Chapter 63
Seth
“Has your life ever been so great that you’re just sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop?” I ask Chastain on the second day of our five-day away games. It’s true. I have a wife and we’re in love. She’s adopting our daughter, and I’m waiting for a court date to make it legal. My father is finally acting like a normal human being. My career is great. Nothing has ever worked this well for me in my life, and I’m scared of what’s on the other side.
“Been there,” Chastain says while he laces up his sneakers.
“And?” I ask. I stand over him as we wait to be called out on the court. The best thing about tonight is that I know Layla will be watching.
“And I mucked it up.”
“Not exactly reassuring,” I mutter.
He stands and taps me on the shoulder. “Then don’t muck it up. Even if you do, you can fix it. I did.” And that’s all he says. His life seems to be great, so I’ll take him at his word.
I’m not going to fuck things up with my wife. There are no other women, and my plan to treat her like Coach and Chastain treat their wives worked perfectly. All I have to do is maintain that, and that’s easy.
We’re in Philly tonight, so we get called out first. As expected, the reception is lukewarm, but we manage a twelve-point lead by halftime. After a pep talk, I decide to shower before calling Layla.
“Wakowski!” I hear Chastain yell a few minutes later. I have my face underneath the shower head. “Call Layla. She’s been trying to reach you.” And my heart drops. She knows the routine. I shower at halftime and then I call. She gives me a pep talk and I return to the court.
I run out of the shower without rinsing off the soap.
“Jesus, Wakowski, use a towel. No one wants to see your junk!” someone yells.
I don’t bother responding as I reach for my phone.
There are about a dozen missed calls and texts. I don’t read the texts, I just call Layla. She answers right away.
“Seth,” she practically wails.
“What is it? Is it Barbara? Jasmine?” Then I get a horrible thought. “My dad?”
“It’s,” she begins, but she starts crying, “Gaga,” she manages to say after several wails.
“What? Did she fall again?” She fell a few days ago, but she was fine. She was a little sore and bruised, but nothing was broken.
“She’s dead,” Layla says, and the phone slips out of my hand and lands on my big toe. Like in a trance, I bend down and pick it up. When I press it to my ear, I’m met with the sounds of my wife’s uncontrollable wails. I stand there, frozen and unable to utter a single word. “She died in her sleep,” is all she says.
“Layla,” is all I can think to say.
“I was supposed to go see her today but didn’t go because Jasmine wasn’t feeling well. I thought I had time—”
Someone bumps into me, then a towel is thrown at me. I quickly wrap it around my waist. Whatever Layla was going to say gets caught off while she weeps. She tries to talk, but she’s crying uncontrollably and can’t get any words out. It’s so bad that I worry she will have a panic attack like my dad used to have whenever he had one of his crying fits.
“I’ll be right there,” I say, knowing she needs me. I know she has her mother and other family members, but they will be dealing with their own grief. Layla needs her husband. If this were Jeannie or Vickie, I know Chastain and Coach would be with them.
“You can’t. You’re part of a team,” she manages to say.
“We’re a fucking team,” I say back. “You and me. We take care of each other.” I’ve never had anyone take care of me before, and I’m not going to drop the ball when she needs me now. She starts weeping again, and I imagine her in the apartment by herself without anyone to lean on.
While she cries, I tell my coach what happened, and that I have to go. He nods and tells me to go be with my wife. I keep Layla on the phone with me the entire time. I get a text from Coach telling me he’s sending the Walsh private jet and for me to get to the airport. While I’m on the phone with Layla, her mother arrives at our place, but I don’t let her off the phone until the pilot tells me we’re about to take off.
It takes less than one hour to land in Teterboro, and there’s a car waiting for me courtesy of Coach. I’m home forty minutes after that. Her entire family is there when I arrive. She’s in June Bug’s arms when I open the door, but as soon as she sees me, she leaves him and practically flies into mine. She breaks down as soon as our bodies touch.
I knew things were too good to be true. Layla’s been a mess for the past two days. Not only that, but her mother and cousin are too, which leaves planning most of the funeral to me and Donna. Even Leon pitches in and isn’t met with the usual insults. The only good thing is that Gaga, whose real name is Ruth Brunton, left instructions on what to do. She even had a life insurance policy that covered everything.
