Mercifully, Coach Diggins parks his car behind them and waits while Jessup and Deanne get dressed. They try to stay low in the backseat, to get their clothing on with some modicum of decency, but the headlights are a garish glare, shadows thrown everywhere, eyes squinting against the light.
Deanne is shaking, but she isn’t crying, and Jessup is grateful for that. She opens the door, gets out, straightening her shirt, zipping up her jacket. Jessup gets out after her. He’s shivering, pulling on his hoodie, the sweatshirt not enough to keep him warm against the chill. The mist is heavier now, more rain than snow, cold, wet, insidious, the kind of weather that brings misery, that works its way under your clothes, through your skin, that settles into your bones. His muscles tense. He can feel the bruises and soreness from the football game the night before.
He stands a half step behind Deanne, not touching her, but in her orbit. Coach Diggins rolls down the window of his car. It’s a Lexus SUV, the kind with three rows of seats, a big box, tall and menacing. Diggins doesn’t have to get out of his car to have a commanding position.
Deanne speaks first. She’s still shaking, and it shows in her voice, but Jessup realizes she isn’t frightened. She’s furious. “This is none of your business.”
He’s expecting Diggins to yell, but the coach’s voice is surprisingly soft, calm. It reminds Jessup of David John’s voice. “You’re my daughter, Deanne. Everything is my business. And, I have to say, I’m disappointed in you. You lied to me.”
Jessup has his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. His teeth are chattering. The wipers on the Lexus flip back and forth in some undetermined rhythm as the moisture accumulates. He wishes he’d done up the zipper on his sweatshirt, wants to put the hood up for warmth, but he also doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to call more attention to himself.
Deanne’s face tightens, but she gathers herself. It’s actually scary how composed she is for a sixteen-year-old girl who just got caught naked in a parked car with her boyfriend by her football coach father. “You promised that was just in case my phone was lost or something happened. Not to track me.”
“And you said you were at the State Street Diner with your friends,” Diggins says evenly. “We can have a conversation about this at home.”
“I’m not going home. I promised Jessup a ride,” she says, but Jessup can hear it in her voice: she’s already used up what bravery she has.
“Yes, you are going home,” he says. “Jessup?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Get in. I’ll drive you home. We can have a little talk.”