The Winner's Game (16 page)

“Oh right,” Ann drones. “Dad is coming tonight. You know what, Tanner? Maybe we should just wait until Monday to do something.”

“No prob. I'll come straight over after work. See you then.” With that the young man turns to go. Before he gets very far, I ask if he needs a ride home, to which he chuckles and says, “Nah, I only live a few blocks away. Isn't that so cool? I don't even have to have a car, and I can still come see Ann all the time.”

Forgive me if my nod and tone are somewhat unenthusiastic. “Yeah. So cool.” Once Tanner is out of earshot, I let out an exasperated breath and then shoo everyone inside. “On the couches. I only have three questions—one for each of you—but that should be enough.”

As instructed, the kids file into the tiny living room and plop down on the sofa. They are seated side by side, with Cade in the middle.

“All right. Let's start with the easiest question first. Cade…”

“Uh-huh,” he says weakly.

“What do you know about this Tanner kid?”

He sits up, pleasantly surprised. “That's an easy question.”

“And the answer is…?”

“Not much,” he replies with an honest shrug.

“Well, just tell me what you do know, even if it's only a little.”

“OK. Ummm…he's seventeen. His parents are divorced. He used to live in Portland, but now he lives here with his mom. Uh…his name is Tanner. And…he works at the candy store.” He pauses, pursing his lips as he tries to think of anything else. “Oh, and he lives just a couple blocks away. And he surfs.” He pauses once more, glancing nervously at Bree. “And…Bree thinks he's her type. At least that's what she said right after she met him.”

“You little brat!” explodes Bree.

“Well, you did say it. Right after you said he wasn't Ann's type because they would have ugly children.”

“What?!” screeches Ann.

Bree clenches her fist. “I ought to…!”

“Bree Grace Bennett! Don't you dare.”

“But he's such a brat!”

“Runs in the family,” remarks Ann.

Before things get any more out of control, I hold my hand up to quiet them. “Enough, all of you. We're just answering questions. No need to get upset.” I take a deep breath to calm myself down. “Thank you, Cade. That was very informative. Bree, you're next.”

“Great,” she mutters.

“Don't worry, yours is easy too. Did you, or did you not, take your little brother to the candy store with the express intent of undermining your sister's chances of getting to know Tanner?” I lean back in my chair, waiting for her response.

“What's so easy about that?” she asks glumly.

“It's a simple yes-or-no question. Did you…or did you not?”

Bree takes a moment to think, and then crosses her arms and says, simply, “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“You said it's a simple yes-or-no question, so I'm telling you simply,
yes
.”

“Yes what?” I press.

“Yes, I did or did not do what you said.”

“Did or didn't?”

With arms still folded defiantly, Bree again replies with a determined, “Yes.”

I could scream, but I just shake my head instead. Under my breath, I angrily mumble, “Takes after her father…” I clear my throat, then continue. “Very well. I appreciate your honesty.” I immediately turn my focus to the other end of the couch. “Ann?”

“Yes,” she says solemnly.

“Your turn. One question.”

“You promise…just one?”

“Just one. But it's not an easy one.” We lock eyes for several seconds. I almost hate to ask this. I wish I knew the answer without having to pry it out of her. It would be so much easier if I could just read her like a book and learn everything I need to know. “Why did you lead Tanner to think you're not a good swimmer?”

Ann stares at me for several seconds, and then diverts her attention to the floor. “Because.”

“That's not an answer.”

There is a very long silence, then Ann finally admits, “Because…he's really cool. And I think he likes me.”

“Good! You're very likable. But to really like you, he needs to know you, and that's not likely to happen with lies. You're an incredible swimmer, Ann, among other amazing talents. You should be proud and let him get to know the real you.”

I hardly realize that Ann has started crying until she stands up and places a hand over her heart, like she's about to give the pledge of allegiance. “Yes, I'm an incredible swimmer,” she says, gagging on the words. “But one who can't swim. Just like I'm a runner who can't run, and a straight-A student who hardly went to school last year.” She hesitates, trying hard to compose herself. “What I really am, though, is a time bomb. I'm a heart attack waiting to happen. I'm a future that no boy would want, because my future is so uncertain.” The tears are flowing freely now, running down her cheeks and spilling onto the sea-blue shag. “So for now—
to him—
I don't mind lying a little bit. I don't want his pity. I don't want him to see me as the girl who might die next month, or the girl on some dumb waiting list. I just want him to know
me—
Ann Bennett, the girl from Portland who is so carefree that she tried sushi on a whim just because it sounded cool. Just let me be
that girl
, OK, Mom?” She wipes away her tears and waits to see how I'll respond.

But I don't know how to respond. I honestly have no clue what to say right now. When did parenting get so complicated? When did my cute, cuddly babies grow into teenagers? How is it that my beautiful little girl is standing in front of me, on the cusp of womanhood, looking to me for guidance about how to balance the youthful desires of romance with the unkind realities of a dysfunctional heart? What do I say to that?

And for crying out loud, somebody please explain to me how kids have become so bold as to hug in front of their parents on the very first “date”!

I'm still speechless.

When I don't respond, Ann wipes her tears once more, then whispers, “I need to go lie down before I send my stupid heart into failure.”

I check my watch as she disappears upstairs.

Where is Dell? He should be here by now.

I can't do this parenting thing on my own…

I
ALWAYS THOUGHT
it would be rewarding to be a lawyer. Not financially rewarding but emotionally, in a help-your-fellow-man sort of way. Before law school I had this grand vision in my head that I was going to become a public defender. Representing the downtrodden in our legal system sounded noble, I suppose. I wanted to help people in difficult circumstances; I wanted to make sure every average Joe had equal access to quality legal advice; I wanted to make sure nobody slipped through the cracks. In my vision of the future, I'd end each day with a smile on my face because I felt so good about what I was doing, even if the pay wasn't all that great.

