The Hail Mary

by Ginger Scott

  “Thank you,” Stacia mutters, letting go of her embrace that has fallen to my hand and turning back to the front for the beginning service.

  Reed is stoic. I slide into the space between him and Jason and welcome the warmth of them both at my sides, even though it’s miserably hot in this room. I can feel them living and breathing next to me.

  Family.

  I turn enough to face Reed and reach my hand across his chest to fix the collar I saw earlier. He catches my hand before it leaves and holds it tight against his heart, his gaze straight forward but lost. I curl my fingers under his into a fist, scratching at the fabric of his jacket and shirt, as if I want to dig out pieces of him to keep with me and carry around. He lets go of his hold so I turn to face forward and let my palm rest against his leg. He covers it to keep it there.

  Trig’s father speaks first. His family was very involved in their church, and I guess his parents wanted to make today as personal as they could. He invites others to share stories about Trig, and one by one, people begin to file up to the side of the stage. Reed has so many, but he stays in his seat, next to me. He doesn’t want to share them because they’re too close—too much of him and Trig. I think he should share, but I won’t make him. We talked about it on the phone last night, and he said if he got that feeling that he needed to he would. Right now, I doubt he feels a thing.

  Stacia stands last, walking up slowly and leaving her girls in the care of their grandmother and grandfather in front of us. I note how her hands tremble with the folded pages she holds as she takes the steps one at a time. She lifts her long black skirt and swallows down the constantly rebuilding wall that’s trying to keep her from making it through this. Somehow, by the time she rests the papers on the podium and pulls the mic in close to her lips, she’s found strength. Deep-red lips I’ve always envied pull into a respectful smile, and her eyes find a sparkle as they sweep around the room.

  “Ahhhh,” she breathes out, letting her long lashes fall closed against her cheeks. She lifts her chin as if there were a sky above to warm her face. Her smile remains and her eyes don’t open until she levels her head and looks at us all again.

  “Trig is with us today. Oh yes, he is,” she says, her words welcomed with a collective exhale. She nods and I gaze around the room to find dozens of people nodding with her. Hands lift in the air and eyes close as people pray, but not in a way that says anything other than respect and joy.

  The room swims in this feeling for a heavy moment or two before Stacia begins to share her story about Trig Johnson: how they met on campus, how he pursued her relentlessly, how he proposed. She tells the stories of each pregnancy and how neurotic and amazing her husband—ex-husband—was for every delivery. She talks about birthdays and anniversaries, and pranks and vacations. She talks about his love for family, and for his girls. And then…she goes somewhere I thought she would have avoided today. She talks about the end—the divorce that killed them both. I grip against Reed’s leg nervously, uncomfortable that she’s sharing the sad times with this room filled with people there to love this man. Only, Stacia never makes it feel like those times were ugly, even though many of us know they were. She talks about how hard they were—how marriage is hard for anyone, and maybe just a little harder for people who live in this world. She talks about how football and injuries and retirement changed her husband, and how she lost him a little in the mix of it all. But then she mentions the amazing moments, all of the times that he was there—for his girls, for her, for a cancer scare her father went through and one of her own.

  “Our bond was one that could never be broken completely. This man and his relentless pursuit,” she stops to chuckle. “Oh, he could even flirt with me after a divorce settlement, I swear.”

  A chuckle rumbles through the room.

  “I know you’re still there, Babe. I know you hear me now, and that you’re seeing all of this. Always had to have the best parties, didn’t you? We’ll be talking a lot. I’ll still turn to you. Always.”

  My cheeks are wet before I realize that tears have fallen, and Reed leans into me and runs his thumb along my face.

  “I love you,” he whispers. I don’t look, but just from the texture of his voice I can tell—he is crying too.

  The procession from the hall takes nearly an hour, and it is an hour after that for us to make it to the cemetery. They lay Trig to rest in a spot next to his cousin and his great grandfather. It feels like he should have more pomp and circumstance, given how loud he lived his life. But his marker is the smallest among those nearby. The words are simple: HUSBAND, FATHER, SON.

