The Farewell Season (12 page)

Glynnie just stared at me.

"I mean, yeah, I'd probably get a football scholarship for college. But, hey, maybe my grades are good enough. Maybe I could get an academic scholarship. I could get loans, a part-time job…." I did not add that I'd be giving up any fantasies about the NFL, too.

"I suppose …," Glynnie said.

I was kind of surprised she wasn't trying to talk me out of quitting. "Football," I said a lot more casually than I felt. "Who needs it?"

"I thought you did," Glynnie said. "I thought you loved playing football."

I didn't say anything. Even thinking about not playing football was a whole new concept for me.

Glynnie unlocked the car and tossed the blanket into the back seat. "If you think the bad outweighs the good …."

I got in the car and fastened my seatbelt. I felt trapped in a place where it was impossible to make a rational decision. I didn't even know where the idea of not playing football came from. I just knew I didn't feel sure about anything anymore.

Chapter Twelve

Practice was a blur. Not good. Not bad. Just a blur. One thing was clear, though. Football was not the same for me. That old feeling of being invincible didn't last. Once the pads were off, I felt vulnerable.

As I rode home with Rolf, I wondered if maybe I really should just quit the team. Until this summer, I'd really looked forward to being a senior. There'd be the high of being recruited. I'd already gotten letters from some good schools, even though I wasn't exactly a "specimen" player. Coach Pickett assured me I had a good chance at a Division One school, especially if I sent out some highlights.

If I quit football, I wouldn't have to worry about not having up-to-date highlights, because there wouldn't be any.

We had tomorrow and the next morning off from practice. That'd give me time to think about whether I really wanted to quit.

"I'm the motor mouth," Rolf said as we pulled into my driveway, "but you usually utter a word or two. What's up?"

"I …." I paused, then finally said, "I'm wiped out from practice." I climbed out of the truck. "See ya."

"Wait." Rolf hopped out, caught up with me at the front porch and clapped his big beefy hand on my shoulder. "You need a break. Let's do something tonight."

I tried to think over the sound of piano music pouring out of the living room. "I'm really bushed." I went inside.

Rolf followed me. He didn't talk. He listened to Kirstin playing the piano. Her back was to us. She didn't know we were there. She mostly practiced when I wasn't around. She finished the piece, "Annie Laurie." In a rare burst of generosity, I was actually going to compliment her playing.

But she launched into another song, and started softly singing "All Through the Night." For a second I froze, almost hearing Dad's clear tenor voice mingling with her soft soprano. The sound struck me like an arrow. "Do you have to play that?"

Kirstin whirled around and stared, wordlessly. I thought she was going to spit at me. Then she saw Rolf. She turned, closed the music book and slammed it back on the shelf without a word.

I didn't know what to say. I was kind of embarrassed for losing my cool in front of Rolf.

"Hey, Kirstin," Rolf said much too cheerfully. "Eric and I were planning on going out. Why don't you come with us?" Rolf loved to play peacemaker. He didn't have a kid sister, so he didn't know how impossible they could be.

"Out?" Kirstin raised an eyebrow. "Where?"

"It's the first night of the Scandinavian Fair. We can eat our way through the food booths, check out the crafts, and listen to music. Hey, we could even dance. I'm kinda rusty, but I think I remember the
songdansar
and
springar
.

"Well … Mom does have Mr. Lundquist helping her in the shop tonight. I … I guess I could go with you," she said, pointedly ignoring me.

"You guys have a great time," I said. "I'm gonna grab a bite, then hit the sack."

"You gotta come," Rolf said. "The whole idea was to get you to relax."

"Sleeping is an excellent way to relax."

"It's too early," Rolf said. "I'm not leavin' this house without you."

"Eric." Kirstin clutched my arm as if she suddenly had great affection for me. "Call Glynnie and ask her to come with us. She's never been to the Fair."

"Epic idea!" Rolf shoved me toward the phone. "Call Glynnie."

"Sheesh," I said. "I'm outnumbered. I'll call her."

"Great," Rolf said. "We'll wait outside for you." He grabbed Kirstin's hand and ducked out before I could change my mind.

As I looked up Glynnie's number, I kicked myself for getting talked into the whole setup. Glynnie was probably tired of seeing my face. She'd wonder why I hadn't said anything about the fair earlier. She might be insulted by a last-minute invitation. But Rolf thought he was doing me a favor. I couldn't stand to see him get that sad-puppy look. So I called.

"Hey, Glynnie. Eric." I was glad she answered, and not her mother. I was suddenly nervous, probably because this was so last second. I took a deep breath and spewed out all the details about Rolf and Kirstin and the Fair. "So, um, we could stop by in a couple minutes. If you want."

"Sure!" Glynnie said. "Sounds like fun."

I was kind of surprised by her eager tone. But then, maybe she was bored, since there wasn't all that much to do in Crystal Lake. "See ya in a couple minutes, then."

"Okay. And thanks."

Before we got halfway up the walk to her front door, Glynnie ran down the porch steps. She had a big smile on her face. I hoped the fair would live up to that smile's expectations.

On our way we saw a lot of the people from school, including a bunch of guys from the football team, even Derek Davis. After about the age of ten most guys tried to act bored about the fair, pretending they went only because there was nothing better to do, or that it was just a way to meet girls. Truth was, most of us wouldn't give up going to the fair any more than we'd give up spring break.

Once we reached the entrance and I saw the windmills, the food and craft booths, and the vendors in troll costumes and colorful Scandinavian folk outfits, I was glad Rolf had talked me into coming.

"Mmm, it smells great," Glynnie said. "Makes me hungry!"

The aroma of everything from
aebleskivers
to Swedish meatballs didn't exactly hurt my appetite either.

