by Ann Herrick
"Remember," Coach Horton declared, "we are a team. Teams win games. If one player does less than his best, it diminishes the efforts of the rest of the team."
"What happens," I said in a whispering huff to Rolf, "when an individual collapses from exhaustion?"
"So, Mr. Nielsen has enough energy to talk." Coach Horton's mouth spread into a thin-lipped smile. "Since you're so energetic, you can run up and down the grandstand steps before joining the rest of the team in some drills."
Though I was ready to drop, I was determined to show Horton he couldn't wear me down. Besides, Glynnie would see me, and it would look good in her article if she mentioned me zipping up the stairs.
There was one small problem as I chugged up the grandstand. No Glynnie. I had just assumed she was up there somewhere. Last night she'd said she'd see me tomorrow, meaning, of course, today. Maybe she meant after morning practice, when we could talk. Thinking about it, I almost ran into the wall at the top of the stairs. I jogged in place for a few steps, then ran down and joined the guys for drills.
After practice, dripping with sweat, but proud because I thought I put out a good effort, I kind of glanced around as I headed for the locker room. Still no Glynnie. Maybe she'd be waiting for me after I showered.
But even when the freshly showered, combed and dressed me emerged from the locker room, Glynnie was still nowhere to be seen. Maybe she meant after lunch. Or maybe she didn't mean it when she'd said she'd see me today.
I felt someone touch my sleeve.
I turned around and saw Hedy Theodore staring up at me, a look of hope in her gorgeous dark eyes, a faint look of confusion on her beautiful face. She never understood why I broke up with her. It was only three weeks after Dad died. I'd given her that lame excuse. "We ought to see other people."
Unlike so many other girls I'd dated, Hedy didn't get pissed at my weak excuse. Never told me what a jerk I was. Never went out and attached herself to some other guy to show me she didn't care. No, Hedy just hung around on the edge of my life, looking wistful and confused. Maybe it was because she was younger.
I didn't know. I didn't want to know. I just wanted her to move out of my life and get on with hers. I did not like feeling guilty. I'd rather be angry.
"I'll get the truck," Rolf ran by faster than a disloyal fan fleeing the stadium after a loss, leaving me standing next to Hedy.
"H-how are you?" Hedy asked.
"Very busy and extremely tired." I turned on my heels and caught up with Rolf. I figured Hedy would not run after me. I was right.
"That was fast," Rolf said, more a question than a statement.
"We had nothing to say."
"Oh." Rolf knew when not to pry.
***
At lunch, Mom had a few quick bites, and then hurried back to the antique shop. Business was really picking up with people in town early for the Scandinavian Fair. Kirstin escaped with Rolf to pick out some fall bulbs.
I was stuck helping out in the shop. Mom insisted. She said she didn't want to be in there alone, because it was sure to be really busy.
Glynnie hadn't shown up or called. Maybe she'd thought I'd stop by her house. Or maybe she stopped at our house and didn't find anyone home. Dammit, she'd be smart enough to look for me in the store. Why sweat it?
Soon enough, I was too busy to worry any more about Glynnie and the interview. In addition to antiques, Mom had a small sideline of Scandinavian kitchen utensils. I had all I could handle explaining and selling the special cast-iron skillets with eight semi-spherical cavities used to cook aebleskivers, a ball-shaped Danish pancake-like pastry.
"Don't expect the first batch to be perfect," I told one customer. "Aebleskivers take a lot of practice."
"Thank you for the warning, young man."
Mom overheard and, after the woman was gone, squeezed my arm. "Eric, you are so good with the customers."
"Sure, you'd think that. You're my mother."
Mom sighed. "Well, you're a big help to me."
I shrugged and started giving another aebleskiver demonstration to a rapidly gathering crowd. Before I knew it, Rolf and Kirstin showed up and it was time for afternoon practice.
"You can take over," I said to Kirstin. "I sold eleven aebleskiver pans. Top that."
"Hmmph." Kirstin rolled her eyes at me, but I could see she was impressed.
Rolf put his hand on Kirstin's shoulder. "I'll leave your bag of bulbs on the front porch, okay?"
