“Summarize the details and email them to me by tomorrow morning. I’ll give you an answer in forty-eight hours.” He doesn’t wait for a response and hangs up. Leaning back in his chair, he folds his arms behind his head. “I didn’t say a word to your momma about your indiscretion with that girl downstairs, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
My mouth falls open in surprise at his ability to precisely peg my issue. “I, ah,” I stammer and wish I had showered so I could sit down. “Why’re they talking about taking Charlotte away then?” There’s a whiny quality to my question that makes us both wince.
Dad squints at the ceiling, tipping farther back in his chair and then lets it come forward with a bang. “I’m not entirely sure, son, but it isn’t that. Frankly, I’d think AnnMarie would be grateful your attentions are fixed on someone other than Charlotte. It’s been a contentious year for the two of you.”
I flush. Ever since Charlotte turned fifteen, everyone seemed to start noticing her. And by everyone, I mean other guys. She doesn’t seem to care that she gets stared at constantly. When I suggested that maybe she should stop wearing yoga pants outside of the actual yoga studio, she didn’t talk to me for a week. “She’s hormonal,” I mutter finally.
At this Dad shouts with laughter. “She’s hormonal.” He pushes away from his desk and stands. Walking toward the door, he gestures for me to follow. “Son, you’ve got so many suppressed hormones, they are screwing with your head.”
I follow him into the kitchen where he pulls out the makings for sandwiches. Silently we make ourselves one, and Dad pours me a tall glass of milk. I don’t remember the last time we’ve talked, just the two of us. Some of the stress of the past couple of weeks just drains away as we sit down and talk about the Bears’ chances to win the Super Bowl this year—not good—and the Cubs’ chances of winning the pennant next year—even worse.
“How’s practice going?” he asks, eating half his sandwich in one bite.
I shrug. “I don’t love it. I know I should, but I’m bored half the time. It was more fun when I could play both offense and defense.” North Prep’s football team is mediocre at best, and during my sophomore year I got to play the tight end position and defensive back. My senior year, however, I’m playing solely the tight end position. Because our current quarterback sucks, I rarely get the ball thrown to me, and when it does come my way, it’s either too long or too short. Nick should be the starter. Everyone on the team knows he’s the best quarterback but Hudson Firth is a senior whereas Nick’s a sophomore so Firth starts even though Nick can throw rings around him.
“Team sports are a good experience for you, Nate,” Dad says. “Getting along with others is a chore but a necessary one. You can at least use the opportunity to understand the different dynamics of your teammates and how each one is motivated. Later on that skill will come in handy.”
After we polish off the sandwiches and milk, I help Dad clean up the kitchen. I’m not ready for our time to come to an end so I linger, spending more time than necessary cleaning off the center island.
“You think Charlotte is going to be okay?” That’s really the only question I need answered.
“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s going to be easy.”
“Because of hormones,” I joke.
Dad doesn’t laugh, though. The side of his mouth quirks up in a sad half smile. “It’s going to be everything, and I’m worried about you, hoss.”
“How so?” I don’t like this somber tone from him. Maybe chat time should be over. I throw the cloth I was using to clean the counter into the sink, showing that I’m ready to be done.
“Charlotte is going to go through several months of radiation. Maybe a year. She’s going to be sick for a long time—”
“And I’m going to take care of her,” I interrupt. Holding up my hand to forestall any other lectures, I tell Dad, “I got this.”
Dad just shakes head. “I love Charlotte like she’s my own, and I’m gut sick about her illness, just like you. But she’s got her family to take care of her. You and Nick need to be focused on finishing school, enjoying yourselves, and then planning for college.”
“Sounds like you are all for Charlotte being moved away.” I scowl at him.
“No, but I can tell you that Charlotte is going to want to be with a boy who sees her as more than someone to be taken care of. Around here, there’s going to be a lot of sympathy and a lot of people trying to do stuff for her.” Dad runs a hand over the top of his head and frowns. “Maybe Bo and AnnMarie are right in thinking Charlotte’d be better off where everyone doesn’t know her.”