Chapter 15 Claire
CLAIRE
Chicago—an opponent we should have easily beaten—wins by two goals in our first game. At least I didn’t have much time to get attached to the possibility of an undefeated season. It’s gone, just like that, morale dissipating with it.
Otto—Coach Berger—missed the game.
“He had to return to Germany for a family emergency,” was the explanation Coach Taylor provided us before the match.
Which sparked intrigue and concern among the entire team because the novelty of our new coach hadn’t worn off yet.
But no one on the team, aside from me, knows that Otto doesn’t have any family. None that he’s close to at least, unless things have changed drastically.
Maybe they have. I mean, it’s been six years. My life isn’t identical to how it looked when we met.
I stare at the exterior of my parents’ house, tired and annoyed.
Maybe we should sell it. Mom has settled well at Echo Glen.
And she’s not going to get any better, only worse.
Chances are, Cassidy will end up moving too.
Before she called to tell me she was coming home, she’d never expressed any intention of living in Boston long-term.
And I… I could start over, sort of. Selling would make money a non-issue for a while. Allow me to play without worrying how to stretch my salary.
I sigh. I’m not sure I can let this house go.
I can’t let the silly Detroit Zoo token go; it was in my pocket during our loss earlier.
I keep paying more to fix this car than it’s worth, because Mom went with me to pick it out.
I can’t stop thinking about Otto, my memories a muddled mess of moments from Paris and “It’s good to see you,” and “I know how long it’s been. ”
I shouldn’t be worrying about what might have been urgent enough for him to rush home. I could ask; I still have Otto’s number saved in my phone, assuming he hasn’t changed it—which is a big if, based on his level of fame.
But I can’t call him. I don’t even know why I would want to.
I bang my skull against the headrest once, then climb out of the sedan and start up the front walk. My hand slides into my pocket, thumb rubbing against the grooved side of the coin. It hardly weighs anything, but it’s a comforting heaviness anyway.
“Claire! Claire!”
I glance left, spotting Lydia shuffling this way.
“How did the game go?” she asks eagerly.
She brought Tommy to our preseason game last weekend since Cassidy had a training seminar for work and came to some matches with Mom last season.
I force a smile. “We lost.”
Lydia’s face falls. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey.”
I shrug. “It happens. Can’t win them all.”
Win Some, Lose Most could be the title of my autobiography.
“Maybe this can be a good-luck charm.” Lydia holds out the maroon scarf she’s carrying. “I finally finished it. Matches your hat.”
“Thank you so much.”
I give her a tight hug, and she pats me on the back.
“Let me know the next time you head down to visit your mom. I knit her some socks.”
“I will.”
Lydia gives me a sympathetic smile, which makes me think I’m not doing a great job of hiding my disappointment about the loss, and then heads back into her house.
I continue inside, calling out, “Cassidy? Tommy?”
A cheerful, “In here,” comes from the living room.
I hang up my coat and the scarf from Lydia in the front closet, then continue down the hallway and into the living room.
Cassidy’s curled up on the couch, nursing a glass of wine and flipping through a paperback.
“One of Mom’s?” I ask.
“Mmhmm.” She reaches for her glass, swallowing a healthy sip. “I’m, like, ten books behind.”
I smile as I sit on the rug. Mom’s written over thirty mystery novels, churning out one a year ever since she started writing during her maternity leave with Cassidy. By the time I arrived, it was her full-time career.
“Let me guess. You’ve read them all.”
“It’s not a competition, Cass.”
On the days Mom’s recollection of reality blurs, she retreats into her fictional worlds. I tried to reach her there.
I crane my neck to see the cover. “Who do you think did it?”
“The brother seems suspicious to me. Why was he wet when—don’t make that face!”
“What face?”
“That face. It’s not the brother?”
I lie flat on my back, lifting a leg to stretch my hamstring. “I said nothing.”
“I was sure it was the brother,” Cassidy mutters.
I drape an arm over my eyes, hiding my smile with the sleeve. It is the brother.
“Where’s Tommy?”
“Dad and Lindsey took him to the park.”
“Fun.”
Cassidy sighs. “Lindsey offered to plan his birthday party.”
Our stepmother has her own event planning business. By reputation, it’s considered very successful, one of the more coveted companies in Boston. But I’ve never attended a party they’ve thrown, including Lindsey’s wedding to my father, so I really couldn’t judge for myself.
“He’s turning five,” I say flatly. “Is it going to be black tie?”
“Actually, she’s on board with the dinosaur theme. And she agreed it would be nice to have it here.”
I scowl into my fleece. Obviously, I was planning to attend my nephew’s birthday party regardless. But if it’s hosted here, my dad and Lindsey will be inescapable. I’ve managed to avoid them every time they stop by, sometimes purposeful and sometimes happy coincidence, but that can’t last forever.
“Dad said he’s texted you a few times…and no response.”
I sit up, reaching for the open wine bottle on the coffee table and taking a swig straight from the bottle.
Cassidy’s lips purse as she watches me. This is a rare reversal of our usual roles.
“I thought we talked about you not discussing me with Dad.”
“I was just passing along the message,” she says tersely.
“Thanks,” I reply sarcastically. “Much appreciated.”
I take another sip from the bottle, and my sister studies me. I don’t appreciate her expression—a mixture of exasperation and concern. She’s my older sister, but most people would guess the opposite.
“I’m sorry about the game earlier.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, shifting position so I can stretch my other hamstring. No sarcasm this time. “And thanks for coming.”
