The Farewell Season (11 page)

Rolf hung on her every word, but I concentrated on eating. Kirstin was a terrific cook. I couldn't decide which I liked better, her Swedish sausage or potato dumplings.

"Man, I really blew it today," Rolf said suddenly.

"Huh?" I snapped out of my taste-bud trance.

"What do you mean?" Kirstin's brow wrinkled with concern.

"We had to do the run-and-drop," Rolf explained. "It was all my fault."

"Nah, it was me," I said.

"There! You see," Kirstin said. "It was Eric's fault, not yours."

"Your sibling devotion is touching, Kirstin. But she's right, Rolf, it
was
my fault."

Rolf waved off my guilty plea. "That was nothing. Other guys started mixing it up and it got out of hand. I should've put a stop to it right away."

"Rolf, you can't control every move every guy—"

"I should've kept a better watch on Derek Davis, so that—"

"Hey. You can't take the blame for everything." I switched to a joking mode. "You should threaten to make Davis a captain for a day. Let 'im see it's not so easy."

"Yeah," Kirstin said. "If you threaten him like that, Rolf, he'd totally shape up."

"Says the president of my fan club," Rolf teased, reaching over to muss Kirstin's hair.

"Well, I made you smile, didn't I?" Kirstin asked.

"You always do." Rolf's smile widened.

"I've got something that should put you in a really good mood," Kirstin said.

"You're leaving town?" I said.

Kirstin pointed her tongue at me. "I wasn't talking to
you
, Eric." She went into the pantry and walked out with a cake. "Ta da! My Danish Chocolate Four-Layer Cake!"

"Eric, you'd better be nice to Kirstin from now on," Rolf said, smacking his lips, "or I'll take her home with me."

"Fine," I said. "As long as I get a piece of cake first."

Kirstin stuck out her tongue at me again, but she did give me a slice of cake—after first cutting off a huge wedge for Rolf.

"Mmm, mmm." Rolf directed his gaze skyward. "This cake is great!"

"Thanks." Kirstin beamed. "It was my dad's absolute favorite."

A cake crumb caught in my throat. I started choking.

"I need some milk." I jumped up, poured myself a glass and tried to drink it between coughing spells.

There was a knock at the front door.

I managed to swallow the last drop of milk without further choking. "I'll get it."

When I yanked the door open, I found Glynnie standing there. She wore an oversized white T-shirt that was thin enough to reveal a red tank swimsuit underneath. "Hi, Eric," she said cheerfully. "I'm going to the lake for a swim. Wanta come?"

"Well … um … uh …." I guess I was tongue-tied because I was so surprised to see her.

"I got the car, so you won't have to wear yourself out biking there," she teased.

"Ah, an offer I can't refuse," I said in my best gangster voice.

"I'll wait in the car," Glynnie said.

I hurried and changed into my swimsuit. On the way out I yelled where I was going to anyone who might be listening and ran to the car, an old Volkswagen Bug.

"Hop in," Glynnie said as she reached over and opened the door. "This car may be ancient, but it's reliable."

I saw how ancient when she put on the turn signal and a little red arm flipped out of the side of the car. My knees were up to my chin. "I feel like I'm riding inside a turtle."

Glynnie laughed. "Don't worry. This turtle can go the speed limit."

She was right. We got to the lake before my legs had a chance to cramp up. In the bright afternoon sun the lake looked different than it had last evening. There were grade-school kids taking swim lessons, a cluster of junior high kids diving and throwing each other off the raft and a few older people sunning themselves. It wasn't packed though, which was nice.

Glynnie took off her glasses and tucked them into a canvas bag. Without them she had kind of a sweet myopic look. She peeled off her T-shirt. For the first time I noticed that, slim as she was, she was not completely shapeless. Her swimsuit, with its scoop front and back dipping down to a low V revealed a tanned, well-sculpted body with gentle curves in the right places.

Maybe it was because I hadn't seen that much female flesh for a few months, but I felt my face growing red and hot as I stared at the contour of her breasts through the thin material of her swimsuit. You'd think I was twelve years old.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Huh?" My face burned red as I forced my gaze up to her face.

"Should we sit or swim?"

"Oh." I tried to swallow my sigh of relief. Of course that's what she meant. What was the matter with me? Maybe Rolf was right. Maybe I'd been out of circulation too long. "Swim," I said. "I, uh, need to cool off."

"Okay," Glynnie said. "Last one in's a rotten egg!" She hopped down to the edge of the lake, ran into the water and plunged in before I even got my ankles wet. When she surfaced, she floated on her back and shot water out of her mouth like a whale blowing it out of its spout. She grinned at me. "Hi, rotten egg!"

"What are you, cold-blooded?" I griped. The lake was fed by a mountain stream and, even in August, the water was freezing cold.

"Come on," Glynnie urged. "A little cold water never hurt anybody."

"Yeah …." I thought of all the cold showers I'd had in the past few months. But those had started out hot and only gradually turned cold. What-the-hell. I dove in.

When the shock didn't kill me, I swam underwater until I grabbed Glynnie in a life-saver hold and started swimming out toward the middle of the lake.

"Hey!" Glynnie struggled to free herself. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you to where I can demand an apology." I figured without her glasses she would be at my mercy.

"An apology? For what!"

I stopped and treaded water, keeping Glynnie in my grasp. "For calling me a rotten egg."

"What!" Glynnie tried to sound indignant, but she barely managed not to laugh. "Me, apologize? Never."

"I think you will, lady," I said, hoping to sound like someone out of Goodfellas. "Or you'll never find your way to shore again."

There was a long silence as I dogpaddled us in a circle.

