by Ann Herrick
I didn't move.
"Sit!" She pointed to the fallen chair.
I hesitated, then picked up the chair and sat. Where would I go anyway? Not to Glynnie's this time.
"Eric, yes, I was devastated Trevor broke up with me like that. I took the ring off my finger and threw it at him!"
Okay, I had to smile just a little picturing that ring sailing right at him.
"Thing is, I have terrible aim. It didn't hit him in the face, as I'd dearly hoped." Mom shook her head. "No, it flew right by and landed in the lawn, and the grass was pretty long. You know how Grampa hates mowing."
I nodded.
"Anyway, Trevor got down on his hands and knees and started crawling around looking for the darn thing. I stormed back into the house, slamming the door behind me. Of course, I peeked out through the curtains to watch him."
I had to ask. "Did he find the ring?"
"He was out there for a good twenty minutes raking through that grass with his fingers. Just as I was thinking … quite happily … that he wouldn't, he jumped up, held something up to the sky, then put it in his pocket. I've always assumed it was the ring."
"Too bad," I said.
Mom laughed. "That's what I thought, too!"
"But … did you … were you …?"
"Pining away for Trevor Rock?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"Not for long," Mom said. "The rest of that day. Well, okay, maybe the rest of that week. It helped that I was also totally ticked off at him. Nothing like a good dose of anger to help you get over a slightly dented heart. When I really thought about it, I realized I had rushed into things with Trevor and was really more in love with Love than anything … or anyone."
"And Dad?"
"You've pretty much heard that story before, Eric, except maybe the timing. I met him at the beginning of sophomore year in an American Literature class. We sat next to each other. We got assigned to do a paper together on The Scarlet Letter. We were pretty much friends for that whole year, then over the summer realized how much we missed each other and started dating at the beginning of our junior year." Mom started to sound a little teary. "We got engaged at the end of junior year and you know the rest. We got married the week after graduation."
"Yeah …." I coughed to clear the lump out of my throat. That story I'd heard before, but it was nice to hear it again, with a couple more details. Still, I had to ask. "So … why did this Rock guy show up on our doorstep after all this time?"
"Turns out the girl he gave that ring to dumped him after four years of marriage." I could see that Mom was trying not to smile about that. "He married twice more after that, his most recent divorce was a year ago. A couple weeks ago he heard the news about Dad from someone at college …."
She didn't have to finish. It was easy to figure out the rest. I was still kind of pissed though. "You could have … um, that is, how come you never told me about being engaged to this guy?"
"Eric." Mom almost bore holes in me looking me straight in the eyes. "Someday you'll get married … I hope. Are you going to tell your bride about every girl you ever dated? Are you going to bring up, say, Hedy?"
"Mom. I wasn't engaged to Hedy."
"Well, I wasn't married to Trevor. If I had been, that I would have told you." She looked down at her hands and ran her finger over her wedding ring. "And, just so you'll know, yes, I told your father I'd been engaged. I gave him every gory detail about the breakup too … maybe more than he wanted to know, but it was at the point where we were still just friends."
"How … how did he react?"
"When I told him about throwing the ring at Trevor, he laughed and said, 'Good for you!'" Mom smiled. "I liked that."
"Yeah." I could picture Dad grinning about it. "Those flowers?" I pointed to the Birthday Bouquet. "Were they a birthday gift or part of an apology for the way he broke off with you?"
"A little of both."
"Hmmph. Maybe you should have thrown the flowers at him," I said, only half joking.
"I thought about it." Mom laughed. "In fact, I started to hand them back, but he wouldn't take them. As I said, they'll brighten up that dark corner of the shop."
At that point Kirstin and Rolf came back in. They looked so happy I could almost see stars and rainbows dancing over their heads.
"What's up?" Kirstin said.
"Just reminiscing." Mom yawned. "I'll tell you about it some other time. Right now I'm ready for bed. Thanks for such a wonderful birthday dinner." She stood up and gave Kirstin a hug and kiss.
