37. Declan
Declan
Self-forgiveness is often not even possible ...
until we have in some way
made amends to those we've injured.
~ Tara Brach
Patrick shows up to my house on his day off on Monday. I’ve been at the facility for a few hours and now I’m back in the cavernous quiet of my home.
“Congrats on the win,” Patrick says, leaning back into the barstool at my counter.
“Thanks. It’s good to be back.”
“So … life’s good?”
“If you’re asking about Winona, no. Life is not good. It’s hard. I hate it. Life is empty. I may never get over her. You happy?”
He stares at me from across the kitchen island, his arms crossed over his chest. “Why’d you do it, then?”
“Simply to protect her. If Daisy were in a fire, would you leave her in the building?”
“No. Of course not. I’d risk everything to save her. I’d throw her over my shoulder and get her out.”
“That’s what I did. Winona was in the fire. I pulled her out.”
“And she decided it was a good idea to break up? This was her idea too?”
“I told her what I thought was best. She didn’t argue.”
“So you decided for her?”
I’m quiet, picturing the day I told her it was over.
Winona seemed to go along with me.
But did I leave her room to disagree?
“You’re acting like she couldn't handle being criticized,” Patrick says.
“She was miserable.”
“Yeah. Because she loves you. Not because she's weak.” Patrick shakes his head. “If she had wanted to leave, she would have. She was choosing to stay. She knew what life with you entailed, and she chose you anyway.”
“I messed up,” I tell Patrick as the realization of what I’ve done hits me with full force.
Patrick stands to take his plate to the sink.
“Good talk,” he says, mimicking Dad.
“Yeah. Good talk.”
I walk him to the front door. He looks down at Geese Witherspoon. She’s got her new friend Mr. Touch-Down Feathers next to her. They’re wearing matching Thunder jerseys.
“Want to explain these?” Patrick asks.
“What’s to explain?” I say, smiling softly.
They’re the last vestiges of Winona here. I’d guard those geese with my life.
Patrick shakes his head like I’ve officially lost it.
He has no idea that I’m finally coming to my senses.
I’m out running errands later in the week. On my way back from the grocery store, I see a woman walking three dogs. Even before I notice the dogs, I know it’s Winona. She doesn’t see me.
I slow the car and watch her, being sure to keep a distance so she doesn’t catch me.
A physical ache spreads through me.
I study her, the way she walks, the snug fit of her coat.
The redness on her cheeks from the cool winter air.
I’m barely breathing as I watch her bend to untangle a leash from the leg of one of the dogs.
Another one runs around her in a circle and she smiles softly, stepping out of the snare and petting the dog on the head.
She’s not laughing. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
I pull over and without any thought, I call my parents.
“Declan?” Dad answers.
“Is Mom there?”
“Yes. She’s right here.”
“Put me on speaker.”
“Okay. You’re on speaker. Great game …”
I cut him off like a man possessed. “She’s not my nurse.”
“Declan?” Dad says. “She’s … ?”
“She’s not my nurse. Winona. I mean, she was my nurse. But she was so much more.”
A tear falls down my cheek.
She’s walking away, not even aware I’m here, watching her.
The dogs trot ahead of her and she walks behind them, completely oblivious to me and the hole in my heart.
I let her go.
“She was everything,” I say into the phone. “She was a friend. My best friend. And she’s funny, and smart and kind. So kind. You have no idea. And she didn’t care about football or money or what size house I had, or my cars. She just liked me—for me.”
I take a breath. My parents are silent—probably too stunned to speak.
“And I love her. I love her with everything I am. You might not think Geese belongs on the porch. But it belongs there. Nothing has belonged on that porch more than that goose.”
“Hunny, you’re not making a whole lot of sense,” Mom says.
“Winona,” I say. “I love her.”
Silence.
“She’s not like Ginger,” I say, unable to stop now that I’ve started. “She’s the furthest thing from Ginger. If you gave her a chance, you’d see. ”
“We had no idea,” Mom says.
“I know. And that’s my fault. I didn’t fight hard enough for what we had.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Mom says. “Truly. We had no idea what she meant to you.”
“I know. I don’t know if I messed this up beyond repair.”
