yedred hair was pulled back in
a sloppy ponytail。 A halo of auburn frizz puffed out around her forehead。
？There you are。？ Babs sighed。 ？Didn？t you hear me calling for you？？
Nate shook his head； suddenly very concerned about how stoned he was。
？Well；？ she continued； strolling toward him； past the piles of cardboard boxes and all the old toys
and junk that she and the coach had stored up there。 ？You know what my husband said： while he？s
out of town； you？remine。 ？
？Y…y…yeah；？ stammered Nate。 Coach was away at some lacrosse conference in Maryland for the
week； probably learning new techniques in torturing high school boys。 Nate was suddenly
panicked he hadn？t pletely put out the joint。 Were his pants going to catch fire？
Yikes。
？The thing is； Nate；？ Babs went on； idly tracing the handle…bars of a rusted Schwinn bike that
was hanging from the ceiling； ？I need a hand。 Do me a little favor； will you？？
？？Course。？ he nodded。 ？That？s what I？m here for。？
？Well； this particular favor might be outside of your regular job description；？ she admitted。 ？But
if you？d be so kind as to help me out； maybe I won？t mention anything about the fact that my attic
smells like a Grateful Dead concert。 What do you say？？
What can you say to blackmail？
？I？m 。 。 。 I？m sorry；？ Nate stumbled。 ？It won？t happen again。？
Babs laughed。 ？You can？t possibly expect me to believe that。？ She smiled； pushing past the
upside…down bike toward Nate； who was still hunched by the window。 ？But never mind。 I need a
hand； and you？ve got two。？ She took his now…callused hands in hers； examining them。 ？Two very
capable； strong hands。？
Nate wondered if he shouldn？t wa