Chapter Six
Six
If happy reunions were shots on goal, Kyle would be 0 for 2. A few hours after the sad scene with Casey and Star yesterday morning, he’d gone to the hospital to see his dad, which hadn’t gone a whole lot better. And he was likely to hit 0 for 3 shortly, when he arrived at his old garage in town. But Dad’s F-150 was having trouble starting up, and the rough idle and shaky ride were signs of worn-out spark plugs. He’d considered driving to an auto parts store out of town to avoid familiar faces, but then decided that was just putting off the inevitable. According to his dad’s doctor, Kyle would be in Potsdam for a little while. He was going to have to get used to reunions.
When he got to the cardiology unit yesterday and found his father sitting up and shifting around while a doctor examined him, he was so relieved he felt like weeping. After seeing Dad the night before, weak and unconscious to the world, he’d begun to worry whether he’d wake up again, let alone be mobile. So Kyle stopped in the hall to pull it together and assess him from a distance. He was propped up against pillows, hair disheveled, face still covered in stubble. The thin hospital gown hung from hunched shoulders, his pale arms poking out and resting in his lap. The weight loss was evident, and he looked fragile. But he was awake.
When the doctor finished his exam Kyle stepped inside. “Hi, Dad.”
His father’s head slowly turned in his direction. His stare was blank initially, and Kyle panicked for a second, but then his eyebrows lifted and recognition sparked in his eyes. “Ky-le.”
Kyle reached the bed and leaned down for a side hug at the same time his dad stretched out his hand for a shake. They fumbled through an awkward greeting.
“Sor-ry you… you had to. To come.” His dad’s grip was fairly firm, but his movements were jerky, his speech halting. The left side of his mouth drooped. It was working, but not at the same pace as the right side.
Kyle swallowed down the emotion that was threatening to close his throat. “It’s good to see you.”
Dad nodded and gestured to the doctor, a short guy with a crew cut and glasses who introduced himself as Dr. Carlson and caught Kyle up: his dad had suffered an ischemic stroke brought on by a blood clot in an artery in his brain. They treated him with an intravenous drug that successfully broke up the clot, preventing the need for surgery, and he had stabilized relatively quickly.
“But the clot temporarily cut off the blood supply to part of your brain, Danny,” Dr. Carlson said, making a fist as a visual aid. “That’s what’s causing the weakness on the left side of your body and the impaired speech. You’ll notice other effects as well, and that’s normal. Some may be due to the concussion you sustained when you lost consciousness and hit your head.” He pointed to the white bandage on Dad’s forehead. “And that cut bled quite a bit. But all in all, I’m hopeful. We’re very fortunate your daughter-in-law found you when she did.”
Until that moment Kyle hadn’t thought about how his dad got to the hospital. “Wait. Casey found you?” he asked.
His dad offered a solemn nod.
Damn. Casey had found Dad passed out, his head covered in blood from the sound of it. Kyle held his father’s gaze as a silent understanding passed between them. They both knew how hard that had to have been on her. It wasn’t the first time she’d found someone she loved in such a state.
“Good thing she did,” Dr. Carlson said. “Restoring blood flow to the brain as quickly as possible is the key factor when it comes to a stroke. Now, it’s early yet, Danny, but you have a good chance at a nearly full recovery.” He held up a hand. “However, it will take time, you have to understand that. There will be some hard, frustrating work involved in your rehabilitation. I know how much you want to go home, and we can probably discharge you soon. But you’ll need a lot of help for a while, with everyday tasks, transportation to the clinic for various therapies, following through with your homework…” Dr. Carlson nodded toward Kyle. “Lucky for you, your son is here to help.”
Dad’s eyes flicked his way again and Kyle sensed another understanding between them. “Lucky” might not be the first word that came to mind for either of them when it came to this situation, but they were stuck with each other.
When he pulled up to the garage he’d owned for more than a decade he parked across the street for a few minutes before going in. Railroad Avenue Car Care hadn’t changed since he left, at least in appearance. The low-slung stucco building, comprised of an office, waiting area, and three working bays, was still a shade of light blue. Casey had picked that color— It’s cheerful without being obnoxious . Kyle had worried people might not take a garage painted the color of a pale sky seriously, but, as usual, she’d been right. The building was located in a lonely spot at the edge of town, along Route 11 and across the road from the train tracks. The tranquil color popped against such industrial surroundings, making it hard to miss.
