Chapter Thirteen
Thirteen
“Casey.” It was the second time Wyatt had called up to her room.
“What?”
“Come down.”
God knew why he was bugging her on a Saturday morning. She wanted to stay in bed. The scrimmage started in a few hours, and the team was counting on her being there. They were nervous and needed all the fans they could get. But she didn’t think she was up for that today.
She’d spent the night in a semiconscious state, floating between awake and asleep. To the point where the line blurred between her wandering thoughts and actual dreams as her mind was bombarded with images: previous Thanksgiving dinners when there’d been three generations of McCrays at the table; the old travel wish list she and Kyle had kept taped to their dresser mirror; the glow of gratitude on his face when Danny told him he was a good son and a good man. How nice he looked in a button-down, hair curling up against the edge of his collar. He’d had his sleeves rolled up, and she’d gotten a close look at the new tattoo on his left forearm. The simple one closest to his elbow had been there for more than twenty years, a banner ribbon with the inscription: RIP Mrs. H 7/12/99 . But beneath that he had another one now. The delicate outline of a swallow with a name and date etched inside: Charlie 3/24/18 . Some time during the night she dreamed the swallow had fluttered and lifted off Kyle’s arm to fly over the Thanksgiving table.
The holidays were always hard now, but having Kyle back made it harder, called more attention to who was missing.
“CASEY.” Wyatt was yelling now. “Let’s go.”
She dragged herself out of bed, threw on the T-shirt and joggers she’d worn the day before. She’d stayed home all day, declining Angie’s invite to hit the Black Friday sales in town. She hadn’t even bothered to shower.
She headed down to the kitchen, ready to ask Wyatt what the hell the rush was. But she found him at the kitchen table talking quietly with Angie, their heads close together. As soon as they saw her they pulled apart.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Angie said, with a bright smile. She wore a white cable sweater and colorful scarf, jeans tucked into tall leather boots.
“What are you doing here?” Casey asked.
“I so needed a break. I left the girls with Todd and thought I’d surprise you guys with breakfast.”
“That was nice,” Casey said, joining them at the table.
“I stopped at Sweet Margaret’s.” She placed a fruit smoothie in front of Casey and opened a white box tied with twine, started laying out various pastries on a large plate: raspberry scones, cinnamon sugar doughnuts, banana nut muffins…
“My God, Angie,” Casey said.
“I know, I know.” She waved a hand. “You’ll have enough for a week.” She tipped the plate toward Wyatt, who grabbed a scone. Then she pushed it Casey’s way.
“I’m going to wait a little bit,” Casey said.
Wyatt flipped a hand up. “C’mon, Casey. Angie went to a lot of trouble. Eat something.”
“I’ll have one later.” She nudged the plate away and looked up in time to see him exchange a look with Angie.
“Todd and the girls are going to meet us at the scrimmage,” Angie said, helping herself to a muffin.
“Actually, I was thinking about skipping the scrimmage today.”
“Why?” Wyatt asked.
“Kyle’s background clearance came through, so he doesn’t need me.”
“But you’re their biggest cheerleader,” Angie said.
“You never miss the scrimmages,” Wyatt said.
“Well, then, I guess I’ve earned a day off.” She hadn’t bothered to keep the irritation from her voice, and it only flared up more when she watched them exchange another look of some kind. “What the hell is going on here?” she asked. “Why do I feel like this is a setup?”
“What do you mean?” Angie asked.
“Since when do you come to scrimmages?” Casey asked her before turning to Wyatt. “And I really don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with how much I eat lately.” She pushed the pastry plate farther away, to make a point. Then she moved her smoothie away as well, to underscore it.
Wyatt’s voice was low but firm. “This is how it started before.”
Casey felt herself go stiff at those words. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is,” Angie said, folding her hands together on the table. “You hardly ate, you weren’t sleeping. You checked out of the hockey program and quit tutoring.”
Casey pulled back in her chair as each one of those statements hit her.
“You stopped leaving the house,” Wyatt said. “You stopped taking her calls”—nod toward Angie—“and you wouldn’t talk to Danny. You stayed upstairs in Charlie’s room every morning until I nagged you—”
“That’s enough,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him. She hadn’t realized Wyatt knew about that, about the time she spent in Charlie’s room, and she didn’t want to talk about it.
“We don’t want to overreact, Casey,” Angie said. “But we’re concerned.”
