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That actually did make sense. “And me?”
“I’m worried about you, and whatever this is, it’s not getting better. I think it’s Clara.”
The absence of Clara and Katie from my daily life had left a bigger hole than I wanted to acknowledge. My cold, stark condo was a constant reminder of the life I’d chosen for myself, of the person I was. And it was so empty it hurt. But I had hockey, and that would have to be enough.
“Your game is a mess,” he went on, his tone never shifting.
“My game is on point.” That was the one thing I was sure of.
He shook his head. “You used to play with a kind of finesse. It’s what makes you so great. Unpredictable. Like you already know you’re going to score.” He paused to run a finger through the whipped cream on his plate and stuff it into his mouth. “Now? It’s like you’re trying to force it.” That seemed annoyingly accurate.
“What color was my aura before?’
“Glittery pink.”
“Shut up.”
“It was.”
“You’re just fucking with me now.” I had the aura of a six-year-old girl? Maybe that’s why Katie and I clicked so well.
He lifted a shoulder. “You need to fix it.”
“Sorry if I’m not sure how to fix an invisible color shroud that only you can see.” I scoffed, finishing my breakfast and dropping some cash on the table. “Are we done here?”
“Guess so,” he said.
And I left him sitting there, my head in an even darker place than it had been when we’d sat down, full of questions about glittery auras and the game.
If I didn’t even have hockey now, what the fuck was left?
That night I lay on my back staring at the ceiling after a long, punishing workout at the gym in my building. I’d exhausted myself, but my brain wouldn’t quit.
I wondered how Clara’s new job was going.
I wondered if she hated me.
I wondered about Katie. What had Clara told her about me leaving so suddenly? Was she sad? Did she miss me at all?
And Mom. She’d looked like she was going to cry when I’d told them I was going. Dad had sat in his chair looking mildly annoyed with me, but it was Mom I worried about. Now that I knew Dad wasn’t doing well, I understood how much of a load she was carrying. And even though it hurt that she hadn’t trusted me to be there when she’d needed me the first time, this time I was consciously walking away.
I made a mental note to call her, to check in. Maybe I could help somehow without physically being there. Maybe Dad could use a nurse or something? Some kind of trainer to strengthen his heart?
I pushed out a deep breath, understanding how difficult it would be for Mom to convince him to do anything good for himself. He was stubborn and angry, and possibly depressed. I’d tried to strike up a variety of conversations while we’d worked on the fence, but he was like a stone wall. It was hard to watch, and it was like he’d decided he wasn’t worth the effort it would require to change any of that. I hated seeing him like that.
When sleep didn’t feel like it was anywhere in the same four state radius as I was, I rolled over and snatched my phone off the bedside table, dialing.
“Hello?”
“Doc.”
“Hello, Sylvester. It’s pretty late. Is everything okay?”
I glanced at the clock. It was after ten. “I’m sorry. I can call back in the morning.”
“You have me now. How are things going?”
“Um. Yeah. Not good.”