He still remembered in vivid detail the day they closed on the property, formerly Abbott’s Auto Shop, the same garage where Kyle had worked for more than ten years. Mr. Abbott was retiring to one of the Carolinas, and he’d offered Kyle a good deal on the property. The idea of coming up with a down payment and taking on a hefty mortgage had scared the shit out of twenty-eight-year-old Kyle. If it had been up to him, he never would have taken the risk. But Casey wouldn’t let up on the idea. She was all in, refusing to express any doubts and shooting down all of his. She’d even used Gretzky’s quote against him— A pretty good hockey player once said you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.
Right after signing the papers they’d come out here together, just the two of them. He wasn’t in the best mood. He’d signed his name more times in a single hour that afternoon than all the other times in his whole life combined, and with each signature he became more certain he would fail and they would lose everything. That voice in the back of his head, the one belonging to his father, was getting louder— You’re taking out a loan on a house you own free and clear? There’s a big difference between being a mechanic and owning a business, Kyle. But Casey had brought along a bottle of cheap champagne, and while they walked the property she toasted the new business, went on about changes they would make, what a great boss he would be. The more she talked, the more sullen he became. Everything she said just piled more responsibility on his shoulders.
At one point he’d stopped walking, pulled his hand from hers, and yanked the cap off his head. “Damn it, Casey. Do you realize how much debt we just picked up? I don’t know what I was thinking…” He looked around the property, at the building and equipment that desperately needed to be modernized, the scrubby yard overgrown with weeds, all the work they had ahead of them before they would start pulling down a decent income. “What the hell makes you think I can do this?”
She had stepped close, taken his cap out of his hands, and slapped it against his stomach. “First of all, it’s ‘we,’ not you. There’ll be tough times, but we’re a team, and we’ll figure them out together.” Then she reached up and put the hat on his head backward, the way she preferred it when they were having a serious discussion, because she said she needed to see his eyes. Even in that frustrated moment he could have drowned in the deep green of hers. “Second of all,” she said, “I believe in you. More than anything else in this world.”
He felt his shoulders melt in a mix of relief and resignation and, not for the first time, wondered how he’d managed to make a woman like her fall for him. Then he took her face in his hands. “You know how much I love you, Casey Higgins McCray?” he asked.
She’d grinned up at him and answered that question the way they always did with each other—
Shit. Kyle threw open the door and jumped out of the truck, propelled to get moving by that last thought, to get away from it. No use going down that painful road.
When he walked into the office he didn’t recognize the young guy working the counter who asked what he could do for Kyle and disappeared into the storeroom to see if they had the spark plugs he needed. It was a quiet weekend day, and the black plastic chairs in the waiting area were empty. But peeking through the doorway into the shop, Kyle could see all the bays were occupied, and there were several cars and trucks parked out back, waiting in line for service. A couple of men were moving around in the shop, neither of whom Kyle knew, which was the final straw toward making him feel like a stranger in a place that used to be a second home.
The young guy came back from the storeroom. “Looks like we got what you need,” he said, placing the spark plugs on the counter. “You switching them out yourself?”
“Yeah.” Kyle reached for his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
While the kid rang him up Kyle considered asking whether Mateo was around. But Mateo was the boss now, and maybe he took Saturdays off to spend with his wife and three kids. It was probably just as well, that reunion could wait. Mateo had been Kyle’s right hand when he owned the garage, and a close friend. Kyle’s departure was abrupt, and they’d handled the transfer of ownership remotely. It had been simple: Kyle and Casey signed over the business, which afforded an unpredictable but generally decent income. And Mateo agreed to pay rent on the space, which covered the mortgage. Then Kyle had disappeared from Mateo’s life.
Kyle thanked the kid and headed out. He was almost to the truck when he heard it.
“Yo, Kyle? Is that you?”
He turned to see Mateo’s short, stout frame standing there in his jeans and blue work shirt with the Railroad Avenue Car Care logo on the chest pocket, the same logo tattooed on Kyle’s right arm.
Mateo was shaking his head of thick black hair. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
“Hey, Mateo.” Kyle took a breath, readied himself for whatever might be coming. Maybe some angry words, at the least a strained conversation.
But then Mateo’s face split into a bright white smile. “It’s good to see you, man.” He walked toward Kyle, reached for his hand, and pulled him into a one-armed hug.
Kyle was so stunned it took a moment to return it. “You too.” He hadn’t expected such a warm welcome, hadn’t known how much he craved one.
Mateo stepped back but kept a broad hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “How are you? I was sorry to hear about Danny, man. Anything I can do, you know? He doing okay?”