After a round of goodnights, I went upstairs, too. I was beat. I guess it was good I stayed to talk—and listen. I felt better about her and the whole Trevor Rock business. It was hard to stay angry, since I had the image of Mom hurling a ring at the guy's head and completely missing and him crawling around in the grass looking for it.
If only I could figure out a way to feel better about other stuff.
Like football.
And Glynnie.
Chapter Nineteen
At my next appointment with the counselor I talked about Dad and Mom and Glynnie, and how it'd been so hard trying to deal with everything. "Sometimes I've felt as if I'm sixty years old, and I'm carrying this huge burden on my shoulders."
Mrs. C-D told me, "It's okay to not be the strong one for your mother and sister all the time. It's okay to cry and grieve. You don't have to be the rock for everyone."
I thought about that. Maybe that's what I'd been doing, or trying to do all summer.
I rambled some then about Dad and football, Dad and recruiting, life not being the same without him.
"Life is never the same after the death of a parent," Mrs. C-D said.
"Yeah" …." I didn't say anything for a couple of minutes, and then I launched into the Trevor Rock episode from last night.
Mrs. C-D waited until I finished. "Did having an honest conversation with your mother help?"
"Yeah."
Mrs. C-D didn't say anything right away. She just looked at me for a few seconds. "Oftentimes talking with your mother or sister … or friends … will help when nothing else can."
"Yeah, I guess …." There was something else, and I didn't really want to bring it up, but, well, I was there to talk. "I … worry about Mom in another way, though … her and some other guy … together. I can't stand the thought of someone taking Dad's place."
"Could anyone else take your Dad's place for you, Eric?"
"No. Of course not. That's different."
"I don't know your mother, Eric. I can't tell you she'll never be interested in another man." Mrs. C-D looked down at her wedding ring. "As you know, I have a hyphenated name. Coleman is not my maiden name. It's my first husband's name."
I didn't say anything. I never really thought about Mrs. C-D having a personal life.
"My first husband died. I went through all the stages of grief. One day I met my present husband, and eventually we married. It doesn't mean I stopped loving my first husband. He is still in my heart."
I couldn't say anything except, "Oh."
"I didn't bring it up to discuss my life, Eric. I just wanted you to realize that love for someone doesn't die." She paused, then said, "We still have a few minutes. Tell me about your Dad. What it was like growing up with him? Tell me about what kind of Dad he was."
"He was a good dad." I thought for a minute. "I wish … I wish I could've thanked him for everything. If only I had one more minute with him to tell him I knew I was lucky to have had him at all."
"You still can, Eric. Someday, when the time is right, you'll know it."
"Yeah, I guess. But … but still, why him? It doesn't seem fair."
"No, it doesn't seem fair, Eric. But life isn't always fair."
"Yeah." Suddenly I remembered something. "Dad told me that himself. I remember when I was a sophomore, and we lost a game because the other team scored a last-minute touchdown with twelve players on the field. The refs hadn't seen it, so the touchdown counted.
"
I was furious. For days. Stuff like that wasn't supposed to happen. Football has rules. It wasn't fair."
Mrs. C-D nodded.
"Finally, Dad sat me down one evening after supper and said, 'No, it wasn't fair. It was a mistake, it was wrong, it was unfair. But sometimes life is unfair and you can't change it. That's just the way it is. All you can do is change how you react to it.'"
My breath caught in my throat for a second. I coughed, and then went on.
"Dad said I could let it eat me up and ruin the whole season. Or, I could channel my anger into energy and go out and play football. But I couldn't go back and change the outcome of that game."
I didn't have to say more.
Mrs. C-D didn't have to say more.
Just to change the subject, I grumbled about Horton for a couple minutes, and then time was up. I agreed to make another appointment.
When I got home, Kirstin looked up from weeding the border of pansies by the front steps. "Hi, Eric, you and Glynnie doing anything special today?"
"Me? And Glynnie? Us? No. Why would you think that?"
"Because you two seem to be pretty, like, you know, close."
"We're sort of friends. I guess. At least, we were."
