Once they’d been able to bring him home, the couple had faced a new challenge. “Gunner was born in the spring time, so I was able to be with Kara at the hospital every day,” Allan explained. “But the week after he came home, I had to report to training camp. It was excruciating to have to choose between where I wanted to be—at home with my family—and where I needed to be, honoring my commitment to my team and making sure I could provide for all the special care Gunner was going to require.”
Listening to them describe Gunner’s early childhood and elementary school brought back vivid memories of Nate. I remembered back to the days when he couldn’t walk without his walker and how frequently he’d missed school because of doctors’ appointments. I recalled how starkly different Nate had been from the rest of the kids, and the daily battle I’d fought to be his friend, even when it was hard to make that choice.
Kara leaned over and patted my arm. “Are you okay, sweetheart? Is this too much for you?” Both Allan and Kara knew my story as well as I knew theirs. It had seemed only fair; they’d heard all the details about my relationships with Nate and with Leo, and I had a hunch that knowing my past helped them to be more open with me. They realized that I related to what they were saying.
“I’m fine.” I managed a weak smile. “Sometimes the more recent memories crowd out what it was like when we were kids. I’d almost forgotten how many times I had to choose between Leo and Nate . . . and how much I hated having to do that.” Shaking my head, I took a deep breath. “But don’t worry about me. This is your story. I should be the one asking if you two need a break.”
Kara glanced at her husband, and they both shook their heads. “No, let’s keep going. And then once we’re done, the three of us are going out to dinner, to Cotogna. We’re going to have several stiff drinks, as much pasta as we want, and Italian rum cake for dessert. We’ve earned it.”
Gunner’s childhood had differed from Nate’s in that his disease progressed more rapidly, despite aggressive treatment. Kara spoke almost without expression about the many hospital stays, their decision to homeschool their son when they’d realized that traditional school wasn’t an option, given his frequent absences, and how much she’d enjoyed teaching Gunner herself. Allan’s brow wrinkled as he haltingly shared how supportive his team had been over those years.
“I was never a star, you know? I had fair talent, but if I’d stepped away as soon as Gunner was born, it wasn’t going to sink the team. But my guys still had my back. They showed up to the hospital when we weren’t sure if he was going to make it—at least one of them would stop by each day. Their wives made us meals, and they drove Kara to the hospital if I couldn’t do it. Each time he got sick, they were there for us.” Allan slid his hand into his wife’s. “We’d left our extended families back in New York when I was drafted by San Francisco, so we were alone out here on the West Coast. But it turned out we weren’t. Those guys and their wives—they became our family.”
“And they still are,” Kara added. She sniffed, and I could see the emotion playing on her face. “Every year on Gunner’s birthday, the wives still take me out to lunch.” She shrugged. “Well, you’ve seen that firsthand, how wonderful they are.”
I had indeed. I’d been in town about a month when the anniversary of Gunner’s birth had rolled around. Kara had invited me to join her that day, and I’d been amazed by the love these women had showered on their friend. Some of them had been there with her from the first day of her son’s life, and some had never even met Gunner—they were newer to the organization. Yet to a woman, they’d hugged her and shared in the simultaneous joy and pain of that day.
“They remember Gunner with us, and that’s the most important thing to a parent who has lost a child.” Kara stared beyond me, her lips pressed together. “So often we feel as though we’re the only ones who’ll remember him, who will talk about him and laugh and cry over his memory. But we’re not alone.”
We moved from there into the more difficult recollections of Gunner’s death. It was reminiscent of Nate’s last days, although of course Nate had been six years older. Still, from what his parents said, Gunner had displayed remarkable clarity about what was going on and his understanding of death.
“He’d made friends with a Jesuit priest a few years before. Neither Kara nor I were religious people, really, but this guy and Gunner met in the hospital and really hit it off. They’d had some deep talks about the transition of death. Gunner told us that he believed he’d never really be separated from us, because once he’d crossed out of this world, time and space would no longer have meaning. So although we’d perceive the time between his death and our own, on this side of the divide, to him, it would be simultaneous.”
