Twenty minutes later, they grabbed a table in a local pub. Seth held up his pint glass. “To Nolan.”
They toasted. Drew took a sip of his beer. “He asked me today if he was going to die,” he said.
Three men looked down at the table as they struggled for words. The kids they met at Children’s grabbed their hearts and didn’t let go. Most recovered and went home with their parents. Some would never leave. Visiting every week was a double-edged sword. They got to know the kids. They also grieved the kids that lost the fight.
Seth slapped Drew on the back. “He’s going to make it.”
Derrick’s voice was fierce. “That kid’s running out on the field with us,” he said. “Just you wait.”
DREW PULLED INTO his garage at home an hour or so later. He yanked his backpack out of the car and headed toward the security system to disable it before he went inside. It was off. He knew he’d set it before he left for California. The teammates who would drop in on him had all been at Children’s earlier. Who the hell was in his house?
He opened the door to the laundry room and grabbed the baseball bat that sat in one corner. He needed to investigate before he called the cops. Considering the fact it was an open secret among the people who knew him well where the key to his front door was (atop the doorframe) and his security system’s combination was his parents’ wedding anniversary, at least thirty people knew how to gain access. If and when he finally found a serious girlfriend he was going to have to change the policy, but for the most part, it worked for him. He padded around the corner to his family room.
His dad was asleep on the couch.
Drew stared at him for a minute or so. This was even weirder than the late-night phone call from the other night. His parents visited; it was arranged in advance and they usually came to see him around national holidays so it wouldn’t interrupt his dad’s work schedule.
He reached behind him to lean the bat against the low cabinet his Xbox and other TV-related paraphernalia rested on.
“Dad?” he said. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter Nine
* * *
DREW’S DAD PULLED himself into a sitting position on the couch.
“It’s good to see you, Son. I wondered where you were last night.”
“Is Mom here? When did you get in? I didn’t know you were coming. Did you try to call my phone?”
His dad didn’t just show up at his house. Ever. Plus, he could hardly wait to explain to his dad where he’d been last night. It wasn’t like his parents thought he was a virgin. Well, maybe his mom did. She probably didn’t want to think about that stuff.
His dad didn’t answer his questions. He got up off the couch and hugged Drew. “How are you doing?” he said.
“I’m fine, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
“She’s at work.”
Drew pulled away from his dad’s bear hug and stared at him with disbelief. “She’s at work? She got a job? She hasn’t had a job besides all of us since you got married. What is going on?”
His dad rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe we should get a beer and talk about this.”
Drew knew he might need to calm down a little, but he couldn’t seem to stop asking questions. “What about your job? Dad, I don’t understand.”
Drew’s dad was a plumber. After his kids were grown and gone, he’d opened his own shop with a couple of other guys he’d worked with for a while. They had more work than they could handle.
“I told the guys I needed a few personal days.”
“Personal days?” Drew realized he was starting to sound like his parents after he came home past curfew. He was still so dumbfounded at his dad’s uncharacteristic behavior he hardly knew what to say. He heard his cell phone ringing in his pocket. “Let me see who this is.”
He grabbed the phone to see his mom’s smiling face on the screen.
He hit the “talk” button and said, “Mom?” His dad started shaking his head and making the “hang up” gesture.
“Hi honey, how are you?” She sounded a little stressed, he thought. “Is your dad there?”
His dad was waving his arms in the “no” gesture and mouthing, “Don’t tell her.” He loved his dad, but this was getting weirder and weirder.
“I’m fine, and yeah, he’s here. Mom, what’s going on?”
“Your father and I had a little disagreement, and I came home to a note. I’m relieved to know he is fine. I’ll talk with you later. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.” She’d clicked off halfway through his words, and Drew stared at his father in shock. “Why don’t you want Mom to know where you are?”
“Now she’ll be calling me every day and wanting to know when I’m coming home.” His father heaved a sigh. “This is why I didn’t go to your brother’s house. She can sit and think for a few days. It’ll be good for her.”
