An uneasy weekend ended peacefully, Caydance thought, remembering a quiet supper of quiche, salad, and champagne. Afterwards they sat together, watching film of the Stanford-Oregon game. Football, she realized as Griff explained what happened in each play -- often running and rerunning core plays, making comments, writing notes -- was more complex than she had ever imagined. A player's life from junior high school on was spent in practice almost every weekday on a continuous march to perfection that varied with every opponent. Intense game play every weekend. Every coach expected something different; the role of each player was examined and re-examined. If in another century, the life of an artist in a Renaissance studio was as intense, this was no longer the case, except in the brief years of art school. What have we lost? she wondered.
"In the weeks since we have been together I have seen you become more deeply involved with the practice of coaching," she said, as the game ended, and Stanford won again. Griff turned off the TV, looked at her as if she was the only woman in the world. "Yes, I am comfortable with that," she said in answer to his unspoken question. He smoothed her hair back from her face.
"I get very lonely in the shower by myself," he remarked.