Kirstin tilted her face up to Rolf's and smiled. "Sure. Thanks, Rolf."
I figured that was her way of showing me that she thought Rolf was a much superior being than me, and that I should take notes from him on how to treat her. Rolf was nice to everyone, and would probably even be nice to a kid sister if he had one. Her routine had no effect on me.
At practice I did not have the time or energy to think about Kirstin—or Glynnie, who did not show up. The more Coach Pickett sank into the background, spending more time on the sidelines looking tired, the harder Coach Horton seemed to work us.
"Sprint, Nielsen!" Horton yelled. "Didn't you hear me say to sprint?"
I cursed under my breath. What did he want from me, anyway?
We must've practiced blitzing at least a thousand times. Or maybe it just seemed like that in ninety-degree weather. Then there was the running at the end of practice. Twenty yard sprints, forty yards, a hundred yards. By the time the final whistle blew I had to drag myself off the field.
I was exhausted. Every joint, every muscle ached. I gasped for air. But now there was a … I don't know … exhilaration. Maybe it was because I'd survived practice. I hadn't felt that way for a long time. If only I could preserve that feeling.
In the locker room I stood in the shower and just let the water run over me. It wasn't until after most of the snapping towels, loud voices and blaring music faded away that I stepped out from under the hot water, dried off and dressed. I'm not sure why I took so long. Maybe I was afraid. Afraid that I'd lose that sensation of potency I'd once taken for granted, but that now seemed brief and fragile.
I worried that once I stepped out of the locker room it'd be gone. And it was. Maybe it was because of Horton. He was never satisfied with my effort.
As Rolf and I walked out the door I looked around on the chance that Glynnie would be waiting for me. She wasn't. Well, tough for her. She was no substitute for Dad, anyway. I kicked at the dirt.
"You okay?" Rolf asked.
"Yeah. I'm fine. All right? I'm okay!" I kicked the dirt harder. "I'm just fine!"
"I get the picture," Rolf said. "You're fine."
It was easy to see he didn't believe me.
Chapter Nine
"Hi, Eric," Mom said in the overeager tone of voice she'd been using lately.
"Hi."
"How are you?"
"Okay."
"How was practice?" Mom's eyes searched my face.
"Okay."
"Could you please elaborate?"
"Everything's fine. Okay?" If I weren't starving, I would have turned around and walked right back out of the house just to escape Mom's third degree.
Mom sighed and gave up asking me questions.
The back door slammed, and Kirstin came in wiping smudges of dirt off her face. "Eric, what're you doing here?"
"I live here."
"But, well, I expected … you're early."
"Sorry. If I'd known you'd wanted time to form a welcoming committee, I would've walked home."
Kirstin gave me a disapproving stare.
"Ah, at least I know I'm in the right house."
"Dinner's almost ready," Mom said. "Kirstin, wash your hands. Eric, please set the table."
"Isn't it Kirstin's turn?"
"She has to wash up. So would you set the table? Please?"
"In a minute. I gotta put my gym bag away." I took the stairs two at a time for a quick getaway. I took my time on my way back to the kitchen, figuring Kirstin would have gone ahead and set the table by then. I
nstead, I found her still at the sink, her arms lathered up to the elbows.
"Eric," Mom said. "I asked you to set the table."
I grabbed the silverware and slammed each piece down. I was sick of being told what to do.
In silence, we started eating Mom's Norwegian meatballs. We didn't have them that often because with the combination of ground steak and pork, not to mention heavy cream, they were, as Mom put it, a cholesterol disaster. But they were delicious, and by the time I finished wiping up the last of the gravy with a piece of bread, I was in a good enough mood to say, "Great meal, Mom."
"Why, thank you, Eric," Mom said with a wide-eyed look.
My good mood lasted only until Mr. Lindquist showed up a while later. Mom invited him right in, as if she'd been expecting him. I'd planned on going up to my room and crashing, but I didn't want to even be in the same house with Lindquist. I didn't need to watch Mom fussing over that balding, middle-aged geek, offering him coffee and all that kind of crap.
"I'm going out," I said.
