Page 27 of The Bootlegger’s Bride

The players slapped each other’s shoulder pads, roared, waved, and smiled.

All except for one, cheerleader Lana Markopolus noted: A.J.

Nowak. He retained his usual stoic demeanor despite having good reason to celebrate.

The junior linebacker had made numerous tackles—the field announcer calling out his name a dozen times—and snared a late interception that sealed the victory.

Lana wondered about him. He had a hard, chiseled look and a reputation for edginess.

A fighter. Though he was no fool. In her American history class spring semester he brought the same intensity he displayed on the gridiron.

He asked good questions out of honest curiosity as opposed to brown-nosing and added background about American Indian participation in various wars—interesting info not found in the textbook.

Though infrequently in either case, never showing off or acting clever.

She got the impression he didn’t care what anyone else thought of him, including the teacher. Or her.

Though she had never spoken to him she knew about him.

Everyone did. His father had died in The War.

Then his mother had drowned after falling through the Long Lake ice, a tragic story recounted on page one of the Granite City Press-Record just a few years earlier.

So maybe he had good reason to be distant, to avoid attachments that might end in loss and suffering.

Though dark and mysterious he seemed like someone who needed help.

Her parents, physicians who had immigrated from Greece at World War II’s onset, taught her that helping other people was the noblest effort one could offer God and humanity.

She wished she could break through his cold facade to help A.J.

Nowak in some way. While others thought him a tough and self-possessed outsider, she saw him as a fragile and lost loner.

Seemingly shy around girls, he never dated anyone, at least no one from Granite City.

Stigmatized as an orphan, he likely felt insecure, wondering whether he really belonged.

The last player to leave the field as if striving not to draw attention to himself or engage with others, he moved through the cordon of cheerleaders lining the team’s exit. As he passed Lana she waved her red and white pompoms and called to him:

“Hey, 44! What can I do to make you smile?”

He paused and turned to her, looking her up and down with a glint of recognition in his eyes. Then he stepped to her, leaned forward, and whispered in her ear—six simple words—before following his teammates to the locker room.

Lana stood frozen, eyes wide, while the other cheerleaders zeroed in on her. Then—she couldn’t help it—a smile rose from deep inside her, spread across her face, and would not abate.

The Warrior cheerleaders gathered round imploring her:

“What did he say?”

“Something dirty?”

“What’d he tell you?”

She just shook her head and remained mute, realizing that she had totally misjudged him. Hardly shy. Hardly fragile or self-conscious. And certainly not lacking in self-confidence.

Lana, still smiling, turned away from the other girls, A.J. Nowak’s six words echoing within her: “Marry me and have my baby.”