10. Declan #3
“That should do it,” Lynn says. “You're past the acute phase, time to come back to the building.” Then she turns to Winona. “Thanks for your help.”
“It was fun,” Winona says. “And I’m glad to help Declan.”
Lynn smiles at me like she knows I got a good one. Trust me, if I didn’t know it before, I do now.
Coach comes back into the room with Andrew.
While Andrew looks the cast over, Coach says, “You’re good to go.
You can start coming in for film and treatment.
We’ll get you back in the weight room with a trainer for upper body work next week.
Looking forward to seeing you back here Wednesday, Declan. ”
“Yes, Coach,” I say.
The medical team and Coach Griffin leave the room.
I pivot so my legs are dangling down from the exam table.
Winona hands me my crutches and we head out, passing a few of my teammates along the way.
Each one of them greets me and then sizes her up.
She’s seemingly oblivious to their scrutiny and appreciation.
The closer we get to the exit, the more aware I become that Winona’s going to drop me back home and drive away.
“You got your cast!” she says, resuming her usual Winona exuberance as we approach the glass doors leading out to the parking lot. “And you get to start coming back here?”
“Yeah. I’ll be here Mondays for film and checkups. Wednesdays through Fridays I’ll watch practice and get treatments. Maybe do a workout those days.”
“Let’s get ice cream to celebrate!”
“Ice cream?”
“Something. We need to celebrate your big day. I like ice cream for celebrating. What do you like?”
“Ice cream’s good,” I agree.
“Ice cream’s great,” she corrects me.
She holds the door open and I swing through past her.
When was the last time I celebrated anything besides a win? Those celebrations usually happen on the road at a hotel bar or party in the town where we won. But getting ice cream to celebrate something? Maybe Mom did that for me when I was ten.
Winona drives us back to Waterford. She drives into downtown and parks in front of Sweetwater Creamery. She grabs my crutches and I get myself out of the passenger seat.
She’s not wrong. It feels good to be out of the house. And the cast does feel like a milestone—one I would definitely not have celebrated without her prompting.
Her phone pings as we’re heading into the ice cream parlor.
She holds the door open for me. Once I’m inside, she pulls out her cell. She types something and pockets it.
“Winona for Hire,” she says by way of explanation.
“Let me guess,” I say. “Giving a cow a haircut?”
“No!” she laughs.
“Decorating a tractor for the Labor Day parade?”
“Nope. Though, if you know anyone looking for that, I’d love to do it.”
“What was it then?” I ask.
“Shawna … She works at the animal shelter? … Well, her teen son Kyle wants to take a girl to Homecoming and he wants to have his license by then. His driving instructor got sick, so Shawna wants me to take Kyle out driving.”
I chuckle. “So you’re going to be a driving instructor?”
“Just to help him get his hours behind the wheel.”
I shake my head. What must it be like to be Winona? She lives life with her arms wide open, embracing whatever unexpected opportunities and people cross her path.
A little boy runs up to us. “Are you Declan O’Connell?” His eyes are wide.
“I am.”
“How did you know that?” Winona asks.
The little boy says, “He plays for the Thunder.”
“Do you want my autograph?” I ask the boy.
“Your what?”
“Do you want me to sign my name on something for you?”
Winona’s face scrunches up in a confusion mirroring the boy’s.
“I want a picture with you,” the boy says.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Benson, but people just call me Benny.”
“Okay, Benny. Who’s taking our picture?”
His mom approaches us. “Sorry about that. We don’t mean to swarm you when you’re just coming out for ice cream.”
“Not a problem,” I tell her.
Winona steps away from us, offering to take the phone from the mom so she can get in the photo too. Winona snaps a few pictures with the mom and a few with just me and Benny.
A few heads turn in the ice cream parlor after that, but no one approaches me for a photo or an autograph. Winona and I get our cones and then we sit at a bistro table on the sidewalk in front of the shop eating them.
“I almost got salted caramel,” she says.
“How’s coffee chip?” I ask.
“Here. Have a taste,” she says, holding her cone out to me.
I lean in, holding her gaze and take a small bite. “Mmmm. Good.”
“Try mine,” I say, tipping my cone in her direction.
She leans in, but instead of holding my gaze, her lids flutter shut and she takes the bite and hums softly. “So good.”
She pulls away, her lips covered in a smear of ice cream.
“You’ve still got …” I motion around my mouth.
“Oh!” Her tongue darts out and she licks her lips.
I realize I’m staring. So does Winona.
She smiles over at me and says, "What?"
I don’t know why I say what I do, but it’s the first thought that comes to mind.
“You're different.”
She laughs. “You're just now picking up on this?” She takes a long lick of her ice cream. “Get with it, football player.”
I smile back at her. “Yeah. I am.”