Finally Glynnie said, "All right. I'm sorry. You're not a rotten egg."

"Apology accepted." I started guiding her back to shore. It wasn't long before we could touch bottom.

When we were about waist-deep in the water, Glynnie said, "You're not a rotten egg. You're a scrambled egg!"

"For that, you can find your way back to the blanket by yourself," I said.

"You think I can't?" Glynnie turned and sniffed, just before she bumped into an innocent "guppy" flutter-kicking his way through a swim lesson.

I laughed, grabbed her hand, and led her back to the blanket. She toweled off, put on her glasses, flopped down and stretched out facing the lake. I dropped down next to her.

"I want to thank you, Eric."

"For what? Guiding you back to shore?"

"No." She punched my arm. "You owed me that. I mean for letting me unload on you last night."

"Ah," I said, trying for the just-right nonchalant tone, "what are friends for?" I hoped I didn't goof by elevating our relationship to friends, even if it was just a nice, safe, detached kind of friendship.

"After I vented to you, I finally talked to Mother about Father's news about the baby. When he told me, a wave of grief washed right over me. But as Mother says, you can cut the pain in half by sharing it." She paused, and looked straight into my eyes. "Right?"

In response, I blinked.

"Oh, no. I'm turning into Mother. Please! Forgive me." Glynnie rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean to lecture you."

"You are absolved of all charges."

"Absolved?" Glynnie raised an eyebrow. "Such a vocabulary."

"Junior English,
Words Are Essential
, Lesson Twenty-two."

"And I thought you never paid attention in English class."

"I was just concentrating." I reached over and patted Glynnie's head. "Not sleeping."

In a flash, Glynnie retaliated by tickling me. I laughed, but she stopped in mid-tickle and suddenly looked all serious.

"What is it? The Tickling Patrol?"

"Not exactly." Glynnie subtly pointed to her right.

I looked over and saw Jenny Lund and Hedy Theodore staring at us. I could almost feel dotted lines emanating from their eyes. When they saw me look, they quickly turned away.

"You know, Eric," Glynnie said softly. "I realize it's none of my business, but I really would appreciate it if you'd explain exactly what happened with you and Hedy Theodore."

Chapter Eleven

"What's to explain? We went out. We broke up."

"You were together for six months. A record, for you."

"What? Did you run a background check on me?"

"Eric. It's a small school. Personal histories are no secret," Glynnie said matter-of-factly. "Hedy's a nice girl, and very beautiful. There must've been a reason you broke off with her."

"It's no big deal. People break up. So what?"

"So … I heard that Hedy was really hurt by how suddenly you broke it off. I think she's still wondering what she did wrong."

"You're like those salmon at the hatchery that slam themselves into the walls of the holding tank."

Glynnie cocked her head to one side. "Determined to swim upstream to spawn?"

"No. Just
determined
. Relentless."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Glynnie said cheerfully. "But I still want an answer to my question."

I stared out at the blue water gently rippling toward the shore, and tried to think. I'd been kind of a jerk when it came to girls. I wanted someone who looked good on my arm and who didn't talk too much. I wasn't mean, exactly. By the time I got bored with a girl, she was usually ready to break it off, too. If she wasn't, I took the let-her-down-easy route.

But I'd been totally abrupt with Hedy. I knew it, but I tried not to think about it. Finally, I took a deep breath and tried to explain. "Hedy and I'd been together long enough that, well, she was ready to get really serious."

"And you weren't?"

"Not exactly." I hesitated. "This is going to make me sound like such a louse." I paused again, then went on. "For a few weeks before … Dad's accident … I'd been thinking about breaking off with Hedy. I mean, she's nice and all that, but I was getting bored. She was
too
quiet, and I was getting sick of the sound of my own voice."

Glynnie didn't say anything. So I went on.

"I was ready to break up, but then Dad …. After the funeral I was pretty wiped out. So I did the chicken-shit thing and broke off with her over the phone, just like that." I snapped my fingers. "I knew she was hurt. But I couldn't deal with it."

Glynnie stared at me with her big, analytical eyes.

"So, now you can tell me what total creep I am."

"I do think Hedy deserves an explanation," Glynnie said softly. "I don't think you're a creep. I know what it's like to want to shut down your feelings, but you'll never heal the pain if you don't let yourself feel it." Glynnie aimed her strong gaze straight at me. "Don't get me wrong. I know you're not going to get over losing your father. But you can work through it. It takes time. The only remedy for your grief is to go ahead and let yourself grieve."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I did my crying at the funeral."

Glynnie reached out and placed her hand over my hand. Her fingers were warm and smooth and strong as they grasped mine. "Keeping it in just makes it hurt more."

I gulped hard. Glynnie was wrong. Letting out my grief didn't help. It didn't make me feel better. All grief did was force a deep sharp pain through my heart. I pulled my hand away from hers and buried my face in my arms.

Glynnie let me lie there, the sun warming my back, the breeze caressing my skin, my throat tightening.

The next thing I knew, I felt Glynnie gently shaking my shoulder.

"Eric, we'd better go, so you won't be late for practice."

"Oh …? Okay …," I said groggily. I sat up and pulled on my shirt, then stood and helped Glynnie fold the blanket. "Geez, afternoon practice. I'm so beat, I'm not sure I can get through it."

"You'll feel better once you take the field."

"I don't know. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's Coach Horton. Whatever. I just haven't gotten excited about football this year." I paused as an idea crept into my head. "Maybe I should just quit the team."

"What?" Glynnie was clearly surprised as she took the folded blanket, and we headed for the car.

I'd never imagined my life without football before, but now the idea sounded reasonable. "Why should I work so hard? Why should I knock myself out all the time?"