“Thanks. Yeah, he’s getting discharged today.” Kyle gestured to the bag of spark plugs he was carrying. “Figured I’d give him a smooth ride home.” When Mateo laughed his full-body laugh, Kyle realized how much he missed hearing it. He nodded toward the garage. “How’re things going here?”
“Good. Harder than ever to find reliable guys, nobody’s training to be a mechanic with all the electric cars coming on the scene.” He shrugged. “Some tough times, you know the drill. But the college kids still keep us going through the lean months.”
Kyle nodded in understanding. Having two universities in town had always been a mixed bag. A lot of those kids had cars and no idea how to take care of them, so they provided a steady stream of business. But often those cars were expensive foreign jobs, which made them a pain in the ass to work on, and though their parents were usually footing the bill, those kids loved to haggle with the townie mechanic over the price.
They were quiet then, and Kyle could sense Mateo wondering what to say next, whether he should ask about Kyle’s life now.
So Kyle spoke up, but first he turned his cap around. “Listen, Mateo. I want to say I’m sorry. I don’t feel good about the way I bailed on you. I put you in a tough spot, making you decide on a dime whether to take this place on and sign the lease. You had your family to think about, I should have given you more time. And then I was no help after you took over. I just…” He glanced down to think about how to explain why he left the way he did, but he came up short. “I just had to leave, you know?”
Mateo’s brow furrowed. “Are you kidding? You made me a business owner , man. I should be thanking you—this has been good for me and my family.” He pointed at Kyle. “You always took care of me. And when I’m a little late with rent once in a while, Casey just tells me get it to her when I can.”
Kyle hadn’t known Mateo was ever late with the rent, that was Casey’s department. His divorce from her had been almost as simple as his divorce from the business. After twenty years of sharing a life together, they had dismantled it all shockingly fast. Neither one of them was interested in drawing things out at that point. The only remaining vestiges of their marriage were the fact that she’d kept his last name—it had been a hassle when she changed it from Higgins to McCray, especially as a teacher, and she probably didn’t want to bother with it again—and they still shared a family cell phone account. According to her, it saved them a lot of money.
“That’s why I never let Casey pay when she brings the Bronco in,” Mateo said. “She don’t like it, and she threatens to go somewhere else, but I tell her too bad she don’t like it, no one else knows how to take care of that rig like I do.”
Kyle laughed along with him but couldn’t help bristling on the inside. The Bronco was another vestige of their marriage. That truck had always been important to her, and for a long time Kyle had been the only one to take care of it.
Mateo flicked a thumb over his shoulder. “I better get back inside. But you’re gonna be here a little while, yeah?”
“Looks that way.”
“We’ll get a beer.” He put a hand on Kyle’s shoulder again. “And, hey. Don’t ever apologize to me. You were good to the whole crew, Kyle. We were sorry to see you go, but you did what you had to do, and we got that. I’m really glad to see you, man.” Then he turned and jogged inside.
Kyle watched him go, relieved the conversation was over, only because if he tried to say anything else he was pretty sure he couldn’t have kept the emotion from his voice. He had more reunions coming, and some of them wouldn’t go this way. But he figured he was now 1 and 2 with his shots on goal, and Mateo’s kindness had made him feel a little less alone in it.
Danny McCray had never been an easy man to live with, but a poststroke, I-need-help-but-really-don’t-want-it Danny McCray was a whole different ball game. He’d been home from the hospital four days, and, for Kyle, those days had passed in a fog of frustration and exhaustion. Dad needed help with the smallest of tasks, from preparing food to showering to working the remote control. He was able to shuffle about with a walker, but it was arduous. His strangled speech usually disintegrated into angry grunts and chin thrusts, and his cognitive functions were delayed at times. He’d start asking Kyle for something and then forget what he wanted, or question—again—why his bed had been moved down to the small spare room at the front of the house, and Kyle had to remind him he was unable to navigate the stairs right now. He couldn’t remember the last time he was around his dad continuously for this long, but their interaction now was mostly limited to figuring out how to communicate and work together, with lots of trial and error. Emphasis on error.
They’d had long appointments every day at the rehab clinic, where a team of therapists was helping him with mobility issues and his speech and sensory processing. Kyle had to hand it to his dad, his determination was fierce. He grumbled about it in hesitant, jumbled phrases— damn stretch… ing, stu-pid squeeze ball —but he followed all their instructions. As the therapists explained it, their focus was to help him regain lost functions and become as independent as possible again, which was exactly what Dad wanted. They were all working toward a shared goal.