I’m upset about the loss. I didn’t play well, letting too many attackers approach Daniela.
Letting my teammates down has happened before.
But today was the first time Cassidy had seen me play since high school.
Tommy’s been talking about going to the game nonstop since Lydia brought him to the scrimmage last weekend.
It feels like I disappointed them, too, even though Cassidy couldn’t care less about soccer and Tommy probably won’t remember it in a week.
“It wasn’t what I expected.”
I glance up. “What do you mean?”
“That stadium is huge. And I swear, half the people there were wearing your jersey. Tommy told every number five that he saw that you’re his aunt. You are a celebrity.”
I laugh. “Hardly.”
“I sent Josh some photos. He wants to come to a game.”
“Is he still in San Diego?”
“Yep.” Cassidy checks her phone, smiling at the screen before firing off a quick reply. To Josh, I’m guessing.
“The conference going well?”
Josh does something in medical sales, but I’m fuzzy on the details. I think Cassidy is, too, based on her explanation of his job. But it seems like he’s been very successful at it.
“I think so. He’s at a lunch with some colleagues now.”
“And clearly paying very close attention,” I comment as her phone buzzes with another new message.
“Well, duh, he’d rather sext me.”
“Ew. Can you do that somewhere else?”
“I was in here first. Don’t be a prude, Clairey.”
I lie back down on the floor with a sigh.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
I aim an incredulous look at her. “We’ve been living together for almost two months, and you think I have a secret boyfriend?”
“Well, I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it. You mentioned that lawyer, like, once over a year ago and no one since.”
“I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Why did you and”—a pause as she searches for his name—“Simon break up?”
“I ended things with Steve because I didn’t have time for a relationship. I’d just signed with the Siege, and things with Mom were…progressing. It wasn’t working.”
More silence before Cassidy says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. That’s just… That’s how things were then.”
“Would you get back together with Steve now?”
I don’t have to think about it. “No. The only guy I’d ever—” I stop talking abruptly. I blame the wine. In season, I rarely drink. My alcohol tolerance is practically nonexistent.
“Who?” Cassidy asks eagerly. “Nolan?”
My incredulous laugh won’t stay contained. “God, no.”
I haven’t spoken to—much less thought about—Nolan since that phone call in Paris.
The flash of hurt that crosses Cassidy’s face is brief, but not so short that I miss it entirely.
The end of my college years overlapped with the start of Cassidy’s post-grad life. We spoke infrequently and rarely about anything meaningful. I never shared many details about my breakup with Nolan, and I realize Cassidy assumed that meant I was too heartbroken to discuss it.
“I’ve been over Nolan for a long time,” I explain.
“Then who—”
The doorbell interrupts Cassidy’s question.
I roll on my stomach, then stand. “I’ll get it.”
“It’s probably Dad,” Cassidy warns once I’m already a few steps from the doorway.
I swallow hard, nod, then continue walking. I can’t put this off forever.
As soon as the door is open, a blur of teal collides with me. “Claire!”
“Tommy boy!” I hoist him up in the air, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Did you have fun at the park?”
He nods. “Grandpa played goalie so I could practice my penaty shots.”
“Penalty,” I correct gently as I set him down. “And good. You’ll have to show me later.”
I take another deep breath, then shift my attention to the figure hovering on the front porch.
Cassidy and I both look more like Mom, but I can see traces of my appearance in my father. Our eyes are the same green, and I inherited the cinnamon shade of his hair, although it’s curly, like Mom’s. But the rest of him is unrecognizable from the man who used to block my shots in the nearby park.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hello, Claire.” He flashes an uncertain smile at me.
Tommy tugs on the hem of my fleece. “Can you make me ants on a log?”
“Of course. One sec.”
I’m eager to end this interaction with my father as quickly as possible, but not so cold as to immediately slam the door in his face.
“Okay.” Tommy wanders deeper into the house, leaving us semi-alone.
I can hear Cassidy talking in the living room. Lindsey is sitting in the passenger side of the silver Lexus running along the curb. It must be uncomfortable for her, visiting my mother’s house. She and Dad never had a reason to come over here before Cassidy and Tommy moved in.
“Tommy is quite the soccer fan,” Dad comments. “That’s all he wanted to do at the park.”
I nod, fighting the urge to fidget. “I’m glad you guys had a nice time.”
“He’s a great kid.”
“He is,” I agree.
Dad exhales. “I was hoping we could—”
“Hey, Dad!” Cassidy appears beside me, her wide smile genuine and bright. “Thanks so much for taking him to the park.”
Dad’s expression is open and happy, nothing like when he was looking at me. It’s my own fault that I have essentially no relationship with my father. I’ve pushed him away at every opportunity.
But there’s a stab of envy as I watch them chat easily about Tommy’s party and make plans to eat lunch together this coming week.
“I should make Tommy’s snack,” I say after they’ve sorted their plans. “Bye, Dad.”
The transformation in his face is immediate as he glances at me. Tentative. “Bye, Claire. If there’s a good time to talk, I’d really like to.”
Talk about Mom, he means. Maybe Cassidy’s stopped passing information along, like I asked. Maybe he wants to know details she doesn’t. I was the one at doctor’s appointments and meetings with lawyers.
I nod. “I’ll text you.”
I probably won’t, and we both know it. But he doesn’t call me out on it. Our conversations are as awkward for him as they are for me.
I spin in my socks and hustle down the hallway after a giggling Tommy, shouting, “Ant attack!”
As I slip and slide along the varnished floorboards, I wonder if my dad recalls doing the same thing with me.