"Let's hit the food booths first," Rolf said. He did not have a fear of eating.

We started at the "nibble" booths and ate our way through bite-sized samples of the famous
aebleskiver
, open-faced Norwegian sandwiches,
potato lefse
and
frikadeller
, the tiny Swedish meatballs on a stick.

"So much for appetizers," Rolf said after we'd sampled enough food to feed his entire family for at least a week. "It's time for a real meal. How 'bout
kaldomar
?

"Kaldomar?" Glynnie asked.

"Cabbage rolls," Kirstin explained. "But I want Swedish sausage .…"

"
Kaldomar
," Rolf repeated.

"Swedish sausage," Kirstin insisted.

"People, people," I pretended to scold, shaking my finger at them. "How 'bout you each just get what you want and, meanwhile, Glynnie and I can browse a bit longer and make up our minds."

"Doh!" Rolf grinned. "That's easy. Come on, Kirstin." He took her by the hand. "Let's get our food and grab a table."

Kirstin nodded.

"We'll see ya later." I cupped my hand under Glynnie's elbow and steered her toward my favorite food booths.

After a half dozen or so booths, Glynnie said, "It all looks delicious. I can't make up my mind. What do you think?"

"I'll show you my supreme favorite." I nudged her to the left. "Then you can decide."

"Fair enough."

We wormed our way through what had gotten to be a huge throng of fairgoers until we reached a red cottage-like booth decorated with white geometric patterns. "Okay, here we are. What do you think?"

Glynnie stared for a moment, then said, "I think I never expected to see Jamar Pickett in a booth, dressed like a Viking and serving Scandinavian food."

"Hi, guys." Jamar laughed. "My uncle owns a barbeque restaurant in Eugene. Every year he does a little improvising so he can have a booth at the fair. How 'bout a large order of
Flesk Pankage
r?"

"That depends." Glynnie peered into the booth. "What is it?"

"It's diced pork baked in batter.
Flesk Pankager
—Pork Cakes. You're obviously a first-timer. I'll give you a taste, so you can see if you like it."

Glynnie tried a bite. "Mmm. Okay! I'll have a large order of the … the Pork Cakes."

"Make that two large orders," I said.

By the time we got our food the fair was so crowded we decided it'd be impossible to find Rolf and Kirstin. We grabbed the nearest table and savored every morsel of our
Flesk Pankager
. Then it was time to check out the handcrafts. The Fair celebrated the five Scandinavian cultures: Danish, Finnish, Icelandic, Norwegian and Swedish. There was a lot to see.

Glynnie insisted on seeing everything from bobbin lace and tatting to wood carvings and wheat crafts. One thing she really liked was the
rosemaling
, a Norwegian style of decorative painting characterized by flowers and vine tendrils, alone or with landscapes and figures of people. She looked over everything from boxes to wastebaskets to plates and furniture decorated with the
rosemaling
. Finally, she bought a small music box with a simple design of flowers and vines.

At one point I saw that guy from the antique store. Somebody Rock or whatever. He was eating an
ableskiver
, but it didn't look as if he was all that interested in food. He seemed to be searching the crowd for something … or someone. He saw me, but quickly looked away. It gave me an uneasy feeling.

"Glynnie, do you know that guy?"

"Who? Where?"

I pointed in his direction, but there were so many people. "That tall guy. Black hair."

"Can't say that … wait. Uh, I think maybe he could be the guy who asked me how to get to the Viking Motel. Why?"

"Uh … he was in the store the other day, that's all." I quickly pointed to an ice cream booth. No point in letting on about my paranoia. "Hey! There's the ice cream booth. You gotta try the Blackberry Trail Mix."

We both got small cones then walked around some more, listening to music and storytelling, watching dramas and folk dancing, and wandering through the art show featuring Scandinavian artists. It was fun seeing the Fair through Glynnie's eyes. Now and then we spotted Kirstin and Rolf in the distance, but we never did catch up with them.

Finally, I had to stop. "
Uff da
! My feet are killing me. I've gotta sit down."

"'
Uff da
?'" Glynnie looked puzzled as I steered her toward a bench. "I've seen little signs and plaques at almost every booth that say "
Uff da
." What does it mean?"

I let out a small exhausted laugh as we plunked down on the bench. "It's kind of an all-purpose Norwegian expression. The meaning is kind of like … well … getting out of the wrong side of the bed. Or trying to waltz to hip-hop. Blinking just as you get your picture taken. It's what my Mom would say right after she gets a good look at my room and just before she tells me I'd better clean it. Mostly, it gets said around Fair time."

"Hmm …
Uff da
." Glynnie rolled the words around on her tongue. "I'll have to spring that on Mother some time."

"I'm sure she'd totally appreciate it." I grinned.

Rolf and Kirstin walked by and gave us a wave. Rolf wore a Viking helmet and Kirstin a headband of flowers, and they both carried sacks of souvenirs. I shook my head. "You'd think they'd never been to the Fair before. They both act like kids sometimes."

"Mmm," Glynnie said. I thought she was going to say more, but she didn't.

We sat and people watched for a while. I was tired, but in a good way. Totally relaxed. I had fun at the fair. I had almost forgotten what it was like to
have
fun.

Then I saw them. Mom and Mr. Lundquist. He probably just came to the fair with her after she closed up her shop for the evening. Still, the sight of Mom with that guy instead of Dad made me want to hurl. Even though they disappeared into the crowd without seeing me, it cast a cloud over the evening. At least, it did until Glynnie stood up and pulled me to my feet.

"Eric. C'mon." Glynnie tugged at my arm. "Do you hear that polka music? Let's dance!"

Without waiting for an answer, she dragged me to the dance platform. By the time we got there, the music had worked its magic. I forgot I was tired. I was ready to whirl.