“Excuse me? Dad, what is up with you? You left Mom because you had an argument? This isn’t happening.” Drew rubbed one hand over his face.
“It’s personal. And I didn’t leave her. I’m just staying here for a few days.” Drew realized that men his dad’s age were uncomfortable talking about their feelings, but this was ridiculous.
“Okay. That’s it.” Drew said. He flung one arm out and pointed toward his kitchen table. “Go in there and sit down. I’ll get us a couple of beers and you can tell me what the hell is going on.”
His dad parked it at the table, and Drew pulled a couple of Elysian Brewing’s Men’s Room Original Reds out of the refrigerator. Owen, the chef, would be here in a couple of hours to start dinner; maybe he should text Owen and let him know he’d be making twice as much of whatever was on the menu tonight. His dad regarded the beer with a skeptical eye.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s good, Dad. Try it. I also have some Arrogant Bastard Ale if you’d like some of that.”
“Doesn’t this town have some Bud or maybe a Coors Light?”
“Dad. You’re in Seattle. Everyone drinks microbrews here.” Drew grabbed his phone out and texted while he talked. “You and Mom are fighting?”
“She’s mad at me because she served me takeout Chinese food for dinner the night before last, and I told her I wanted a home-cooked meal instead.”
Drew hit “send” on his text and regarded his father with disbelief.
“You said that to Mom? You love Chinese takeout.”
“Not right now I don’t. Your mother made me a sandwich for dinner. A sandwich. She used to make a big dinner every night with sides and salad, and now it’s a sandwich and takeout.” He pounded a little on the table. “I don’t work all day to come home to a sandwich—”
“Maybe she was tired or she didn’t feel good. Dad, I know damn well it wasn’t only a sandwich. She probably made potato salad or some other thing, and she made sure it was your favorite, didn’t she?”
“It was pulled pork,” he mumbled.
“And?”
“She used to cook for me. She used to make sure everything was the way I liked it. Now I’m lucky if the laundry makes it into the laundry room, let alone my shirts have that starch in them I like. She’s too busy for me.” His dad wrapped a ham-like fist around his beer and took a swallow. He didn’t meet Drew’s eyes.
“Dad. She’s never too busy for you. What is causing this? You and Mom don’t fight.”
“Oh, we fight. Just not in front of you kids.”
His dad was acting like a recalcitrant teenager. Or, he was acting just like Drew did when his parents told him there was a curfew, and he was expected to keep up his grade point average or he couldn’t play football, or one of a hundred other things he tried to get away with as a teen. The bowed shoulders and sadness in his dad’s face told him this wasn’t something minor, but Drew was fighting the impulse to drag his dad out to the car, take him to the airport, and shove his butt onto a plane home.
He wasn’t going to be able to solve this. His parents needed
to fix it. Plus, he couldn’t figure out why his mom had suddenly decided she wasn’t cooking and cleaning for his dad anymore. The last time he was home for a visit, she couldn’t do enough for them. Things seemed normal. How could a thirty-five year marriage fall apart in less than five months?
Drew heaved a sigh. “Dad, maybe you should start at the beginning and explain what happened.”
His dad took another swig of beer. He claimed he didn’t care for Drew’s taste in beer when he visited Seattle, but he managed to drink a few. Maybe Owen, the chef, might pick up a six-pack or two along with the ingredients for tomorrow night’s dinner if Drew gave him a few extra bucks to do so. Grocery stores were yet another place Drew stayed out of during the season; a beer run might take two hours after signing autographs. He knew it was part of his job. He enjoyed meeting Sharks fans. Sometimes, though, he longed for the same quick, anonymous errands people in his family or his non-football friends enjoyed.
Drew settled back in his chair and waited. His dad put the bottle back down on the kitchen table with a slight thump and let out a long breath.
“Your mother went out and got a job.”
“Why?”