Wyatt took a shaky breath. “I can’t go through it again.”
Angie reached over and placed her hand on his arm.
When he said, “Please, Casey,” he sounded afraid.
Casey felt a burning shame. She was scaring her brother, and she had promised him she would never do that again. She inhaled deeply, then blew out. “Okay.” She nodded at him. “Okay,” she said again. Then she pulled her smoothie close, reached for a scone. She tore off a chunk, put it in her mouth, made herself chew until she could swallow it.
As she took a second bite she watched Wyatt’s shoulders relax. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay,” Angie said.
They all went to quiet work on their breakfasts, and Casey ate every bit of her scone.
She made herself shower and go to the scrimmage with Angie, where they met up with Todd and the girls. Casey pasted on a smile and talked to Todd about his work, asked Morgan and Maddie about school and gymnastics, feeling like she was trying to pass a test the whole time. Angie was watching, and Casey knew she’d be reporting to Wyatt later. That’s the way it would be for a while now. But the boys played unexpectedly well. They lost, but they scored a couple of goals, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. Casey could sense a difference in their playing. They were starting to work as a team, communicating and making the smart move rather than just taking blind shots that didn’t stand a chance. It was good to see.
There was a moment that snuck up on her though, when Kyle pulled Will aside during intermission. Will had attempted several goals in the first period, but the other goalie had seen them all coming. Casey could tell by Kyle’s body movements he was encouraging Will to try a quick wrist shot that would surprise the goalie. She watched him demonstrate the weight transfer from back leg to front foot, then the follow-through, rolling his top wrist as he shot the puck with his bottom hand. She figured Kyle was telling Will the same thing he’d always told her, that while the slapshot was the rock star in hockey, way more goals were scored with well-timed wrist shots. Seeing them together like that, Will looking up at Kyle and mimicking his moves, the two of them talking and laughing and high-fiving each other, had caused such a strong internal reaction she’d had to stop herself from leaving the arena. But whatever Kyle said must have clicked for Will, because that’s the shot he used to score two goals late in the game, which had energized the whole team.
After the scrimmage, she stopped at the Family Dollar store to pick up some supplies for her classroom, but when she came out of the store, the Bronco just wouldn’t start. She had to call Mateo for help on his Saturday afternoon, and it was her own fault. She’d been living on borrowed time with the truck for weeks. He came right away and tried jump-starting it. When that didn’t work, he towed it to Railroad Avenue Car Care to determine exactly what was wrong.
So now she sat in the waiting room of the garage she and Kyle had owned for a decade, awaiting news and fending off memories. Anywhere her eyes landed in here triggered flashbacks: when they first bought the property and Kyle had been so scared all she wanted to do was make him believe in himself half as much as she did; those early days when he was working all hours to get a handle on the business, and she would surprise him with a late dinner and, occasionally, if he was alone, nothing on under her coat except one of his hockey jerseys; bringing Charlie in to work with him, his role progressing from handing over the right tools to using a few of those tools himself. God, how he’d loved to work with his dad…
“Okay, Casey.” Mateo walked in from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. “Like I thought, it’s the alternator.”
Casey stood from her chair and sighed. A bad battery would have been a quicker fix.
“You know I’d stay here right now and fix it for you, but I got my nephew’s birthday party in Watertown tonight. Sofie’s picking me up in a few to head out. I could call Kyle, see if he can come in—”
“No, that’s okay. When do you think you can get to it?”
“I’ll put you on the top of the list for Monday morning,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Hey, man, I gotta keep the landlord happy, right?”
“Well, I would owe you.”
He waved a hand. “Cut that out. You got a way home?”
Not really. Angie and her family had taken off for dinner at her in-laws’ in Norfolk. Danny wasn’t driving these days. There were several other people she could try, but the idea of making conversation felt more daunting right now than the walk home, which was only a mile. “I’ll just text Angie,” she told Mateo. “I’m going to start walking, and she’ll meet me on the road.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket for good measure.
He peered outside at the darkening sky. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah, she’ll be here in a few minutes,” Casey said, backing toward the door. “You guys have a good trip, and I’ll check in with you Monday.” She was outside, heading for the road, pretending to be texting, before he could say another word.