“The last thing he said to us was, ‘I’ll see you on the other side in just a minute.’” Kara smiled through tears. “He passed a few hours later, but I believe that for him, it’s as he said. When we meet again, it’ll be as though no time has gone by at all.”
A drop of salty tears slid over my lips, surprising me. I hadn’t realized I was crying with them. “Do you really think that’s what it’s like?”
Allan lifted one broad shoulder. For a guy who’d been out of the game for over a decade, he was still in killer shape. “I don’t know. But if it was good enough for Gunner, then it’s good enough for me. Besides, in the absence of any hard proof either way, I think it’s perfectly reasonable to default to what gives us comfort.”
I nodded. “That makes sense.” Using the tissue I’d wadded up in my hand earlier, I wiped my eyes. “I wish I’d known Gunner. I feel like I do, through what you’ve told me, but he sounds like he was an incredible kid.”
“He was.” Kara grinned. “Now don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t perfect, by any means. He had his moments when he drove us crazy. One of the things both Allan and I learned through counseling after Gunner died was how important it is not to re-write history and make the person who passed away into some kind of saint. We need to remember people for how they were, not for how we wish they were.”
I sat back in my chair. “That’s . . . really interesting. I think over the past few months, I haven’t let myself think of Nate as anything but the guy who’d do anything for me. The one who stuck by me all the time.”
“And I’m sure he was,” Kara agreed. “But from an outsider’s point of view, I have to say that what he asked of you was a little selfish. I mean, I understand from what you’ve told us that Nate loved you. And I get that he wanted a taste of normal life, a little bit of what might have been, before his time was over. But he put you into a horrible position. There was no good choice to make, and although you chose what many people would probably consider the more noble one, Nate had to have known what it was costing you.”
“I think he did. Maybe that’s why he was trying to talk to me about the future. He might have felt a little guilty about everything toward the end . . . and he was trying to point me in the right direction for afterward.”
“But see, Quinn, you’re doing it again. You’re justifying Nate’s behavior. There comes a point where you have to admit to yourself that he was wrong to put you in that position in the first place, no matter how he might have tried to make up for it later. It doesn’t mean you have to stay angry at him, but you can’t forgive him until you acknowledge it.”
I swallowed hard, my eyes fastened on the texture of the taupe carpet that covered the floor. “But he’s gone. How can I blame him or forgive him now? And what good will that do?”
“For him, nothing.” Kara’s voice was crisp. “Nate doesn’t need it. From everything you’ve told me, he ended his life in perfect peace, with no worry or regrets, and that’s a wonderful gift you gave him. Now it’s time to give yourself the same peace. Admit how you feel about what Nate did, and then move on. You are the one who needs it.”
My hands were shaking. “I . . .” Licking my lips, I started over. “What Nate did was crappy. By asking me to marry him when we both knew he was
dying, he made it almost impossible for me to say no to him.” A surge of old anger welled up in me. “I’ve been mad at him for doing it and mad at me for not telling him so. And I’m fucking mad at myself for saying yes. I don’t know why I did.”
Allan gripped my shoulder. “But you did, and it’s over. One of my biggest lessons after Gunner died was letting go of the should-haves and could-haves. Once he was gone, beating myself up was a lot easier than dealing with the grief. I had to learn to move on, knowing I did the best I could under the circumstances. You need to do that, too. What you did for Nate was beautiful, Quinn. Kara and I talk about it a lot, thinking about what we might have done if Gunner had been older and had had someone like you in his life. Would either of us have been strong enough to tell our son he had crossed a line? I don’t know. But you’re a young woman with a tremendous capacity for love and compassion and friendship, and marrying Nate was something you did out of that capacity. It wasn’t wrong. But maybe it wasn’t right, either.”