  Nothing about this day is about the game. It’s about the man.

  Reed and I hug Stacia one more time and wait for Jason to give her condolences while we wait near the rental car.

  “I’m leaving with Coach in an hour.” Reed stretches his arm along the side of the car so I can slide into him. I do, and I let my head fall against the side of his chest. “They have a guy who’s taking my Jeep back. It’s at Trig’s parents’ house.”

  “The team leaving today?” I ask.

  “They’re already there. A few of the guys came with us. I think maybe seven of us will be flying in tonight.” Reed seems so heavy and lost in his thoughts; I worry about him carrying it into the game.

  “You know Trig is not you, right? Us…we aren’t them.” His head turns to face me slowly and our eyes meet. He blinks and lowers his head just a little to acknowledge me. He never says he believes it, though.

  Jason walks to us and I hand him the keys, knowing he’s probably the most able to focus on driving right now. Reed climbs in the back, insisting I take the front. I unfold my visor after I buckle so I can flip down the mirror and look at him. His gaze drifts right back to the window, to Trig’s resting place, and he brings his thumb to his lips and chews at the nail I’ve noticed he’s whittled down to almost nothing.

  Jason pulls us through the serene gardens and out onto the main road where we’re instantly greeted by honking horns and swerving drivers rushing out for lunch. Everyone is in such a hurry. I suppose I have the effects of recent perspective, though. Mine, too, will fade. I hope I hold onto enough not to rush through life, though.

  “How long until we get to the airport?” I ask.

  “It’s about thirty minutes. I tried to get our flight moved up. We won’t be too far behind them, though,” Jason says.

  I nod, then shift to get my eyes on Reed over my shoulder. His head turns to meet my gaze when I move and he gives me a soft smile, but quickly drifts back to the window. He must be dying in that jacket. He left it on, even for the car ride.

  “You wanna take that off?” I say, reaching through the seats and tugging at the end of his sleeve. He stretches his arms out, then bends his elbows as he looks down at the heavy woolen folds.

  “I’m okay,” he says.

  Okay.

  Not even close.

  The roadway has an even cut of cracks in it. I start to predict the pattern of the click of the wheels. It’s like a snap every quarter mile, and I find that when I count in fours, I keep up with the signs posted along the roadway for how far is left to go for the airport. I’m drunk in the numbness of the banal noise when Jason stirs me out of the daydream.

  “They’re donating him for research.” Jason says it quietly, but it’s still loud enough that his voice can be heard throughout the car. Reed hasn’t reacted physically, but I know he heard. I won’t look because I don’t want to have this talk right now in front of him.

  “Did they say why?” Reed asks, his sound indirect because he’s still looking out at the rushing cars going the other way.

  I swallow hard and close my eyes.

  “That’s a hard decision to make,” I say, wanting to steer away from this subject.

  From science and bodies and studies of the brain.

  Trig’s brain.

  Reed’s brain.

  “Stacia told me it was her wish, but when she brought it u
p to Trig’s parents, they were all for it. There’s a group studying various brain injuries…”

  “Jason,” I interrupt, glaring at him so hard he must feel the heat of my stare because he turns to match my gaze.

  “Sorry,” he mouths.

  “I’ve heard of the study,” Reed fills in. My stomach rolls with sickness, and I go back to counting the thumps on the roadway. I need forty-eight more of them for this car ride to end.

  Neither Jason nor I engage Reed’s follow-up, and after two miles in silence, I start to feel like we’ve moved away from the subject. Reed isn’t close to done, though.

  “Trig was depressed,” Reed says, his voice louder than before.

  I pull my brow in, but I don’t say a word.

  “He’d been through a lot,” Jason responds, lifting enough in his seat to get his eyes on Reed in the mirror.

  “Yeah…I guess…” Reed doesn’t sound convinced.

  My lips move and push against each other, chewing on the words I won’t say—I can’t say. I don’t want to start comparing Reed to Trig, retirement to playing options, married to divorced. Everything about this makes me sad, and it makes me worry more than I already do. I worry in my sleep—worry about Reed’s head being changed forever. I worry about him being sad over his friend, for comparing himself to Trig.