She kept her pace up. The temperature was dropping, not to mention the threatening clouds that hung heavy overhead. She didn’t mind being out in the cold, moving fast, having to focus on her steps so she didn’t roll an ankle on the gravel road. It got her blood flowing and cleared her mind. But she’d been walking less than ten minutes, getting near the north end of town, when the rain started. Just as she flipped up the hood of her jacket she heard a vehicle behind her and headlights splashed down the road. Then the F-150 she knew so well was pulling alongside her.
Kyle lowered the window. “Need a ride?”
She stopped walking. “Did Mateo call you? I told him I didn’t need a ride.”
“Don’t be mad at Mateo. He was worried about you.”
“I’m so tired of people worrying about me. I’m sorry he bothered you, but I’m fine.” She started walking again.
He rolled forward. “Casey, come on. Just get in the truck.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said, without stopping. “I’m not a child.”
He hit the brakes. “It’s dark, it’s freezing, and it’s raining. If you don’t want to be treated like a child, then don’t act like one.”
She kept going, hoping he’d give up and leave. But, instead, he started following her at a very low speed. Like an idiot she walked faster—as if she could outrun him—and within a few seconds she slipped on loose stones and fell to the ground, splashing into puddles that had already formed. She heard the truck brake hard and his door being thrown open. Then his hand was on her arm, pulling her up. The rain started coming down harder. Her jacket and the clothes underneath were quickly getting soaked.
As soon as she was on her feet, she pulled her arm away. “I’m all right.”
He shook his head in a mix of wonder and frustration at her—admittedly—petulant behavior. Water ran off the bill of his cap, and he had to raise his voice to be heard above the rain. “I’d just like to give you a ride home.”
“I’m all muddy now.”
“I don’t care.”
“If I don’t get in the truck, are you going to follow me the whole way?”
He paused, but just for a second. “Yes.”
She walked over and climbed in the passenger side of the pickup.
As soon as they were in the truck the sky really opened up and sheets of rain lashed down. Mother Nature apparently wanted to make it clear that Kyle had saved Casey from drowning on the way home, or, at the least, catching pneumonia. He must have been thinking the same thing because his mouth twitched and he side-eyed her before he hit the gas. He drove slowly; the wipers couldn’t keep up and visibility was terrible. The heat was on full blast, but she couldn’t stop shaking. He reached over and directed all the vents her way. Such a Kyle thing to do.
After he turned onto Market Street he nodded toward Robar’s toilet garden. “Mateo said Robar got a restraining order against the city. He’s gonna sue to protect his rights.”
“Some local guy is doing a documentary about it,” Casey said. “He’s calling it Potty Town .”
“Seriously?”
“They announced it in the paper—”
“Wait—do you see that?” he asked, pointing through the windshield.
She looked that way to see two guys on the far side of Robar’s lawn, somewhat camouflaged by the darkness and the rain. They wore hoodies with Greek letters on the front and appeared to be taking a sledgehammer to one of Robar’s toilets.
“Assholes,” Kyle said, jerking the steering wheel to pull to the curb.
“Just leave it,” Casey said.
He parked and threw open his door. “Call the cops.”
“Kyle, don’t…”
But he slammed the door and started making his way toward the kids, yelling at them to “ Get the fuck out of here .”
Casey reached for her phone but hesitated to call the police. As she watched Kyle storm across that lawn, hands clenched into fists, she realized he could well be the one who ended up arrested.
It took a moment for the boys to notice him. They appeared intoxicated—laughing hard and weaving among the chunks of porcelain, stomping the fake flowers scattered at their feet. But when they saw Kyle coming they seemed to sober up quickly. They exchanged a look and scrambled for their car, one of them hoisting the sledgehammer over his shoulder as they ran.
She hoped Kyle would just come back to the truck then, but he kept going, waving his arms around and yelling something at them she couldn’t make out. It looked like he had no intention of stopping, so she jumped out of the truck and went after him.
When he got to the mess the boys had made, he picked up a wedge of porcelain and threw it toward their sporty little car. It bounced off the hood, leaving a deep dent in its wake.
The boys shot wary glances over their shoulders as they ran toward the car. “What the hell, dude?” one of them called without stopping.
She caught up to Kyle just as he picked up another piece of porcelain. “Don’t,” she said, pulling on his arm, which felt like it might just lift her off the ground. “You already hit their car.”
He looked at her and double blinked.
“They’re not worth going to jail for,” she said.
The anger started to drain from his eyes, and they stood that way for a few moments, she hanging on to him while his heavy breathing slowed, the rain pouring down around them. Eventually his arm went slack and he dropped the porcelain on the ground. She let go, and they walked back to the pickup.