"Were?"
"Yeah." I knelt down to pluck a weed, then took a deep breath and told her the whole story about how I ended up kissing Glynnie, and how she ignored me when I waved to her at Hedy's and then again in front of her own house.
"Uff da!" Kirstin slapped her forehead. "If Glynnie is mad at you, it's not 'cause you kissed her, it's 'cause she saw you kiss Hedy!"
"But why would she … oh. You mean kissing Glynnie was okay with her … but when she saw me kiss Hedy, she thought … she must've been …."
"Jealous."
It was my turn to slap my forehead. "Man, I have been out of circulation way too long."
"Duh."
"So now what?"
"There's this thing called the telephone. You could call her."
"I don't know. I could be wrong about how Glynnie feels." I'd never been in this situation before, where I was unsure about myself with a girl. "What would I say?"
"Well, start with complimenting her on her column in the Crystal Lake Recorder. If she doesn't hang up on you, go from there."
"Her column in the Recorder?"
"Don't tell me you haven't seen it." Kirstin pulled off her gardening gloves and dragged me inside. She grabbed the Recorder, flipped the pages, and handed it to me. "Here."
I read where Kirstin's finger pointed. "The Farewell Season." I took the paper and headed to the living room to read it.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this …." it started. From there Glynnie wrote about the expectations that Coach Pickett and all the seniors had at the end of last season and how sudden changes, injuries, health problems—even death—had changed those expectations by the time this year's season rolled around.
She wrote about overcoming unexpected adversity in a way that was personal, a way that would grab readers, and yet did not betray anyone's privacy. I could see that in her accounts of me, especially, where she portrayed my feelings, but protected my dignity.
Glynnie wrapped up by saying, "So life is not always fair. But the choice is there to make the best of it and keep our hopes high."
"So?" Kirstin said, suddenly standing next to me. "What do you think?"
I cleared my throat. "I, uh, think I should call Glynnie. Talk to her."
"Good thinking." Kirstin patted my head as if I were the younger sibling.
I went to my room and made the call.
Glynnie answered after the third ring.
"Hi, it's me. Eric."
"Oh?" There was a confused, questioning tone, but I thought I caught a trace of a smile in her voice too. It gave me the nerve to go on.
"I, uh, just read your column. I-I think it's great."
"Really?" The smile widened, I'm sure of it.
"Yeah. Really." I paused, then said, "Would you like to, you know, do something?" Aaargh! Whatever happened to the old, smooth Eric Nielsen?
"Well, I was about to go for a bike ride."
"Oh." For a second I thought she was dusting me off. Then the light went on. "Oh. Yeah. I'll get my bike and be right over. Uh, if that's okay."
Glynnie laughed softly. "That's more than okay."
"Okay! Great. I'll be right over!" I was in such a hurry I forgot to say goodbye. I ran to the garage, grabbed my helmet and bike, and headed for Glynnie's. On the way over, I decided I'd better tell her that I finally gave Hedy Theodore a proper goodbye.
I couldn't believe the way my skin tingled. Me, Eric Nielsen, nervous about seeing a girl.
It felt kind of nice.
Chapter Twenty
I couldn't believe it was the first day of school, but there was that early-morning nip in the air—and Kirstin running around freaking about what to wear proved it was.
Rolf stopped to pick up Kirstin. He offered me a ride, too, but by now I knew three was a crowd. Besides, Glynnie and I had decided we'd ride our bikes to school together. It wasn't the way I pictured starting my senior year, but pedaling along with Glynnie seemed like totally the right thing. We'd started out butting heads, worked our way up to friendship, and now our relationship was more than that. I smiled to myself as I thought, Way more.
Funny, but even with three years of high school behind me, I still had trouble getting my locker open, still had to make an appointment with the guidance counselor because there was a mistake in my schedule—first-year French instead of third-year Spanish—and I still could hardly stay awake in math class. Sorry, but differential calculus makes my eyes glaze over.