  I worry that he’s going to play longer than he should because he’s afraid that quitting will kill him slowly. The depression scares him more than the physical pains. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like this—distant…troubled. He doesn’t make good decisions in this headspace. After our accident in high school, he got like this—irrational and dangerous. It happened again after we lost a pregnancy when Peyton was two. And again, when she was three.

  We’re saved by the sound of Jason’s phone blaring. He pulls it from his pocket, leaning to one side while he drives, then hands it to me and signals for me to press speaker. I don’t recognize the number, so I assume it must be one of his assistants or something. When I press to answer, I act as if I’m his secretary.

  “Good afternoon. This is Jason Johnson’s line. He is currently…indisposed. May I tell him who is calling?” I play up the sexy voice and pucker my lips to hold in my laugh as Jason takes the phone from me and rolls his eyes. He presses speaker and holds the phone to his ear.

  “This is Jason. I’m sorry that…”

  His head turtles into his shoulders and his throat makes a faint grunting sound.

  “That was Nolan, Sarah.” He huffs through his nose, and I cup my mouth to hold in laughter.

  “Oh, shit!” I mouth toward my brother-in-law as he shakes his head at me in admonishment. I twist to look at Reed, but he’s already checked out, staring at his own phone for his flight information. His expression couldn’t be less interested in the funny slip I just had.

  “Nolan, tell her it’s you.” Jason holds the phone in front of my face and I move to look at it.

  “It was me. Sorry, I was trying to entertain us during our drive.”

  “Thank you,” Jason says to me, returning the phone to his ear. I stare at him for a few more seconds, and the way his face lights up makes me smile. Reed was right—this is real. My brother-in-law is in love with my best friend. I can hear the sounds of her voice slightly through the phone, but I can’t make out the words. I just hear the tenor of happiness piping through the line. I hear them both laugh over stupid jokes—shared, inside jokes. I see Jason struggle with not wanting to let Sarah go as we pull into the airport.

  Their goodbyes drag on, and Reed pulls on the latch in the backseat and steps out of the car, suddenly in a hurry. In a fit of panic, I grab the phone after Jason’s last, cutesy goodbye and press END CALL. When his irritated eyes flash to mine, I strangle them with my imploring stare.

  “I don’t know how you’ll do it, but I need you to get him off that plane. I need you to strand us both here. We’ll hit the road the minute you leave. I’ll drive all night. But you cannot let him leave me right now, not like this. I don’t care what lies you have to tell, but I know my husband, Jason, and he’s so lost right now. He can’t get on that plane and be away from me. He can’t get on a field in three days without me talking to him. And it can’t be at the hotel. It can’t be near the team and near the game. I need him unplugged. Please, Jason. I know it in my heart.”

  Jason blinks twice, turning to glance out the back window where the trunk is now open and Reed is pulling out a bag. The brothers are wearing the exact same suit, but Jason seems at ease in his. Reed is strangled, and it’s more than just his body frame and muscles. It’s his spirit. Jason glares at his brother through the small space between the car and the trunk hood.

  “Please,” I beg. “Given what he’s been through…the team will understand. Call it personal time. Whatever you need to do.”

  My brother-in-law lets out a heavy breath, probably mentally inventorying all of the dominoes he has to line up to get me what I want. What I need. It’s not going to be easy. And his ass will be the one that gets chewed because right now—Reed is all that team has. He’ll be putting his management rep on the line. His future is just starting, and he has plans to grow.

  Plans for after…when Reed is done.

  “This is the kind of agent and manager you want to be. Beyond this being me asking, more than the fact that it’s your brother. You want to be the guy that does what’s best. That’s what you said when you sold your shares in the dealership, when you put it all on the line—when you talked Reed into coming with you and dropping Dylan.”

  Jason’s eyes come back to mine and he holds them there for several seconds. I feel my heart kick in my throat, and I can hear his—I swear it.