"Out?" Mom raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
"Just out."
"When will you be back?"
"Whenever."
"Eric, that's not very specific …."
I was already halfway out the door. Once outside, however, I wasn't sure what to do. Before, when I was restless, I'd take Dad's car and just drive, maybe to the top of the butte and look out over the valley. But Dad's car had been totaled in the crash that killed him. I hated driving Mom's old station wagon.
I didn't feel like walking. I went into the garage, intending to take Mom's car out of desperation, but stopped when I saw my bike. I hadn't ridden it much since the day I got my license. For some reason, it looked inviting again. Flying around with the air on my face, my legs pumping like pistons, it'd be good for me.
I grabbed my helmet and headed out. Trouble was, I didn't know where to go. I could ride up to the top of the butte, but I'd never have the energy for practice tomorrow if I did.
There was the ride through vineyard territory, but that loop took about three hours and I wasn't up for that either. So I just hopped on my bike and started pedaling. It was still kind of hot, so I followed the shade. Next thing I knew I was on Grove Street. When I found myself in front of Glynnie's house, I stopped and stared at her front door.
Maybe she was waiting to interview me. She said she would see me today. At least, that's what I remembered. Maybe there'd been a mix-up. Maybe she was calling my house right now, looking for me. Why was I making such a big deal of it? I was at her house. Why not stop in? If she wasn't expecting me, I could easily dismiss her with a simple, "Sorry, my mistake."
I parked my bike, hung my helmet on the handlebars, went up on the porch and rang the bell, looking casual as hell.
Mrs. Alden answered the door with a paintbrush in her hand instead of the miniature cigar. "Bonjour, Eric! How wonderful." She yanked me inside. "Glynnie's upstairs. I know she'll be glad to see you." She pointed to a wide curved staircase. "Second door on your left."
I tried to ignore the smell of paint as I admired the wainscoting and ornate plaster medallions holding the light fixtures. The house was older and more elegant than mine, but both had the same aura of place and pride that encompassed the town. It was a feeling that would be part of me forever, no matter where I might go—and no matter how much I might sometimes complain about living in a house full of antiques.
At the top of the stairs, I hesitated. What was it Mrs. Alden had said, exactly? Not that Glynnie was expecting me. No, that she would be glad to see me. The emphasis on me. I wondered what I was walking into.
I glanced down the hall. The second door on the left was shut. Music blared through the keyhole. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should just tiptoe back downstairs and out of the house.
"The second door on the left!" Mrs. Alden shouted. I turned and saw that she was at the bottom of the staircase, watching me. So much for slipping out unnoticed.
"Thanks," I called back. Unless I dove out of a second-story window, I didn't have much choice. I took a deep breath, walked up to Glynnie's door and knocked.
My knock was answered with a loud thunk against the door, accompanied by Glynnie yelling. "I told you to leave me alone!"
I was too surprised to speak. I was trapped between Glynnie's door and Mrs. Alden at the foot of the stairs. Maybe I could find a window to jump out of.
"Mother, I know you're still out there. Go away!"
I was tempted to just leave, but there was something in Glynnie's voice besides anger. I wasn't sure what I was getting into, but I plunged ahead anyway. "Glynnie, it's me. Eric."
The music stopped.
"Glynnie?"
The door opened a crack. "Eric?"
"This is stupid." I tried to peek through the crack. "Would you come out of there?"
"No." Glynnie sniffled. She opened the door all the way. "You come in." She blushed and pointed to a thick dictionary, which was obviously what she'd hurled at the door. "Sorry about that."
"No problem." I stepped into a room of lace curtains, faded quilts, and an enormous four-poster bed covered with antique stitched pillows. There was such a sense of intimacy that I felt I didn't belong.
"Come on." Glynnie grabbed my hand and pulled me into the room. Her mouth curved into small smile. "Don't worry. I won't seduce you."
"Too bad." Her joking put me at ease. I sat on the window seat filled with throw pillows. The purple clematis curled on the other side of the glass. "Would you mind telling me what's going on?"