After they climbed in, he sagged in his seat and pulled off his cap. “They have no right,” he said, talking to his lap and sounding weary, like all the fury was gone now. “Entitled kids vandalizing someone’s property. Like the place we call home is just a sad pit stop on their way to bigger things.”
Her heart broke for him then, for how defeated he looked. This wasn’t really about those kids or Robar’s toilets. It was about so much more. It was about everything he’d lost. But she couldn’t soothe that wound, which was big enough to swallow them both whole. So she looked at the taillights of the sporty car, which was heading toward Frat Row, and said, “Motherfuckers.”
Kyle turned to her in surprise.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be.” She could see in his warm eyes and half smile he was recalling that long-ago day when he’d told her not to be sorry for using the same word about the kids who’d picked on Wyatt. They are motherfuckers , he’d said. And you know how to throw that word down.
It was so tempting to smile back, to soften, to accept some of that connection and comfort he kept offering her. But it was only because he didn’t know everything. If he did, he wouldn’t be offering it.
So she pushed sopping hair back from her face and said, “Can we go? I’m soaked.”
“Sure.” He put the truck in gear and pulled forward.
When they turned onto River Road to see a train pulling through the crossing, she couldn’t help thinking someone at CSX Railway was conspiring against her lately. Kyle put the truck in park and sat back against his seat. The only sounds for a bit were the wipers against the windshield, the rain on the roof of the truck, and the low rumble of train wheels on tracks.
“The team did well today,” he said.
“Yeah, they did.”
“After the game Ben told me I didn’t suck as a coach, and Rosie had no criticism to offer.”
“That’s high praise coming from those two.”
“The twins’ passes are improving, our defenders didn’t get pulled out of position as much. And did you see how many saves Ben had?”
“I did.”
“But, man, watching Will get those goals…” He stared straight ahead at the passing boxcars, but Casey was pretty sure he was seeing Will get those goals all over again. “Nothing came close to that.”
“He used your wrist shot.”
“You could tell?”
She nodded. Of course she could tell. She’d watched Kyle make those shots countless times. Not just in high school, but later, for years, when he played rec league. Few wives and girlfriends attended those games, but Casey had rarely missed one. She’d always loved to watch him play, and she knew it meant a lot to him. He made a point of finding her in the stands every game, giving her a wave or a wink or a smile, and it never failed to take her back to the night of their first date…
She squeezed her eyes shut tight, willing herself to unsee images that threatened her resolve.
The end of the train passed, and he pulled forward. “Mateo said I was welcome to go into the garage tomorrow and work on the Bronco.”
“It can wait until he’s back.”
“Do you need any rides in the meantime? Or you can just use the truck…”
“No, thanks.”
“What about work Monday morning?” Exasperation had slid into his voice. “I don’t mind.”
More than anything else right now, she just wanted Kyle to stop being so fucking nice to her. “I’ll figure it out,” she said as he pulled into her driveway. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Casey?” He took a breath. “Sometimes it feels like you hate me.”
She understood why he felt that way, but he was so wrong. “No, Kyle. I could never hate you, and I’m not angry at you.” If she were, this would all be much easier.
There was relief in his eyes, maybe even hope. His lips parted like he was forming the next question.
But she answered it before he asked it. “I just can’t be around you.”
He stared at her, like he needed to let those words sink in, then faced the windshield and expelled a long sigh that sounded full of whatever he might have been hoping for.
In that moment Casey wondered if he’d been thinking about staying in Potsdam. Coming home for good. But she couldn’t have that, him settling back into town, maybe taking a permanent coaching position, spending more time with Wyatt. Living across the road and becoming such a big part of her world again that she would be edged out. For Kyle and Casey, Potsdam was all or nothing. They’d built a life here together a long time ago, and, even after a divorce, there was no way to split it up. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He nodded slowly. “Right. Well, Dad’s getting better every day. Coach can take over the team in January. So you just need to hang on till New Year’s, and I’ll be gone.” His tone had an edge to it. He was angry, and hurt.
Casey wasn’t trying to hurt him, but it was the only way to keep him at a distance. So all she said was, “Good night,” before she opened the door and stepped out into the rain.
When he didn’t say good night back, didn’t wave through the window, or even look at her again before he pulled away, she figured they were right where they needed to be.