“She said she hardly knew what to do with herself. You all are out on your own, it’s just us, and it didn’t take her eight hours a day to wash my shorts and figure out what was for dinner. She also said something about wanting her own money, which is ridiculous. I told her thirty-five years ago that it wasn’t “mine” or “hers,” it was ours. She said she feels weird about buying me a present with my money. I told her I didn’t give a shit about that.” His dad passed one hand over his face again. “She works during the daytime. Sometimes she works on the weekends. I want to sit and watch the game with my best girl, and she’s taking clothes orders or working in the returns department instead.”
“What’s she doing, Dad?”
“She got a job with that big mail-order clothes company in Dodgeville. All their operators are women your mom’s age that help people buy things, and then they chat a little about their grandchildren or the Green Bay team or whatever the customer wants to talk about. She’s all excited because one of her cookie recipes is included in this year’s holiday catalog. I think she likes being there more than she likes me right now.”
“That can’t be true.”
“She . . . Son, maybe she doesn’t love me anymore.” His dad rested his face in both hands.
Drew’s dad was as big as he was. He remembered thinking his dad was the biggest man in the world next to his grandfather when he was younger. He’d never seen his dad cry. The biggest show of emotion from him was when his mom had to have an emergency gallbladder removal a few years back. He told the surgeon that Drew’s mom was his everything and to make sure she came back to him. He wasn’t a lovey-dovey kind of a guy, but he bought Drew’s mother flowers and told her she was the love of his life when she woke up from the anesthesia.
“If she didn’t love you, she wouldn’t have called around looking for you,” Drew said. “She’s not doing this to hurt you. She might want something to occupy her time while you’re working, Dad.” He awkwardly patted his dad on the back. “Do you want me to talk to her?”
“I can handle it.”
“Then why are you here?”
His father let out a long breath. “You’re not happy I came to visit.”
“I’m always happy to see you. I’m a little confused, though.”
“If she wants a break, maybe she should have one,” his dad said. “I’ll stay for a few days, let her think about it, and then I’ll go home.”
Drew loved his family and missed them a lot, but he couldn’t imagine what his dad was going to do with himself when Drew was at the Sharks practice facility for twelve hours a day. If this kept up all week, he was also staying overnight in the team hotel before the game on Sunday; it wasn’t like his dad had any poker buddies or golf cronies in the area to hang around with.
“Dad. I love visiting with you, but I’m worried there won’t be a lot for you to do over the next few days. I have to be at the facility.”
His dad pulled a handful of colorful brochures out of his back pocket. “I got these at the airport. I’ll have plenty to do.” He dropped them on the table in front of Drew. “There’s a Museum of Flight, which has the Concorde and the space shuttle simulator. I’ve never been to the Space Needle or Pike Place Market. There’s a candy factory in some place called Issaquah. I’ve never been on a tour of the stadium you play in, and see, here’s a brochure for it.”
“Dad, I can get you a VIP tour—”
“Don’t worry about me. I have a rental car and some money. We can get together for dinner or something in the evenings. How about that?”
“Sure. I’d enjoy it.”
Drew heard the insertion of a key in the front door lock. Owen was here to start his prep for dinner. He worked for several of the Sharks during the season. Luckily for him, his other clients lived within a two-mile radius of Drew’s house.
Owen walked into the kitchen and bumped fists with Drew.
“Got your text. There’s plenty of food for both of you tonight.”
“Great.” Drew indicated his dad with a nod. “Owen, this is my dad, Neil. Dad, Owen.”
Owen extended his hand to shake Drew’s dad’s. “Nice to meet you. Are there any food sensitivities I should know about before I start?”
Neil McCoy shook his head. “Nope.” He folded his lips a little.
“My dad’s not going to ask you this, but I know he’s hoping there’s no chick food on the menu tonight.”
Owen hefted the refrigerated bags he’d brought and his knife case onto Drew’s kitchen island. “How does cilantro-lime fish tacos served with mango salsa and avocado crème sound to you? I’ve got some Mexican rice and beans to go with them. I have some dulce de leche ice cream for dessert as well.”