The major problem though was after school. I still wasn't sure if I wanted to play football, having Horton for a coach. It would be a major life change, not playing, and giving up some long-time dreams, but I wasn't sure I could take him for an entire season. If I did try to play, I'd probably end up quitting anyway, or getting kicked off the team.
I decided I'd go to the first practice and see what went down.
Coach Pickett looked tired and spent most of the time sitting on the bench. Horton was pretty much in charge. It was a real physical practice. We hit the field running. The mid-summer heat was back. We charged around in pads at full speed. It felt like two-a-days again.
Horton kept yelling.
"Run!"
"Faster!"
"Harder!"
"Aggressive! Be aggressive!"
I don't know what it was. Usually I would have run faster, harder, been more aggressive. Now I felt as if I was going in slow motion.
"Nielsen! To the locker room."
At first the words didn't sink in. When they did, I took off my helmet, slammed it to the ground, picked it up and stomped off to the locker room.
I pounded my fist against my locker door. I kicked the bench. I was ready to tear the paper-towel dispenser off the wall when I sensed a shadow. I turned. It was Horton, looming over me. "I quit!"
"You don't talk!" Horton stuck his finger at my face. "I talk. You listen."
I stared at his finger. It was huge, the nail was cracked, the knuckles hairy.
"You're a good athlete, Nielsen."
What? What did he say?
"In fact, you're a very good athlete."
I stared at his chin to hide my confusion.
"I'm not in the habit of explaining myself, but I want you to know, it's the same for everyone. I can tell you to do things right or you won't play. I can tell you I have no sympathy for excuses." Horton stroked his chin, seeming to look me over carefully. "What I can't do is make you want to play." He pointed to the door. "If you want to quit, go home. If you want to play, get back out there."
What did I want? That was the Who-Wants-To-Be-A-Millionaire question. Horton almost seemed to have more faith in me than I ever had. He'd never be like a Dad to me, no way. But if he believed in me …. I stood there for what felt like hours, but must have been seconds.
/>
I went back out there.
Chapter Twenty-One
"Kirstin! Rolf's here. It's the last scrimmage before our first game next week. I can't be late. You and Mom'll have to leave now if you want to go with us!"
"You go ahead," Kirstin called from the kitchen. "Mom and I have to, uh, we aren't ready yet."
"Okay." I headed out the door, kind of surprised Kirstin would pass up a chance to spend time with Rolf.
"Ready?" Rolf asked as I climbed into the truck.
"I'd better be." I explained that Mom and Kirstin would be along later, then sat back and tried to relax. My stomach churned. This was as real as it was going to get until we played our first game. This scrimmage would have refs, a scoreboard, and a stadium full of fans. Usually Dad would be there, recording the game and making notes to look at after the scrimmage to help me prepare for the season.
Dad wouldn't be there. I'd be on my own—but not alone. Not really. Dad would be there in my memories of him. Everything Dad ever taught me, everything about him was still with me.
***
Even as Rolf pulled into the parking lot, it was getting crowded. Families and friends and townspeople streamed toward the seats. I saw Glynnie locking up her bike. She ran over, notebook in hand.
"Hi, guys!" She gave Rolf and me a big smile, but she saved the touch on the arm for me.
"Hey, Glynnie," Rolf said.
"Hi," I said. "Don't tell me you're doing another column about the team for the Recorder?"
Glynnie shook her head. "I'm going to write a sample column for the school paper. There's an opening for sports editor."
"That's great. Maybe I'll submit some sports cartoons." I risked a quick kiss on her cheek, even though Coach Horton was pacing the sidelines on just the other side of the field. He didn't react, so I guess he either didn't see or was too wired up for the scrimmage to care. "See you later."
"You bet." Glynnie trotted off, turned back to blow me a kiss, then took her place with other reporters.
In the locker room, guys were pumped for the scrimmage. The noise level equaled the roar of a crashing waterfall. When we spilled out onto the field, cheers washed over us. I felt the excitement seep into my skin. I wanted to play football. I wanted to play well. For myself, for my Dad, for the team.