“It’s understandable that you’re shaken up. What happened would’ve occurred no matter where you were—camping or on vacation elsewhere. Getting her in the helicopter rather than an ambulance might have made all the difference. But yes, she’ll be fine.”
“I owe you.” I want to give the man who’d truly saved Cateline’s life more than a selfie or season tickets.
“Just doing my job.” He pats me on the back. “And you make sure you do yours and win the next Super Bowl. I have a bet with a buddy with your name riding on it.”
I crack a smile. “Will do, sir.”
The next few days consist of rest and recovery as Cateline’s energy slowly returns. We spend hours talking and I learn about her past—she’s whip-smart and was born into a relatively poor family.
“My mother thought dancing would give me more opportunities in life. She sacrificed everything and sent me to the premier dance academy in the country. They wanted me to marry a dancer named Gaston and for us to go on to be ballet greats. But that wasn’t what I wanted—I was hungry for something else, knowledge. Eventually, I had to choose. Dance or education. I’d have done what my parents wanted me to do, but I’d ruin my body. I’d be forced to retire young. Quick money, prestige, fame. But a flash. No longevity.”
I recall her asking about my future prospects. “I guess that’s sort of like football.”
“But you can go on to do other things in the sports world. It’s different in ballet. I had to choose. I worked three jobs, paid my way through school...and haven’t really danced or spoken to my parents at all in ten years.” Her voice cracks. “I was a small-town girl, raised the old-fashioned way, and sheltered. I left. I broke all the rules.”
“Do you miss dancing?” I know the answer since it was one of the first things Cateline asked the doctor when she woke up.
“Terribly.”
“Your parents?”
“Every day.”
“We’re not much different. But I suppose we made different choices. I picked football. Broken body, young retirement. Then what?” I hope whatever it is includes Cateline.
In the meantime, I know exactly where I’ll take her once she is well enough to travel.
31
CATELINE
After leaving the hospital, a week passes while I recover in a luxury hotel on the coast of North Carolina.
Connor waits on me hand and foot, even though I insist I’m fine. We take walks on the beach, eat heart-healthy food, and talk for hours. I’m thankful to be alive, thankful for him, and the kisses we share.
One afternoon, he comes back with a pastry box and a bag. Clearing his throat, he says, “I brought you some paper.”
“The newspaper? We already read it.” The hotel slides it under the door every morning. I do the crossword and he reads the sports section.
Connor jiggles the bag. “Fancy paper, embellishments, scrapbooking supplies, or whatever they’re called. Things like that. I don’t know.” He looks sheepish, boyish, almost embarrassed. “Um, happy birthday.”
Giving my head a little shake. “My birthday?”
“Your birthday? Yeah, as you said, we got the newspaper. Check the date.”
“I don’t think today is April fifteenth.”
“My CPA made me quite aware of the date.” Connor winces at the reminder that it’s also Tax Day.
I double-check. He’s right. “I don’t typically celebrate it.”
I expect him to make a fuss and he says, “Yeah, I understand that. How do you say the wordmyin French?”
“Mon,” I reply.
“Mon,” he says, trying to imitate my accent. “Okay. All the same, happymonbirthday,” Connor says, slightly boyish and very cute. It’s as if entering new territory with a woman and sharing something as simple yet intimate as her birthday is a revelation. I don’t quite get what he means aboutmonbirthday, but I just go with it because he’s being adorable.
“Thank you.” I set down the paper, shocked that I lost track of time. This might be the most relaxed I’ve been in years. I usually know the date and time down to the second.