“Sounds great, Owen. Dad, you’ll enjoy it.” His dad looked a bit befuddled, but Drew knew his idea of cuisine was a piece of meat and a potato. He’d be okay. “Do you need anything else right now?”
“Nope.” Owen glanced over at the beers on Drew’s table. “I tried to get some of that when I was at the store last week. It sells out.”
“I had to carry the last six-pack out in my teeth,” Drew assured him. Owen let out a snort and arrayed pots and pans on Drew’s cooktop. “Want one?”
“Hell, yeah, and thanks. I’ll crack it open later. Will Neil be here the rest of the week?”
“Yes,” Drew’s dad said.
“I’ll make sure there’s plenty of food, then. How do you feel about quinoa and kale casserole?” It was obvious by Owen’s grin he was teasing a little, but Neil looked horrified.
“Dad. He’s joking,” Drew said. “If you’d make some stuff that’s friendly for a guy who likes entrees like spaghetti and meat and potatoes, I’ll eat the chickified stuff. I’m going to need a little extra bulk on Sunday, that’s for sure.”
“Dallas?” Owen said.
“Shit, yeah, and their offensive line is a nightmare these days.”
“You’ll kick their asses,” Owen said. “Watching their QB sit on the turf and cry at Sharks Stadium is one of my favorite memories.”
“That was excellent, wasn’t it?” Drew got up from the table and crossed to the island, feeling around for his wallet. “If you’re making more stuff for Dad, I need to spot you some cash for the ingredients.”
“I’ll bill you. Don’t worry about it.” Owen grinned at Neil. “By the time I get done with you, you’ll be eating ceviche and Thai coconut curry.”
“Ceviche,” his dad said in a low voice. The food alone might scare him right back to Wisconsin.
“Would you also be willing to bill me for a couple of decent six-packs when you make a store run?” Drew said.
“I can do that.” Owen poured a slick of extra-virgin olive oil into his frying pan. “You must have gotten ambushed in the grocery store again.”
“Ye
ah. It was two hours before I made it out of there, especially since Tom Reed was one aisle over loading up a cart with ice cream and avocados for his pregnant wife. I’m ordering stuff from Amazon Fresh now, but I have to sign for the beer myself—”
“I can handle it, D. Don’t worry about it.”
Owen gently laid two pieces of tilapia in the frying pan and turned the heat down a bit as he stirred the beans and the rice. He’d already put the tortillas in the oven to warm and was pulling more items out of his bag to construct the mango salsa and the additional taco filling. Drew could assemble a few dishes and feed himself, but nothing like this.
“Hey, Dad, why don’t you go relax? Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes or so. Your stuff’s in one of the rooms upstairs, right?”
His dad shoved himself out of the dining room chair and got to his feet. “Good idea. I took the room next door to yours, by the way.” He walked into the family room, sat down on the couch, and clicked the TV on.
Drew patted his pocket to make sure his phone was still in there, and he said to Owen in a low voice, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so.”
“Great.” Owen went back to making their delicious looking and smelling dinner, and Drew ducked into the small office he kept in the little bonus room off of the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. He punched in the contact for his parents’ number.
His mom answered on the second ring. “Hi, honey.”
“Mom, are you going to be up later? I’m about to have dinner with Dad, and I’d like to hear your side of what’s going on.”
His mother sighed. “There isn’t a lot to tell. I’ve wanted to go back to work for a while. You kids are all grown and gone. The grandkids are only here on the weekends. It’s not like I had a lot to do, and your dad’s gone all day. I wanted something for myself,” she said. “Your dad is acting like I’ve run off with another man. I don’t get what his problem is. He doesn’t talk to me before he works overtime or on the weekends.”
“He’s hurt because he thinks he’s not getting the same dinners and attention these days.”
Covering Kendall Page 10