After my first year of law school, however, I met Emily. We got married before the start of my third year, and suddenly everything changed. My old vision of helping others was traded for a new one, wherein I was a successful provider for my beautiful bride. Emily told me to follow my heart, but instead I sold out and followed the cash; when a giant computer-chip maker in Portland's silicon forest handed me an offer to join their legal team, I couldn't—or didn't—say no.

In the nineteen-plus years since then, I've never even sniffed a courtroom, except that one time when I got selected for jury duty, but that doesn't count.

In retrospect, I should have stuck to my guns. After all, money isn't everything—a fact I've learned particularly well since Ann's health problems started, seeing as her medical bills have sucked away all of our savings.

Even if I didn't go into public defense, I could have at least chosen a field where I had a little more flexibility with my hours. As it stands now, I am expected to work until the work is done…and the work is never done.

All of which explains why I'm sitting at my desk at six o'clock on a Friday night, when I should already be with my family in Cannon Beach.

“Big plans this weekend, Dell?” asks my boss as he swings by my office.

“Not really. Just…lots of work.”

“Well, things should slow down a bit once we reach quarter-end.”

How many times have I heard that? Enough to know it's not true.
I nod anyway.

“Say, how are things going with your daughter? I haven't heard much lately on that front.”

“She's hanging in there.”

He points at me with his finger, like it's a pistol, then makes a clicking sound with his mouth. “Well, you hang in there too. And hey, I know you're a little behind on the Samsung contract for next week, but don't stay here too late tonight. Get home and spend some time with your family before they're all in bed. There's always Sunday for catch-up, right?”

Sunday?
“Of course. Have a good weekend.”

After he leaves, I stare blankly at my computer screen until it starts getting blurry. Then I dig into the contract again, hoping I can make enough headway on it now so I don't have to spend my entire weekend on it.

At eight thirty, I'm nowhere close to being done.

At nine thirty, still sitting at my office desk, I know it's hopeless.

I've thought of calling Emily several times, but I didn't want to talk to her unless I had good news. I know if I call to tell her I can't make it this weekend, she's going to assume that I don't want to be there with her.

Then again…do I?

What am I thinking? Of course I do. I just don't want to be there when she's in one of her moods where she picks apart every little thing I say, which is pretty much all the time lately.

She's probably already furious that I haven't shown up or called.

I stare at the phone next to my computer for several minutes, trying to sort out exactly how I'm going to tell her. Finally, I decide there is no good way—she's going to flip, no matter what I say—so I pick it up and dial the house.

After four rings she answers. “Hello?”

Before I respond, I hear what sounds like another click on the line. “Did someone else pick up?”

“I think it's just me, Dell.” I can already hear the judgment in her voice. “Why are you calling this phone instead of my cell?”

“I don't know, I just did.” I pause to collect myself. “So how are things?”

“Fine. Where are you?”

“Still in Portland.”

“Why? What time will you be here?”

“Emily, I…I don't think I'm coming this weekend.”

She doesn't speak for the longest time. When she does, her voice is teetering. “You don't call me all week, and when you do, it's to tell me you aren't coming? Why?”

“I'm behind at work.”

“So? You're always behind at work.”

“Yeah, but this time there's a major customer that wants to review their new supply terms on Monday morning, and I'm not even close. And before you ask what I've been doing all week, let me assure you that I've been working my tail off. There's just a lot going on right now. It sucks, but it is what it is.”

“So that's it?”

“That's what?”

“The only reason you're not coming.”

“Em…” I want to say more, but the words jam in my throat.

“What? Tell me what you're thinking.”

When I sigh, I make sure it's loud, so she can hear it through the phone. “There's no way I can come this weekend. If I could, I would. But at the same time, we both know how it's been lately between us. I don't want to come all the way out there just to argue with you.”

“Then don't.”

“I'm not.”

“I mean don't argue. Come, but don't argue with me.”

“I already said, I
can't
come. As far as arguing goes, it's hard not to when you constantly want to pick fights.”

“That's not true.”

“It is, and you know it. You're either picking a fight or you're nagging me about this or that. And frankly, I've had it.”

“Oh, now you've had it? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn't mean anything, other than that I'm not coming this weekend. I'm staying here, catching up on work, and not fighting with you.”

The line goes silent again. The next sound is that of my wife crying.
I knew this conversation would lead to tears.

“What…what should I tell the kids?” she whimpers.

“Tell them I'm sorry and I'll be there next weekend.”

“We can't keep going on like this, Dell.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can't just keep pretending that something is going to change. Yes, Ann has a heart problem, but right now my heart is broken too! And we're not doing anything to fix it.”

“We're surviving. That's the best we can do right now.”

“No it's not! We're not surviving…I'm not even sure there is a ‘we' left anymore. I feel like I'm alone in this. And so are you. So if this is really the best we can do…then…”

I have to take a moment to process what she just said. If my ears heard right, I think I'm going to be sick. “So what, Emily, are you saying ‘it's over'?”

“I'm not saying that at all. I'm just saying…I don't know. I think maybe it's good that you're not coming tonight, so you can figure things out. Maybe we both need a little more time away from each other to decide how important this marriage is to us and if we're willing to do what it takes to get things back on track.”

“How do we even do that?”

“Just give our marriage some thought, Dell. Before we try to fix anything, you've got to know if I'm worth it to you. I'll see you when you've figured that out.”

Emily clicks off without saying good-bye.

I hold the phone to my ear a second longer, only to hear a second click.

Someone else was listening…