After they got home from the clinic Dad usually slept for a couple of hours in the living room recliner, and that’s the time Kyle used to take care of his own business. He called his boss in Spokane on Monday, broke the news that this was all going to take longer than he originally hoped. George was disappointed but said the job would be waiting and promised to mail his latest paycheck. Being out of work for a little while was okay; he had some savings and it’s not like he’d be spending much here. There were some other details to address—paying a few bills over the phone, forwarding his mail, letting his rec league hockey team know he’d be gone for a while—the things involved in putting day-to-day life on hold. But it didn’t take long. Kyle didn’t have much of a life in Spokane to put on hold.
During nap time on Wednesday afternoon, he decided to move his dad’s small bookcase down to the spare room so he could be near his books—mostly U.S. history—and his photos. One shelf was dedicated to pictures of the guys at the firehouse, spanning three decades. Kyle studied how they were arranged so he could re-create it downstairs. He didn’t need to study the shelf of family photos, which had always been arranged left to right in chronological order. It started with Kyle and Casey’s wedding portrait, when Kyle was twenty-four. That’s when his dad had started caring about family photos again. Other than some hockey team pictures in his old room, Kyle would be hard-pressed to find any photos in the house of himself as a teenager. They stopped taking pictures after his mom left. People generally took photos of the times they wanted to revisit.
He carefully avoided looking directly at any of the family photos as he packed them in the box facedown. When he stood to carry the box downstairs, he stopped by the window in Dad’s room, looked across the road at the yellow house with black shutters, which stood in sharp relief against the gray day. It had become a self-punishing habit since he’d come home, checking on the house, taking mental notes. The boardwalk in back appeared in good shape. He’d watched Wyatt wheel between the house and his shop with Star several times. There was a reunion he needed to make happen at some point. Though he was pretty sure that one would land in the missed-shot column.
The Bronco wasn’t parked at the house much, not even over the weekend. He hadn’t seen Casey since last Friday morning, when he surprised her in the kitchen, and he couldn’t help wondering what she was doing with all her time, or who she was spending it with. But the truck was there every night, and when he got up to help Dad to the bathroom around midnight, he saw flickering light in the window of their old bedroom over there, like she was up late watching TV. Or maybe she had fallen asleep with it on, like he often did these days.
His attention was pulled from the yellow house when an old blue Chevy pickup crossed the train tracks and pulled into the driveway. He recognized it right away and realized he was about to get another reunion under his belt. Coach Geiger.
Kyle took a deep breath. This one would be tough. When he left town two and a half years ago, he didn’t even say goodbye to the man who had been so good to him, helped him find purpose with hockey while his family was falling apart. The man who’d always been willing to listen and offer gentle advice. Kyle had gotten used to disappointing his father a long time ago. But he hated to think he’d disappointed Coach Geiger.
He went downstairs and opened the door before Coach had to knock. Relief coursed through him as he noted that Coach looked the same, down to the white sneakers and the cap cocked high on his head. Once again Kyle found himself fighting emotion as he extended a hand. “Coach Geiger.”
Coach gripped it tight and smiled. “Well, look who’s back.”
Kyle waved him inside. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“I never turn down coffee.” Coach wiped his shoes on the mat and shook off his jacket.
“Dad’s taking a nap at the moment,” Kyle said, gesturing toward the living room.
“That’s okay,” Coach said. “I came to see you.”
“How’s Mrs. Coach?”
“She’s good. Still working part-time over at the library.”
“And Grace?” Kyle asked, placing coffees on the table while they took their seats. “How’s she doing?” Coach’s daughter had left Potsdam for NYU twenty years ago and never looked back.
“She’s fine I guess. I wouldn’t know for sure, we rarely see her. She and her husband think New York State ends at the city limits now.” He shrugged. “She’s making lots of money as a corporate lawyer, but all she does is work. Audrey and I are close to giving up on any grandkids.”
Kyle gave him a rueful smile.
“I would have come sooner,” Coach said, “but I thought I’d give you and Danny a little time to get settled with each other. How’s he doing?”
“Okay. His rehab schedule is grueling, but he’s working hard at it.”
“I expect he would. Danny’s a proud man, not one to sit around depending on other people.”
“Especially not his wayward son,” Kyle said.
“What matters is you’re here now. Was it hard to get away from work?”
“No. It just took me a couple of days to realize the voicemails were from the hospital.”
“Hold on,” Coach said, setting his mug down on the table. “Voicemails? You mean, Casey didn’t call you herself?”
