Muttering a silent prayer that Phoenix or flighty or SNW would be around, Scott carried the computer to the living room couch, opened the forum and clicked to the end of the day’s thread. They had been discussing religion last, he saw, either because that was the subject SoNotWicked had introduced in the morning or because that’s where the conversation had led over the course of the day. As a group, they weren’t the best about staying on topic. To Scott’s delight, the time stamps on 2boys’s and flightpath’s most recent posts showed they had posted only minutes ago.
Sunday, April 10 @ 1:08 a.m.
MotorCity wrote:
Hi all. Checking in to say the memorial service was good. LMan produced his body weight in tears and won’t be able to cry again for another six years or so, but he’s (finally) sleeping now and I think with time, he’ll be okay.
He hit “post field,” walked to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of scotch. He took a long sip, grimacing as the liquid burned down his throat before returning to his laptop and hitting “refresh.” Bingo—friends awake and to the rescue.
Sunday, April 10 @ 1:12 a.m.
flightpath wrote:
@MotorCity—Thanks for the update. We’ve been thinking about you. My heart goes out to you and the little man, his brother and your wife.
Sunday, April 10 @ 1:15 a.m.
2boys wrote:
dude, been thinkin of you. i know the little man will be okay. kids are resilient. which doesn’t mean it’ll be easy—we have our share of motherless-boy tears here every now & then as you know. your guy’s got big brother to help him through, and that’ll help a lot. so how’s brother doing? and how you feeling about it all?
ps—note how i’m refraining from mentioning the drubbing the tigers took last night. see how sensitive i can be?
Sunday, April 10 @ 1:19 a.m.
MotorCity wrote:
@flighty—thanks. What’re you doing up so late, btw?
@boys—you’re a real gem for not mentioning the loss. As for how I’m feeling about it . . .
Scott lifted his hands from the keyboard. He wasn’t sure how he was feeling about it. He had been so consumed with the funeral, and with attending to Curtis, he hadn’t had a chance to consider it. Which was a good thing, now that he thought about it. It hadn’t been a cheerful day by any stretch but he hadn’t been aware of the knot in his stomach or the pain at the back of his head that had plagued him last night. Until now.
He walked to the front window, a hand on his neck, massaging. Glancing up and down the street, he eyed with envy the blackened windows of his neighbors’ houses and imagined them all sleeping peacefully inside. He wondered if he would ever fall asleep easily again, after this. Or would he be up night after night, looking for someone to talk to online? Pacing. Regretting. Resenting.
He drained his glass and carried it into the kitchen. He couldn’t make a habit of this, he told himself. Insomnia was one thing, but drinking alone late into the night wouldn’t work long-term. He would let himself have a second glass tonight, given how hard today had been. But from now on, he would limit himself to one. He poured a double.
On the way back to the living room, he stole another glance into the family room, expecting to see a sleeping basketball player still stretched out and snoring on his couch. But Bray’s feet were on the floor and he was bent forward, head in his hands. Scott could hear him taking deep breaths as though trying to keep from throwing up. He cleared his throat and Bray’s head snapped up.
“Coach! I didn’t know you were still up.”
“I was on the computer. Couldn’t sleep. Guess I’m not the only one.” He smiled sympathetically. “Thinking about your mom? It’s got to be tough, man. I’m a lot older than you, and I still like having my mom around.”
“It isn’t her. I mean, I’m sad about her, for sure. But I’ve got to move on, take care of the family still around me. Curtis.” He struggled to give a confident smile, but his mouth ended up in a frown. And Scott had caught the strain in his voice.
“Something wrong?” Scott asked.
“No. Yes.” Bray sighed and leaned back against the couch, looking exhausted. “I don’t know. I thought I had it all worked out in my head, you know? But now I’m not sure. I talked to some of the guys at the church today.” Bray’s teammates, as well as his coaches, had made the trip from Ann Arbor for LaDania’s service.
“And?”
“And I was telling them how I was planning to quit school, come home and raise Curtis. And some of them got it straightaway. My roommates, you know, they’ve been on board all along. And some of the others, too. They’d do the same thing, they said, no question. But a couple of them were saying it’d be the biggest mistake I could make. And not only for me but for Curtis, too. And then the Johnsons came over, and Pastor John. And Mr. Johnson and the pastor, they got it right away, too, how I’d want to step up, keep him out of the foster care system.
“But Mrs. Johnson, she was not having it.” He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, and let his forehead fall to his hands. “She said my quitting and looking after him is stupid. She said as much as I owe it to myself to keep going in school, I owe it to Curtis to let him be raised by people who know how to be parents. She was all on me about how thinking I can raise him myself isn’t putting him first at all. Letting real parents do it is the best for him. I thought quitting, moving home with him, was best. But Mrs. Johnson, she’s right about me not knowing how to raise him. And now I don’t know what I should do.
“Do you think I should do what she says, Coach?” He looked up at Scott. “Do you think I should let someone else take him—?” His voice cracked and he paused for a few seconds before speaking again. “I want to do what’s right. What’s best for him. And sure, I want to get my degree. Get drafted if I can. But sending him to live with strangers . . . ?”
