Opposite of Always(62)

And I nod although Franny’s back is to me.

“Nothing is more right,” I say.

So. I have my reservations about the whole bookie thing.

Fortunately for me, I do know a guy who knows a gal who knows a guy— Which basically comes down to me asking Franny’s dad for help. I know, I know—sort of a dick move, right? While I’d understand Franny feeling betrayed if he found out I’d gone behind his back and met with his enemy, I’m hoping that if he knew the stakes he’d offer his support.

Franny’s dad laughs when I pitch him my idea. “Let me get this straight, man,” he says, scratching his chin like his brain’s doing serious heavy lifting, “you want me to put up a few thousand dollars on your behalf with a bookie who will put a cap in both of our asses if you don’t pay up? And the money you’re putting up is on a team that hasn’t made the NCAA tourney since, like, I was a raggedy kid in diapers? AND you wanna bet that these motherfuckers are gonna win it all? Like the whole shebang? Crown those never-won-nothing-in-their-lives cats king?”

I’ll be honest, hearing him spell it out like this is not exactly inspirational, but I nod just the same.

“And your parents don’t know nothing about this, right?”

“No,” I confirm.

“Franny neither?”

“Also no.”

“So, when this plan goes south—and I’m not saying if, but when—I’m the one who’s gonna look like First Lieutenant Asshole, huh?”

I repeat my offer of 10 percent of the winnings, but he shakes his head.

“No, no, man,” he says. “Your money, your wager. Besides, not to shit on your dreams, son, but were I you, I wouldn’t be counting my chips just yet.”

“So, you’ll do it? You’ll make the bet for me?”

“After all you’ve done for my kid, I hardly see how I can deny you this, stupid as it is. Just don’t come crying and pissing when you’re broke as shit, okay? Won’t be able to do nothing for you just ’cause you’re a kid.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I repeat.

But Franny’s dad just mutters, “I must have a goddamn death wish.”

Or maybe I’m the one with the death wish.

Going behind Franny’s back.

Playing nice with The Coupon.

And there’s this nagging feeling that I can’t ignore.

Namely, what good is a second (or third) chance if I screw everything up?

Not just with Kate.

But with Franny. What if my deal with Franny’s dad changes the entire trajectory of their lives? What if Franny and The Coupon would’ve ended up happily ever after but now because of me they end up wishing the other person never existed?

And what about Jillian? She’d be stuck in the middle—maybe she’d feel like she had to choose a side. What if she chooses the side opposite of me? What if I lose her forever?

Could I live with all of that?

Am I prepared to say goodbye to all the people who mean something, to maybe save Kate?

While I wait for Kate to email back, I kill time watching the Sports Network debate which teams are guaranteed tournament locks and which teams are riding the bubble. The four sportscasters are split, with the most vocal of the quartet unimpressed by Mandrake’s strength of schedule.

I just don’t see it, he contends, flailing his arms. Have they played well, yes, they have. They’ve done what they’ve needed to do to have a shot at the tournament. But frankly, so have a half dozen other teams with better résumés.

So.

Looks like I have until Selection Sunday, two days from now, to know if my investment in the Pigs is a complete butcher job—I’m sorry—but seriously, I’m concerned. But I haven’t devised another way to get Kate the help she needs/deserves. And this plan, as evidenced by the above analysis, is/was a long shot from the beginning.

So, I ask you, what good is being from the future if you don’t get a leg up on the past?

“Hey, Jackie, what’s the word, baby?”

There’s something about Franny’s dad that makes me think he was a god in the 1970s.

“Um, just making sure everything is cool with . . . uh . . . our . . . agreement.”

“Oh, the bet? Yeah, it’s all good, man.”

“Oh, okay. Good.”

“That all you wanted?”

“Actually—”

“Yeah, let me get a number six combo but no lettuce and no pickle but with extra mayo, but on the side. And throw in one of those hash browns, too.”

“Uh, are you there?”

“Hold on, Jackie . . . what you mean you done serving hash? I thought y’all served it all day. I have my mouth set for some . . . fine. Whatever. I’ll take a cherry pie. . . . Sorry, Jack. You was saying?”

“It’s about Franny. Francisco.”

“What about him?”

“He wants to see you.”

“Ha. Funny way of showing it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He won’t answer my calls or my texts. The other day he walked out on me before I could get out one word.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Because isn’t it the other way around? The Coupon dodging Franny?