“No. Someone at the hospital did.” It wasn’t until right then that Kyle thought about it, the fact that she hadn’t called him herself. She’d found Dad that night, been the first to know what happened to him, but she’d let someone else deliver the news. If she had called him, if her name had appeared on his phone, he would have answered immediately.
“Well, that’s not right,” Coach said, shaking his head. “I assumed she called you.” He seemed disappointed in Casey, which went against the natural order of things. “Have you seen much of her since you been back?”
“Just for a few minutes my first morning here.”
“You talk to her at all while you were gone?”
“Not really,” Kyle said. “We exchanged short texts for a while, checking in from time to time. But she stopped responding.”
“When?”
“A few months after I left. Why?”
Coach’s eyes dropped to his coffee. “No reason.”
Kyle thought about pressing the issue; Coach was clearly holding something back. But he and Casey worked together, and Kyle didn’t want to put him in an uncomfortable position. So he changed the subject. “How’s the job going, Mr. Athletic Director?”
“Pretty good. I like staying busy, I can still be around the kids some, and it keeps me out of Audrey’s hair at the house.” He waved a hand about. “There’s always a fly in the ointment though. Right now we’re so short-staffed I’m filling in when people are sick or on time off. Hell, I had to lead two days of varsity cheer last week.”
Kyle laughed. “I would have liked to watch that.”
“Oh no, you wouldn’t.” Coach nudged his cap back a bit, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “You really doing okay here? It’s a tough thing coming back, never mind under these circumstances.” He nodded in Dad’s direction.
There was such genuine concern in Coach’s expression Kyle decided to tell him the truth. “It’s hard. He’s angry about the stroke, frustrated he’s not making faster progress. He’s also angry with me, but he’s so out of sorts we haven’t been able to talk about anything other than what’s going on in the moment.” He paused, figured this was his opportunity. “But this helps, seeing you. And I want to take this chance to tell you I’m sorry I left without talking to you.”
Coach shook his head. “You don’t need to do that, son.”
“I want to. I let people down back then, and I…” Kyle paused. Talking about it had opened a door, and it all came at him hard: the guilt and shame he’d been carrying around, how isolated he’d felt the last two and a half years, the fear that the people he cared about most in the world would want nothing to do with him anymore. But what hit him hardest was at least a couple of those people had apparently already forgiven him.
“I’m only happy to see you, Kyle,” Coach said. “I think you’ll find most folks here will feel the same. You just make sure you ask for help when that old fart”—he flicked his thumb toward the other room—“gets to be too much. We both know it’ll happen at some point.”
“I will.”
“All right,” Coach said, checking his watch. “I gotta get going, I have a meeting over at parks and rec about scheduling conflicts. If Casey wasn’t working she would go, but that didn’t stop her from doing all the legwork and coming up with a solution.” He gestured outside toward his truck. “I have all kinds of spreadsheets and whatnot to hand out. She makes me look good.”
Kyle returned his smile but experienced an uneasy reaction to that comment, similar to when Mateo talked about the Bronco. It took a beat to realize it was pure envy. Kyle was envious of the relationship his former coach and his ex-wife had, that they were involved in each other’s lives daily. He was envious of how Casey was still so entrenched in Potsdam, where the world had gone on without him. And he was envious of Coach, who had her love and support.
They both stood from the table, and Coach pulled his jacket on. “I’ll stop in again soon, I want to hear about what you’ve been up to since you left. Tell Danny we’re looking forward to having him back at the poker table. And you let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
Coach nodded once and smiled. “Sure is good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back.” The words were out there before Kyle had time to think them through. But as he watched Coach leave, he realized they were true. Despite the challenges with his father, despite the strained reunions—which he now clocked at 2 and 2—he was in fact glad to be here. If he could help Dad through the worst of his rehab and clean up some of the mess he’d made when he left Potsdam, he could leave again with his head held high. Or at least higher. He hadn’t thought of it that way before, but maybe this trip was a chance at some redemption.
He was taking the coffee cups to the sink when Coach poked his head in the door again. “I was just thinking… How long you plan on being here?”
“Not sure exactly,” Kyle said, “but the rehab team told me to count on six to eight weeks. Probably until the end of the year.”
Coach nodded slowly, like he was considering something. “I know Danny needs most of your attention right now, but maybe it would do you good to get out of the house a few hours a week, have something else going on while you’re here. You could earn a little money, and you’d be doing me a huge favor.”
Kyle liked the sound of that. He was already starting to go stir-crazy in the house, and it would give him and Dad a break from each other. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”