He dropped his head again and covered his face with his enormous palms. “I don’t think I can do that to him, Coach. I don’t want to do the wrong thing by taking him myself. And I don’t want to quit Michigan. But strangers?”
Lowering himself to the couch, Scott set his glass on the coffee table and slid it sideways. Bray took a sip, made a sour face and pushed the drink back. “Don’t think throwing up is going to help me, but thanks.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes, and then Bray asked, “What do you think I should do?”
“I’ve been biting my lip for the past two days,” Scott said. “Gnawing on it, really. Because you told me you wanted my support, and I promised I’d give it. And my wife ordered me to keep my mouth shut and keep my promise. You sure you really want to hear what I think?”
“Please.”
“I think Mrs. Johnson’s absolutely right,” Scott said. “I think you should stay in school. Not only for your sake but for Curtis’s, too. I know you think the right thing to do is for you to stop everything and look after him because you’re family. And I think you’re amazing for even considering it. But Jesus, Bray. I’m twice your age and most of the time this year I was in way over my head looking after the little man. He’s a great kid, but—”
“I know. He’s a handful.”
“He is,” Scott said. “And I would’ve had a hard time with him at thirty, let alone twenty. Especially if I’d been on my own. There were two of us here and we were so tired some nights we could barely keep our eyes open through dinner. It’s exhausting. All the homework and discipline and cooking and laundry and tuck-in time and . . . all of it. And you add work to that, and doing it without help? At twenty?”
Bray nodded slowly. “I could screw it up for both of us.”
“Anyone could,” Scott said. “But maybe someone who’s done it before, who has someone else to help, has a better chance of making it work.”
“I can see it,” Bray whispered. “I can see the sense in it. But if I send him to be with someone he does
n’t even know? I don’t know if I could live with myself.”
“I know.”
They were both quiet for a while, until Scott said, “Look, I don’t want him to be with strangers, either.” He took a deep breath, and another, trying to collect his nerves. He rubbed his hands over his jeans, from hip to knee, then the other way. He stood, walked to the fireplace, set his drink on the mantel. He picked it up again. Glass in his hand, he turned to the couch where a confused and anxious-looking twenty-year-old followed his every move.
He tilted the glass to his lips, feeling the scotch burn down his throat and into his stomach. The knot of tension that had been there since the day before loosened a little. Was it the scotch, he wondered, or was it that he was finally going to say precisely what his body had been urging him to say?
He cleared his throat. “What if you don’t leave him with strangers? What if . . . you leave him with me?”
“But I thought . . .” Bray stammered, looking confused. “I thought Laurie didn’t want . . . He’s been such a pain, and the new baby and all—”
“Maybe she’ll change her mind?” Scott said, shifting his gaze quickly. He took another sip of scotch, hoping to drown the doubt.
“You’d do that?” Bray asked. “You’d keep him till—”
“Until whenever,” Scott said. “Until you graduate, if the pros lose their minds and don’t take you. Or until you retire from the NBA, if they’re smart and snap you up. Or until forever, if you want to live your own life, have your own family. I’d understand it if you did. Anyone would. And you could see him anytime. Come here for Thanksgiving, Christmas, same as you did last year. Have him come see you for a week here and there if you want, or for the summer, or whatever. You could still be his brother. But you wouldn’t have to feel responsible. Stuck. Trapped. Whatever it is you’re feeling.”
“It’s all those things,” Bray whispered, running a massive hand over his head. “I feel bad. I feel like I’m a bad brother, a bad person, admitting it. But yeah, it’s all those things, like you said. Trapped. Stuck. There I was in the car yesterday, talking this big game about how I’d never do that to family, that’s not who I am. And it’s not. I don’t want to leave him stranded. But I don’t want to screw things up for him, either. I’m twenty years old, Coach. I’ve got no idea how to raise a kid. I’d mess it up. For him and for me.”
“I’ll talk to Laurie,” Scott said. “See if we can work something out. Okay?”
“Okay,” Bray said, wiping his cheeks. “But if she says no, I don’t want you worrying about it. I’m crying now like a baby, but it’s only because it’s been a tough day, seeing Curtis cry so much, saying goodbye to my mom. Thinking about all of this. But this isn’t your problem, Coach, it’s mine. And I’ll deal with it, make whatever decision I need to—” His voice broke and he stared at the floor before dragging his eyes up again to meet Scott’s. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know,” Scott said. “But don’t decide anything yet, okay? Give me a little time to see what I can do. Give me until tomorrow night. I’ve got a little time left, before I take the little man to Monster Trucks in the morning, and after we get back. If I can’t figure out a way to make things work here, you can go to the hearing on Monday, tell the judge what you’ve decided. Just give me till then, okay?”
Bray nodded, his shoulders now shaking with sobs.
“Hey,” Scott said, sitting beside the young man again and reaching an arm around his broad shoulders. “That was supposed to make you feel better, not worse.”
“I do feel better,” Bray said. “I feel . . . I can’t describe it.” He wiped at the tears but they kept coming. “It’s just that since I heard about my mom, I’ve been thinking my life was over, you know? And now you’re saying maybe I get to keep living it. Curtis, too. Second time, Coach. This is the second time you’re stepping in to save us.”
