The Farewell Season (9 page)

My aching body reminded me that I needed to stand in the shower and let hot water pour over my sore muscles. I dragged myself to the bathroom. At first the water stung, as it hit my cuts and scrapes. Then I started to feel better, enough that I almost didn't want to stop showering.

My stomach insisted on its share of the action, so I toweled off, quickly dressed and went down for breakfast. When Rolf showed up early, Kirstin insisted he sit down and "have at least a taste of the date-nut bread." Of course, he couldn't resist.

"So," Rolf said after he washed down his third piece with a glass of milk, "how'd it go with Glynnie last night?"

"It was okay."

"Yeah, I heard him come home," Kirstin said. "It was pretty late."

I snorted. "You call nine o'clock late?"

"It's later than you stayed out all summer," Kirstin pointed out.

"You try mowing lawns all day and see how late you stay out."

Kirstin just raised an eyebrow.

When Rolf finished polishing off the last few drops of milk, he and Kirstin got up, cleared away their dishes and got into a discussion of plants next to the dishwasher.

"I don't know Glynnie," Mom said, "though I've met her mother at the grocery store. What's she like?"

I shrugged. "Just a girl from my class."

Mom pressed on. "Did you two have a nice time last night?"

"Don't get excited." I gave Mom a narrow glance. "Glynnie's just interviewing me for that column she's been doing for the Crystal Lake Recorder."

"Interviewing you?" Mom's voice was full of curiosity. "Tell me about it."

"No big deal. Just football stuff."

"Really? She's a sportswriter?"

"She writes about all kinds of stuff." I was kind of surprised Mom had never read Glynnie's column.

"Hmmm." Mom got a far-off look on her face. "She writes for the Crystal Lake Recorder. Your cartoons have been in the school paper. You two have a lot in com—"

"Gotta go," I said, making a point of checking the time. "Hey, Rolf." I stood up before Mom's imagination went completely out of control.

"Yeah, just a minute," Rolf said. "Kirstin's packing up a snack for us."

"Uh, about that," I said. "I don't think Horton will want anyone chowing down at practice."

"I'll probably eat before we even get there." Rolf laughed.

"As I was saying," Mom said. "You and this Glynnie girl—"

"Oh, hey! I forgot to tell you. I had sales of almost three hundred dollars yesterday." I jumped up and pulled the money and receipts out of the lockbox and I handed it to Mom. "Check this out."

"Look at all the red-dot kitchenware sales!" Mom smiled. "And a ruler from that box of those tools I picked up at that auction last month. Seventy-five dollars, very—" The smile dropped off Mom's face.

"What? Didn't I fill out the credit card slip right?"
Crap
. "I checked it twice."

"No …," Mom shook her head. "No, it … it's fine. I, um, just got a sudden headache." Mom forced a small laugh. "Maybe I need glasses or something …"

"Okay, I'm ready to go," Rolf said.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." I grabbed my gym bag.

As Rolf and I were leaving, Kirstin announced her menu for lunch. As soon as I heard the words "Swedish meatballs," I knew Rolf couldn't resist.

"You should just plan on Rolf being here every day," I joked. "That way you can do your food shopping way ahead."

"Well … since
you
brought it up, Eric … how 'bout it, Rolf?"

"Okay. Freeloading is my specialty, anyway." Rolf gave Kirstin's braid a tug and she gave him a punch on the arm.

Once we got in the truck, Rolf said, "So how
did
it go with Glynnie?"

"Give me a break." I didn't know what to say. Rolf had been my best friend ever since we smeared each other with finger-paints in kindergarten. His humor gave me a lift when I needed it, and I knew he was always there for me. But when it came to losing Dad, I'd talked to Glynnie more in one evening than I had to Rolf in four months.

With Rolf it'd been a hand on the shoulder, a sympathetic look, tossing a football to distract me. Not that Rolf wouldn't have listened if I'd wanted to talk, but he would never press me to talk either.

"It was just an interview about football. That's all there was to it."

"Too bad," Rolf said, offering a rare, if abbreviated, unsolicited opinion.

True to his word, Rolf polished off the date-nut bread Kirstin had packed for him as soon as he pulled into a parking spot at school. Morning practice turned out to be a real drag. For some reason Coach Horton decided to half kill us. "You guys have to concentrate more on your conditioning. Most games are won or lost in the second half. You gotta have stamina in order to peak in the final minutes of the game. A step or two can make all the difference between success and failure."

'Course, that was true, but it was hard to keep in mind through what seemed like endless toe touches, running in place, windmills, pushups, sit-ups and leg raises, not to mention running and skipping rope. For good measure, using our legs as the driving force, we had to try pushing back the wall of the school.

"Pretend the wall is the opponent." Coach Horton pushed some imaginary bricks. "That'll give you strength to push away blockers!"

I silently cursed him. Why did he have to be so hard on us? I pretended the wall was Coach Horton, and for a second it almost felt as if the bricks yielded to my pushing.

After the brick-wall session, it was more running; backward, sideways, quick starts and stops, fast turns, sprints. The entire defensive squad went through the whole routine, regardless of positions.

"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?"