Kara gathered me close to her and hugged me tight. “This is all a process, sweetheart. Allan and I learned a long time ago that things happen as they’re meant to, and we think you’re here in our lives for a reason. Gunner . . .” She closed her eyes, and I could see the struggle in her expression. “He was here with us for a short time. When we got the idea to start the restaurant in his name and to use the proceeds to create the charity, we felt like his life hadn’t been without meaning. When we decided to write this book, it was another way of keeping him alive. And each time we use what we learned over the course of Gunner’s life to help someone else, he’s not completely gone. He’s still with us. You’re an integral part of maintaining his legacy now. You won’t forget him, just like you’ll never forget Nate.”
Quinn: Hey, are you busy?
Leo: No. Just laying here hoping to die.
Quinn: Why?? What’s wrong? Are you okay?
Leo: Yeah, sorry. Spring conditioning is brutal. Just got back home, made it as far as my couch. Not sure I’ll move again tonight.
Quinn: Oh, you poor thing. What did they make you do?
Leo: Sprints. Bear crawls. Burpees. You know, the trifecta.
Quinn: Yikes. I’ll let you rest. Text me later if you have a minute.
Leo: No, I’m fine. As long as I’m laying here hurting, I might as well chat with you.
Quinn: Ummm, thank you?
Leo: LOL no, no, no, didn’t mean it that way. Just that talking to you distracts me from feeling bad. What’s up? You all right?
Quinn: Yeah, I am. I just . . . I wanted to tell you I’m sorry, Leo. I never really said that to you, but I am sorry. I spent a lot of time today talking with Kara and Allan about Nate. I guess I finally admitted to myself how mad at him I’ve been.
Leo: Mad at Nate? For what, dying?
Quinn: No, for asking me to marry him. For forcing me into that choice.
Leo: Okay. Ah . . . I’m not sure what to say here.
Quinn: You don’t have to say anything. I needed to tell you this, but you don’t owe me a thing.
Leo: I was mad at him, too. When I went to see him the last time, I wanted to hit him. You know I never would, but I was so pissed.
Quinn: I know you wouldn’t. But you had a right to be angry. At Nate and at me.
Leo: I’m not angry at you, Mia.
Quinn: But you should be. And not just for saying yes to Nate. I never should have left you that summer down in Carolina. I ran out on you, I gave up on us . . . I’m sorry for that, too.
Leo: Quinn? Stop being sorry.
Quinn: Don’t worry. I’m not living in regret-land. But I have to say it to you before I can move on. Otherwise, it would just keep eating at me.
Leo: Okay, apologies heard and accepted. Do you feel better now?
Quinn: I think I do. I actually feel like today, after talking to Kara and Allan about so many things . . . and crying a lot, maybe I’m moving on. Maybe I’m growing. Imagine that.
Leo: Mia, I’m proud of you. This shit isn’t easy. So what’s the next step?
Quinn: I guess I want to just be for a little while. I want to see how it feels to live without the anger and the regret. It’s all part of healing. And then—I don’t know.
Leo: What about for us? What’s the next step for us?
Quinn: Is there an us? I thought maybe I broke that forever.
Leo: Babe, there will always be an us. The best days of you and me are still to come.
Quinn: How can you be so sure? I’ve done just about everything I could to destroy any chance we had.
Leo: No, you didn’t. And I’m sure because I can’t imagine a future that doesn’t have you in it.
Quinn: And here I thought I couldn’t cry anymore today. There you go, proving me wrong again. As usual.
Leo: You’re crying? Mia Quinn, why? I didn’t want to make you sad.
Quinn: You didn’t. They’re happy tears. Maybe relieved tears. Cleansing tears.
Leo: Okay, babe. Have I told you I miss you?
Quinn: Not today.
Leo: I miss you. So much. Although if I’m going to tell the truth, not sure if I’d want you to see the pitiful, broken man I am just now. You might decide I’m not worth the effort.
Quinn: That would never happen. Never.
Leo: You feel better now?
Quinn: Yeah, actually. I think I might take a nap before dinner. Allan and Kara are taking me to their favorite Italian place, but we couldn’t get reservations until late. I might fall asleep in my risotto if I don’t rest first.
Leo: Okay, babe. Text me later?
