tragic.

“No,me, dumbass. I’m the squirrel. That could be my nickname.”

“Only if you get to climb the tree every now and then,” Mason said, liking the dirty pun.

Terry did too, because he laughed. “Lots of times. This squirrel wants to climb that tree up his asslotsof times.”

“Just—” Mason winced as the car hit a bump. “—not tonight.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet until the hospital. A nurse was waiting outside with a wheelchair, and Mason got taken away to fill out paperwork. Terry met him upstairs at X-Ray, where the wait was supposed to be a good hour, and Mason smiled at him gamely from his semidoze against the back wall.

“You found a parking space?”

“Ugh. Yeah. Took forever.”

Oh. Oh no. He was on such a short leash. “You, uh, could always leave if you have to, and call Dane or Skip.”

Terry scowled. “Is that what you want? Would you rather have your brother or Skip here with you?”

“No.” Mason closed his eyes and thought wistfully about warm cookies and milk and comfort things. “No, I’d rather have you.”

The hand on his shoulder was a surprise—but a nice one. “That’s why I volunteered,” Terry said. “Even if your brother was probably right. Your car would have been more comfortable.”

Mason smiled but kept his eyes closed. They’d given him some pain meds, and the world was so lovely and floaty that he didn’t want to see self-recrimination or try to deal with the convoluted squirrel path of Terry’s brain.

“It’s enough that you’re here.” Until Terry grabbed his hand, he didn’t realize he’d said that out loud.