“Trust me,” Dad says, surprising me by speaking. “Nothing is beyond repair. Take it from a man who does demolition and construction for a living.”
“So you’re open to giving her a chance?” I ask.
Not that it matters. If Winona gives me another chance, I’m taking her back whether my parents approve or not.
“If she means this much to you, that’s all we want,” Mom says. “We just want to see you happy, Declan.”
“Of course you can win her back,” Dad says. “You’re Declan O’Connell.”
It’s not an endorsement of his future acceptance, but it’s something.
Winona turns down a block and keeps walking, out of my sight, away from me.
“I hope you’re right,” I say. “And thanks. The game was good. The Thunder pulled that win as a team.”
“We’re proud of you, hunny,” Mom says.
Dad doesn’t say anything else. We hang up and I drive the rest of the way home.
The next ten days, I practically live at the facility—meetings, watching film, talking strategy, treatments, workouts. I come home to a dark house, eat my dinner, watch sports commentary and fall into bed.
Two days before our first playoff game, I come in from a half-day at the facility. I throw my keys in the bowl on the entry table and walk into the kitchen. Darlene nearly scares me to death when she appears out of the pantry, carrying a cloth and some cleaning spray.
“Is it true?” she asks.
“The breakup? Yeah.”
Small towns. Practically as bad as the internet when it comes to gossip.
Darlene crosses her arms. Her expression is tempered with her usual compassion. “You’re a big man, Declan. And you’ve gotten used to having your way. You don’t get too full of yourself, all things considered. But in this case, I’m going to have to take issue with you.”
I’m silent. When Darlene has something to say, it’s best to keep your mouth shut and listen.
“You’re not the Almighty. You might be able to stop a three-hundred-pound man on the football field, but no one can stop a rumor. The truth’s just tying its laces by the time the rumor’s run halfway round the world.”
I nod. “Thanks, Darlene.”
It’s nothing I don’t know. I couldn’t stop the rumors so I did what I thought was best. I already know I messed up. I’ve been hatching a plan for over a week.
“Now. You want to know what I think?” Darlene asks me.
“You’re going to tell me either way.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She smiles. It makes her look far more harmless than she is. “You need to get off the pity pot and start planning how you’re going to get that woman back. She loves you. And I don’t mean admiration or fangirling. She loves you. And if I’m right, I think you love her too.”
I nod. The next time I say those words will be to Winona, if she gives me the chance.
“Get to it, then. Go win your girl back.”
“She might not want me.”
I have a plan, but the truth is, I don’t know how she’ll respond. I hurt her. And this life is not for everyone. Maybe, now that she’s had a reprieve from the reporters, she’s decided I was right.
“That’s true.” Darlene nods. “This life isn’t for everyone.
But Winona never struck me as fragile. It’s going to be up to her whether she wants you despite the hubbub online.
You need to decide how much she means to you.
If you love her, then you ask yourself if you’ll go to any length to have her. ”
I already know the answer to that.
I love football. It’s been the great love of my life. But I think I’d consider never playing again if it meant winning Winona back.
“From what I saw in her eyes when she looked at you …” Darlene says with a smile. “... you won’t have to do much groveling.”
“Not much, huh?”
“Well, a little groveling is good for a man.”
I chuckle. I’m going to grovel, alright. I’ll put all other grovelers to shame.
The rest of that day I make phone calls. The first is to Coach Carver. After he gives me the go-ahead, I call Stadium Operations and then I make a few other calls within the Thunder organization. When everything is arranged, I call Patrick and then Cass.
She answers the phone with a bite to her voice. “What?”
“Hi, Cass.”
“Nope. You don’t get to Hi, Cass me.”
“Fair,” I say. “I always respected your loyalty to Winona.”
“Did you need something?”
“Actually, yes.”
I run through my plan, explaining everything I have in place. I end my appeal with, “All I need is for you to get Winona to the game.”
“I can do that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Leave it to me. She’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I really appreciate this.”
“Declan?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t mess this up.”
I won’t.
My whole team is focused on Sunday because we’ve got our first playoff game. I’ve done my part to be ready for the game. But I’m focused on Sunday for a far more important reason.