“No worries.” I gave her a quick kiss on her hair near her temple. “How’s everything going?”
“Oh, good. We’re fine. Dad’s out tinkering with the snowblower. Will you go tell him dinner is almost ready?”
“Sure.”
The back door opened onto a path that led to the shop. It had metal siding and two large garage doors. One was wide-open, and I found my dad with his handheld snowblower ona workbench surrounded by tools. His broad shoulders and barrel chest filled out his well-worn plaid flannel shirt, and his dark hair and thick beard were peppered with gray. Paul Haven wasn’t my biological father, but he’d adopted me when I was little. More importantly, he was my dad in every way that mattered.
“Hey, Dad.”
He looked up and didn’t exactly smile, but the slight softening of his features was as telling as a giant grin on any other man. “Son.”
“Mom says dinner is almost ready.”
Straightening, he grabbed a shop towel and wiped his hands. “Great game last night.”
“Yeah, they played their hearts out.”
“I don’t know where Owen got those wheels of his, but, man, is he fast.”
He was right. My nephew was a talented athlete. “He’s not just fast; he has incredible instincts. That kid smells the end zone and it’s all over.”
Dad met my eyes. “He has a good coach, too.”
Gratification spread through me like warmth from a fire. “Thanks, Dad.”
Walking by, he patted me on the arm, but didn’t say anything else. He’d always been a man of few words, but once in a while he sure knew how to make them count.
I wasn’t about to puff up at his praise, though. The implications of taking the university job—assuming they offered it to me—were still swirling through my head.
Owen was brimming with natural talent, but he didn’t need me to shape him. If I left, Assistant Coach Lewis was sure to take over, and he was top-notch. He’d guide Owen, and the rest of the team, through each season like a pro. He cared. I knew I could count on him.
But how would my parents, and the rest of my family, feel about me leaving?
I followed Dad inside. As we sat down and ate—chicken with roasted vegetables—that question lingered in the back of my mind. I’d planned to bring it up. Let them know I was in the process of interviewing. But as the evening went on, I found myself avoiding it.
We chatted about the usual stuff. Dad and my brother Josiah’s latest house they were remodeling. My nieces and nephews, especially the three baby girls who’d been born earlier that year—Garrett and Harper’s surprise baby, Isla; Zachary and Marigold’s Emily; and Josiah and Audrey’s daughter, Abby. Mom was in Grandma heaven.
There was town gossip and news about a few of Mom’s friends in her knitting group. And of course, football. As we talked, I tried to ignore the increasing stiffness in my neck and the slight shimmering at the edges of my vision.
Even in the midst of chatting all things sports, I still didn’t tell them about my upcoming interview.
Eventually, I said goodbye and headed home. I didn’t know why I’d kept it from them. If I took the job, they’d be thrilled for me. I couldn’t imagine them making me feel guilty or giving me a hard time about it. That wasn’t who they were.
My brothers, on the other hand, would give me endless shit about leaving. But that was their job. And they’d be happy for me, too. Even if they didn’t admit it right away.
Maybe it was just the fact that change was hard. Even though it was an incredible opportunity, taking a job across the country meant a lot of uncertainty. Staying where I was would be the easier path. But was it what I really wanted?
When I got home, my house felt chilly—and very empty. It was odd. I’d lived alone for years and it never bothered me. I was too busy to be bored or lonely. There were always lessonsto plan, tests to grade, football formations to tweak, plays to develop. But somewhere deep down, I knew all that stuff was covering up a very real emptiness inside me.
An emptiness I didn’t particularly want to face.
My house was a three-bedroom, two-bath rambler with a garage—typical in Tilikum. Small, but livable. Especially since it was just me. I hung my keys on the hook my sister Annika had given me as a housewarming gift. It was in the shape of a football and looked like it belonged in a kid’s room, but I liked it anyway.
For some reason, I thought about the fact that there were no pumpkins decorating my porch. No idea why. I’d probably just noticed the fall vibe at my parents’, and the key hook made me think of Annika, who was super crafty, and probably had an elaborate fall display around her front door.
But it was weird how the lack of pumpkins tugged at that empty spot in my chest.
I went to my bedroom and shucked off my jeans. By now, I could hardly turn my head from side to side, and the vision disturbances were making me squint.