Quinn: I will. Thank you, Leo. xxx ooo
Leo: Sending you this picture to prove that I made it through spring conditioning in one piece. Today was the last day. Until the mandatory mini-camp, of course. Which starts next week.
Quinn: You know, you might warn a girl before you send her a photo that almost stops her heart. Uh, wow. I thought you were pretty damn cut and buff when you were working out during college, but . . . excuse me while I wipe the drool off the screen.
Leo: If every part of me didn’t hurt, I might have jumped up and sprinted across the country to you just now. Pretty sure I’ve run the equivalent of 3K miles over the past month.
Quinn: I can’t even imagine. Although I have to say, I think I’m in better shape now than I’ve ever been, thanks to walking the hills of San Francisco. And of course Kara and Allan are health nuts. They’re always feeding me protein shakes, kale salads and veggies. I’m never going to be one of those super-athletic girls, but I do feel like I’m more toned. Healthier.
Leo: Babe, I like you the way you are. You’ve always been the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I’m happy that you feel healthier. You sound (on text) better, too.
Quinn: I think I am. Allan and I are going over the final edits today. I’m proud of the work we’ve done. This book might not break records or even hit the lists, but it’s an important story, and I hope lots of people read it.
Leo: It’s going to be wildly successful. I just have a feeling. So when does Zelda get there?
Quinn: Tomorrow morning. She’s already complaining about how early she has to get up, but I can’t wait to see her. Hard to believe how much I’ve missed her—remember how different from each other we were back in freshman year?
Leo: You’re still different from each other. Nothing against Zelda, but I like you better.
Quinn: That’s good to hear. I was kind of worried, you know. ;)
Leo: Yeah, you know me. I can’t resist the chicks who threatened to cut off my dick, grind it up and feed it to the dogs.
Quinn: What?! When did that happen?
Leo: Uh, maybe I never told you that. Remember when I flew up to surprise you sophomore year? After the Arkansas game? I met Zelda and she gave me that warning. It’s the kind you never forget, you know?
Quinn: Wow. Sorry about that. I had no idea. Z can be a little protective of me. Sometimes I think she sees me as we
aker than she is.
Leo: I’m not sure it’s that. Think it’s more that she sees you as better than she is. Nobler, maybe? She told me that night you were the best person she’d ever known. Zelda puts on a good show, but she doesn’t have a very high opinion of herself. At least that’s my hunch.
Quinn: You’re right about that. I think it’s part of the problem between Tuck and Z. Deep down, she doesn’t feel like she’s good enough for him.
Leo: I can relate. That’s actually something Nate said to me, the last time I saw him—that me feeling that way wasn’t helping us. But I’ve always felt like I couldn’t measure up to who you needed me to be.
Quinn: Is that because of something I did? Did I make you feel that way?
Leo: No. I think it’s because I’ve always known who you are—I’ve known your heart. Every time you stood up for Nate, every time you gave up something for him and I didn’t, I knew you were right and I was wrong. After a while, it was just easier to accept that I couldn’t measure up to the example you set.
Quinn: But maybe all those times I wasn’t doing the right thing. Maybe by giving into what Nate wanted, I was hurting all of us.
Leo: You did the right thing, Mia. I’m not saying you didn’t.
Quinn: I know that’s not what you meant. But isn’t it sad that it took Nate dying for us to figure all this out?
Leo: It’s what he wanted. He told me all he wanted was to know you could be happy. I think if he could see you now, he’d be proud of you.
Quinn: I think so, too. Kara and Allan talk about Gunner’s legacy. Maybe that’s what Nate left us. It’s why he’ll always be part of who we are.
Leo: Okay, now you’re getting too deep for this simple-minded football player. I should probably go grab a shower, anyway. Assuming I can drag my ass down the hall.
Quinn: Don’t hurt yourself. I’m going to get back to work on this manuscript. I’ll talk to you later. xxx ooo
Leo: Miss you, babe. Tell Zelda I said hey, and you two have fun.
The Keeping Score Box Set Page 69
