She said she had a rough cut thrown together, but her version of a rough cut is pretty damn polished. I knew Grace was talented, but I didn’t know howfastshe was at editing. I’ll have to keep that in mind for the future—if I have any kind of career after this, that is. My stomach sinks lower and lower as we comb through every scene, voiceover and transition. I still can’t believe I’m really going to do this, but I’m not going to turn back now.
It feels like I’m on autopilot as the frames fly by. The season is almost over already. I’ve been here for all of this. For a while, this was my life. It’s all surreal now. My revision requests aren’t extensive, but some of themare tedious. Grace tells me she thinks she can have a more polished cut for me in the next three days.
Micke’s asked me to call him, but I head downstairs the next morning to grab a quick bite before I ring. Taking a croissant, I close the pantry door—and nearly jump out of my skin when my mother is there waiting for me, looking as happy as the screaming head inSinister.
“Is something on your mind, Freddie? You haven’t been around much lately,” my mother says.
“Busy wrapping up the documentary.” I stuff half the croissant into my mouth. Swallowing it, I add, “I’m scheduling a premiere for next weekend.”
“That’s wonderful.” My mother looks pensive, like she wants to say more. True to her character, she changes the subject instead. “How’s the team captain?”
Part of me wonders how she knows, because she certainly doesn’t read sports headlines and I don’t think my father is even aware, but Manhattan Beach is a gossip pit. She probably heard about it at the country club or her Pilates studio.
“He has a Grade 3 concussion. He’s going to be out for a few weeks,” I reply carefully like I don't care, not wanting to give her any crumbs to follow.
“That’s terrible. And right before the playoffs, too. Well, maybe next year,” my mother says, like that’s any bit comforting.
Suddenly I don’t feel like finishing my pastry.
“Yeah.” I check the time. It’s just after 5 p.m. in Sweden. Micke should be off work by now. “I’ve got a call to make. See you later.” I don’t know how much more I can take being around my family before this thing premieres.
“Hello?” Micke answers on the first ring. The worry in his voice guts me.
“Hey, Micke. No updates other than that he’s going to need some rest and recovery. They’re keeping him sedated for a while, as far as I know.”
“Oh.” His voice falls. “Have you seen him?”
“Not today.” I don’t think Mattias told Micke what happened between us, or he wouldn’t be asking me that so easily. “I’ll go check on him soon. I think some of the team are there this morning.”
“That’s good. Please keep me posted. I told our mother.”
I wince. “How’d it go?”
“I think she’s worried. She tried to play it off like it’s just part of the sport, but she keeps bringing it up.”
There’s a flutter of hope inside me. I wonder how Mattias would feel if he knew that.
“So, just keep me informed, okay?”
“Of course. But Micke, there’s one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Given the circumstances, how would you and your mother feel about coming over here for his comeback game?”
A few days later, I pick up a flash drive from Grace on the way to the hospital. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I’ve managed to gather a get-well basket: a tray of the most icing-covered cinnamon rolls I could possibly find, several jars of pickled herring, and ten bags of that disgusting salted licorice from a foreign candy store at The Grove. It’s a shitty attempt at an apology, and he’ll probably throw the whole thing in the trash, but it’s the best that I’ve got right now.
Freddie
Here. What floor are you guys on?
Reeve
Sorry Fred. Had to head out. Game this evening, but he’s on the 6th floor
I glance at the time and curse. Guess I’ll have to take it up myself.
I scoop the basket into my arms and head for the check-in desk. Stopping briefly to count the hospital floors, my eyes linger on the windows of the sixth. It’s a cold, soulless place, regardless of what the dinged-up nun statues in the lobby would have you think, and it makes me sad to know he’s here alone.