Even now, three days after her death, Layla is crying loudly on my shoulder while the minister does the funeral mass. Stella manages to get herself together long enough to do the eulogy. To my left is my dad who is holding onto my hand so tight he might cut off my circulation. He insisted on coming for Layla, and when I tried to talk him out of attending the actual funeral, he said he was certain he was ready. I don’t know how ready he is because he’s been stuck to me like glue since we stepped out of my apartment. Between him and Layla needing all my attention, I’m happy we left Jasmine with the nanny.
With my free hand, I console my wife. Jeannie and Coach sit on the other side of her, and Jeannie holds Layla’s other hand. Every few moments, Vickie, who is sitting behind us, will touch my shoulder and Layla’s.
After the eulogy, we stand, and Amazing Grace is played. I manage to wrestle my hand from my dad’s to wrap both arms around my wife so she can weep against my chest. Dad looks around like a fish out of water. I look behind me for help, and Vickie gets it. She and Chastain stand next to my dad, and Vickie takes his hand.
If I thought the funeral mass was hard, that was nothing compared to the burial where I have to physically hold Layla up to keep her from falling. I have one arm wrapped tightly around her while Jeannie holds her hand. By the time they lower the casket into the ground, I’ve picked her up and am taking her to my waiting car. Even though we rode in the limo, I had my driver follow us here. I’m glad I did because my dad sat in the car while we were in the cemetery.
“Do you want to go home?” I say against Layla’s temple. We’re in the back while Dad sits in the front with the driver.
It takes her a few minutes to get herself under control enough to answer me. I put my hand under her chin and dab her eyes. All her makeup is gone. Her eyes are as puffy as her lips. Her nose is running, and I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.
“I have to be here for it all,” she says, and I nod. I’m not going to argue about it. Today is about her and her family, not me. I take a bottle of water and put it to her lips. She takes a few sips before pushing it away.
She takes the tissue from me and blows her nose.
“Lord, that sounds like a foghorn.” To my relief, she laughs and blows her nose again. “How can such a cute little nose make that sound?”
“Let’s go,” she says a few minutes later. “Are you coming, Pete?” she asks my dad. I open my mouth to say he’ll be staying in the car, but my dad opens the front door and steps out. I exit and extend my hand to Layla, and she says, “I’ll be okay. I promise.” I pull her close and kiss her temple.
“Fall apart and I’ll be here to catch you.”
“You guys get out of here,” Layla says to Jeannie and Coach. “Kiss the babies for me. Thank you for coming.” She croaks out the last part before she takes Jeannie into a hug. She hugs Coach next, and they leave.
There was a reception after the burial, and afterwards her immediate family and a few of our friends return to our apartment. By that time, my dad was spent and he’s likely napping in his room.
The event is subdued, and Stella is sitting in the corner looking off into the distance. Donna is sitting there holding her hand while Leon talks to Chastain on the other side of the room. June Bug is standing by the window talking to a woman I met at our wedding reception. She was also at the church and cemetery, though she stayed in the background.
“We’re going to go soon,” Vickie says. “Colt has to nap for the game tonight.”
Layla hugs her, and I do the same. “Tell Chastain I’ll see him tomorrow.” Once they leave, Layla takes both my hands in hers.
“Why tomorrow? What about tonight’s game?” Then she looks at her watch. “You need to rest. Maybe we can take a family nap.” She smiles, but it’s sad.
“I’m going to stay home with you tonight.” I stroke her cheek. “You need me. We can still take the nap.”
“I need you to play. I like watching you. You’ve been here for me, and I’m gonna be here for you by making sure you get to work tonight. I’m okay. You can hold me tonight, but only if you win.” She gives me a sad smile, and a tear slips out. I wipe it before kissing her forehead.
“You can land a plane on this forehead. The Walsh jet should use it as their runway.” She hits my chest, but she throws her head back and laughs. I pretend to hit her back, and when she tries to punch me again, I run. She follows, giggling along the way.