  “Take the wheel. We can’t park here.” He unbuckles and I do the same, stopping with my hands on the door handle.

  “What do I tell him?” I wasn’t certain I’d be able to talk Jason into this, so I didn’t bother dreaming up fake excuses. I left that all to him.

  His eyes flicker, and his head shakes a few times in thought.

  “Uhhhh,” he says as his knee starts to bob. The trunk shuts. “I’m getting out now. I’m going to tell him I fucked the tickets up. I’m going to tell him I’m going to fix it, that I’ll call soon. But you need to drive around the airport while I go in. That’ll give me time. Ready?”

  My mouth curves in an elated smile that betrays the surprised look I’m supposed to have on my face in about seven seconds.

  “Nolan, are you ready?” Jason is a little harsher now.

  “Yeah, uhm…sorry. Yes,” I say, timing my door opening with his.

  I round the front of the car and get to the front seat just as Jason’s palm flattens on his brother’s chest. I only hear bits and pieces of his lie, focusing on my role—to get in the car, to drive, to wait.

  I glance in the mirror at the officers now pointing at our car that’s been parked here a little too long. I can hear Reed’s voice raise and I make out “Damnit, Jason. You had one job!”

  I wince with guilt. I’ll make this up to Jason. I’ll tell Reed eventually, maybe even soon. I’ll tell him as soon as I know he’s mine for the road. And one day, he’ll know that his brother did have one job—Reed’s best interest—and he did it.

  “Fucking idiot,” Reed grumbles as he tosses his bag in the backseat and then slams the back door shut. A second later he opens the passenger door and climbs in, the scowl creasing his skin deeper than before. “Drive…I guess.”

  My insides sting from the attitude, but I know he doesn’t mean it. He’s frustrated, and he’s working so hard to hold up a wall protecting him from today and all of the questions it put in his head.

  “Jason said he’d take care of it. I’ll just circle a few times. I’m sure it will be fine.” I have to look to my left to avoid any hint of Reed in my periphery because I swear the guilt is stamped across my face.

  “I just don’t know how you can fuck something as simple as air travel up so badly. Coach is
going to be pissed. I don’t need that.”

  I spare a glance as I merge into the flow of traffic. Reed is chewing at his thumbnail again, his elbow resting on the window edge.

  “Jason will figure it out,” I pile on. I’m going to have to grovel to both of the Johnson boys for the hole I’m digging for them both with this. I know it’s the right thing to do, though. And when we’re in our place—just Reed and me—he’ll know that it was right, too.

  I make it a full lap and start the next one when Reed starts hurriedly texting his brother. He calls him when he doesn’t get an answer within a minute. Jason doesn’t answer, and it’s probably because he’s on the other line trying to make a miracle happen with the TSA.

  “I’m gonna let Coach know,” Reed says. I panic, wondering if somehow Coach will know this is all one big sham. Not giving it much thought—enough thought—I reach to my right and punch Reed’s phone from his hands, sending it flying over his lap and down the side of the seat by the door.

  “What the hell, Noles!” His arms fly out and his eyes widen at me. I stare back at them, stupefied. I have no idea what to say.

  “I’m sorry…I thought you wanted me to take your phone, and I guess I’m just nervous because your flight is almost up and you’re nervous…I just flailed.”

  That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever made up. I could have said I saw a bee. I wonder if it’s too late to take it back? Bee? I saw a bee?

  I’m saved by Reed’s ringing phone, but unfortunately, it’s trapped in the guts of the car, and my husband’s massive hands are too big to get it out.

  “Unbelievable,” he huffs when he misses the call the first time. When it starts to ring again he shouts for me to slow down. I pull into the right lane and slow to a crawl, cars nearly rear-ending me and honking as they swerve around. I punch on the hazard lights and pray I don’t have a heart attack from the stress I’ve created.

  Reed opens his door carefully, reaching into the small space and grasping his phone before slamming his door closed again. I turn my hazards off and rejoin traffic while he answers. I fill in the blanks—Jason’s blanks, based on Reed’s half of the conversation.