Glynnie sat next to me, her legs bent and her arms wrapped around her knees. "First of all, Eric, I am so sorry I forgot I was supposed to see you today."
"It's not a major blow to my ego." I grinned. "What's the 'second of all'?"
Glynnie frowned and let out a long breath. "It started with a phone call I got this morning."
"Phone call?"
"From my father."
"Your father?"
"Is there an echo in here?"
"Sorry." I placed my fingers on my lips to indicate I'd be quiet.
"He said he had some 'great news.'"
"Great news—oops." I clamped my hand over my mouth.
"In rapturous tones he told me Nicole is going to have a baby." Glynnie raised one hand as if she was gesturing toward the heavens. "He's going to be a father again."
I gave Glynnie a sympathetic, "Hmmm."
"He was so excited. Said it was a new beginning. A chance to make up for the way he missed so much of my childhood!"
"Make it up to whom?"
"Exactly!" Glynnie gave my shoulders a savage shake. Her face burned with an expression that was halfway between embarrassment and despair. Her hands slid off my shoulders. "Sorry, Eric. I didn't mean to take it out on you."
"S'okay." I wasn't sure how to deal with her anguish. I hesitated, then reached over and took her hands in mine. "Did … did your father travel a lot?"
"Travel?" Glynnie gave me a questioning look. "Oh. No. He didn't miss out on my childhood because he was traveling. He simply didn't have time for something as insignificant as my childhood. He was too busy working."
"Oh." I knew I was lucky that Dad spent so much time with his family, with me. I think that's part of why Rolf and I were good friends. He was close to his dad, too. A lot of guys I knew weren't. Some had fathers who ignored them, others whose dads insulted them, maybe even physically abused them. Then there were the guys whose folks were divorced and who saw their dads only for scheduled visits, and sometimes not even then. Whenever I was around guys like that, I used to feel lucky and guilty at the same time.
Glynnie went on with her tirade. "Father didn't have time for me. He wouldn't take ten minutes out of his day to read to me or tuck me in at night. He couldn't make it to any of my school plays or tennis matches. No, he couldn't make time for me. But he found plenty of time to sneak around with Nicole!" Glynnie was screaming. "And now he expects me to be thrilled because he has
a second chance at fatherhood!"
Glynnie grabbed a throw pillow and heaved it across the room. "You know, it's not as if I've moved to another planet. If he wants a second chance at fatherhood, how about, in some small way, trying out his fatherhood on me? I may be seventeen, but I'm still his child too!"
The wild anger in Glynnie's face crumbled into deep sobs. She pressed her head on her knees, wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked back and forth.
For a moment I just sat there. I didn't know what to say in the face of all that raw pain. Finally, I cupped my hand under her chin, tilted her face up and wiped away some of her tears. "Let's get out of here."
"O-okay." Glynnie took a couple deep breaths. "But where?"
"I don't know … I've got my bike. Get yours. We'll just go."
Glynnie brushed away the rest of her tears. Her white, arresting smile found its way through the veil of uncertainty. "Okay. Let's go!"
We ran downstairs hand-in-hand like a couple of kids on their way to the playground. Just as we got to the front door, Mrs. Alden seemed to appear again out of nowhere.
"Going somewhere?"
"Out, Mother," Glynnie said as we brushed past her. "Just out!"
"Have a nice time," Mrs. Alden called after us.
Glynnie shook her head as we slowed to a walk. "Honestly, my mother. She thinks if only I had a social life I could handle all the divorce and father stuff better."
"You don't have a social life?"
"Occasionally I go to a movie or something with Lisa Graham or Sandi Boyer. But not on a regular basis." Glynnie plucked her bike helmet from a hook on the garage wall. "I tend to make friends slowly."
"Oh." I wondered if she wore horn-rimmed glasses and chopped-off hair to keep people at a distance until she could make up her mind about them. Maybe having a distant father made her distrustful. Maybe I was getting too analytical for my own good.
We rode through the center of town to a road that cut through fields of alfalfa. I hadn't planned it, but we were headed toward the lake. Glynnie kept pace with me. Maybe I should say I kept pace with her. I seemed to be breathing harder than she was.