Scott opened his mouth to answer. But no words came.
40.
Mara
Since arriving home from lunch with Steph and Gina, Mara had picked up the phone at least a dozen times to call her parents. Just one more goodbye, she told herself. One more chance to tell Laks how much she loved her. One more chance to tell her parents. One more opportunity to hear each of them say it back to her. But she had hung up the phone each time, before the connection was made. If she heard their voices again, she didn’t think she’d be able to go through with it.
Now she and Tom were driving east on the highway, headed for her birthday dinner. Mara bit her lip, thinking about how Tom, Laks and her parents were planning to give her presents tomorrow, when Pori and Neerja brought Laks home. Knowing her mother, Mara suspected one of tonight’s activities at her parents’ place involved cake batter, icing and candles. It made her sick to think of them working away in Neerja’s kitchen, making Mara’s favorite cake, Laks taking care to decorate it neatly.
“That is one amazing sunset, love,” Tom said, and Mara was grateful to him for interrupting her self-loathing session. “Can you see it?” He angled the rearview mirror for her, and a red-and-orange ball, shot through with streaks of deep mango yellow, stared back at her. The few thin clouds surrounding the sun were in shades of purple.
“Wow,” she said, though the word didn’t come out with enough force for him to hear.
“See it?”
She nodded, her lips pressed firmly together in a tight smile. “Lovely,” she finally choked out. She had thought, at one point, about making a list of all the small things in nature she’d miss, and making sure she enjoyed them one last time: the sound of August evening crickets, spring’s first daffodil, the whir of a hummingbird, the feel of sun on her face. And this, the dramatic, colorful canvas of a Texas sunset.
At some point along the way she’d lost the list, or forsaken it for one describing things she was far more desperate to experience: the sound of Laks’s laughter, the feel of Tom’s five-o’clock shadow against her cheek, the smell of her mother’s shampoo, her father’s aftershave. These were the sights and sounds and physical sensations most glorious to her. She had not run out to the garden at the first thaw this year to find the buds of daffodils. She had not paid specific attention to the mournful sound of wind in the chimes, the heavy, electric feeling in the air before a thunderstorm, the rich, thick, earthy smell after. She had not sat listening for hours on end to the calls of birds in the yard. Now she felt a pang of regret that she hadn’t taken the time for those things.
Tom turned back to the road while Mara watched the sun sink a little lower behind them. “Could we pull over and watch it?” she asked. “It’ll be gone in a few minutes and it’s so beautiful.”
“We’re already running late. Which, as you know, doesn’t bother me one bit. But I can’t say the same for my always-punctual wife.”
“I really want to watch it.”
“So let’s watch it.” He took the next exit ramp, found a parking lot and pointed them west before turning off the engine. “It really is lovely.”
“Mmmmm.”
He shifted in his seat to be closer to her, put his right arm around her shoulders and held his left hand out to her. She took it, intertwining their fingers as she edged toward him. She rested her head on his shoulder and he laid his cheek on the top of her head. Without speaking, they watched the sun dip lower and lower, the purple clouds changing shades as the light source moved horizontal to them, then below.
“Is it the most amazing sunset we’ve ever seen,” she asked, “or is it simply the most time we’ve ever spent sitting still and really seeing it?”
“Hard to know.” He ran his hand up and down the length of her arm. “This is nice. We really don’t sit still all that often.”
“You mean I don’t sit still. You’re always trying to get me to do it with you but I’m always making excuses for why I can’t. It’s never been my strong suit, has it? Relaxing. Slowing down
. Savoring the moment.”
“Or the sunset.”
“Right.”
“No matter. We’re doing it now.”
Nodding, she studied their intertwined left hands, gently touching the wedding band on his. “Marrying you was the single best thing I ever did, and the thing I’m most proud of.”
“Nah,” he said. “I married up. Way, way up.”
She laughed. It was an old joke between them. “For all your overachieving,” he’d say, “you certainly didn’t marry half as well as I did.”
“Up or down, backwards or forwards or sideways, I’m glad I did it,” she said.
“Me too.”
She adjusted her head a little on his shoulder. “Settling in for a long spell?” he asked.
“Why not? We’ve been out to dinner a million times. This is the thing we haven’t done enough of.”
“Oh, no,” he said, sitting upright again and moving to start the car. “You’re only saying that because of me. And I’m fine. We’ve been here a few minutes. I’ve gotten my quota of sitting still, and you must be long past your limit.” He winked at her. “No need to torture yourself on my account.”
“I want to,” she said, pulling his arm away from the ignition, his body toward her again.
“You want to torture yourself?” He laughed, letting himself be pulled down. “On my account?”
“There’s no better account to do it on than yours.”
41.
Scott
Scott sat on their bed, working up the courage to wake his sleeping wife. A hand on her shoulder, he shook her gently. “Laur?”
She opened an eye and his heart pounded. Now that he was here, and she was awake, he didn’t feel so sure. It was a bad idea, starting out by waking her. How many times had she lamented never getting enough sleep?
Five Days Left Page 29
