“Why?”
I lift a shoulder, then let it drop, debating how honest to be. “With everything happening with Mom, I thought it made the most sense. Not just the money—it was before you set up the trust—but spending more time with her. A normal job would have typical hours. It’s a sacrifice, training and traveling, andit’s always been worth it to me. But at some point…I made it. I played professionally. Played in Boston even. I wasn’t sure what else was left.” I shrug again, letting the uncertain motion bookend my explanation.
Dad frowns. “Considering? So, you’ve decided to continue playing?”
I nod. “Assuming the Siege offers an extension. I signed a two-year contract that expires at the end of this season.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I fell back in love with it, I guess. I decided to prioritize what I want and worry less about what is practical or what other people would tell me to do.”
A pause, and then Dad says, “If you meet someone who doesn’t support your career, Claire, he’s not the right person.”
I think of Nolan for the first time in years, who acted like soccer was an inconvenient hobby. My most recent ex, Steve, who was on the partner track at a major law firm and would joke that my job kept me busier than his did. Even Walker seemed unsure what questions to ask during our brief period of exchanging texts, as if a woman being a professional athlete was a foreign concept to him.
Otto told me to play.
“It’s not that.”
Dad nods, appearing relieved. “Good.”
The path veers right, curving back toward Echo Glen. A fountain trickles water, some of the spray misting my arm as we pass it.
“There’s an ice cream place down the street. We could see if your mom has finished her chapter, then take a quick trip there? They have sorbet.”
I study my dad, two important details striking me at once. One, the way he’s accepted Mom’s insistence that she continueworking when we both know it’s unlikely she’ll ever finish another book. Two, that he noticed they had a nondairy option.
“Sorbet sounds great,” I say.
Dad smiles, and we head back toward the building together.
46
OTTO
Opa’s sitting outside in one of the chairs that matches his kitchen table when I pull into the driveway.
I climb out of my car, spinning my keys around one finger as I approach the trimmed section of the front yard, where he’s reading. “Hallo, Opa.”
He glances up, saying nothing. But he smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, and that expression alone makes it a warmer reunion than we’ve had in a long time.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
He flashes me the cover. “I read it last year,” I tell him.
He nods. Approving almost. Reading is one of the only interests we share. When I returned from the academy on breaks, I’d work my way through most of his extensive collection.
Opa closes the book and stands, setting the novel carefully on the chair. “Should we take a walk?”
“Sure.” I smother my shock.
It’s a reasonable suggestion. Today is a beautiful day, sunny and warm. But my grandfather has never, not once, suggested we walk together when I’ve visited Tannfeld.
I watch carefully as we head down the street, but my grandfather doesn’t appear to be having any trouble walking. He’s carrying a cane, but isn’t putting weight on it. Holding it seems more habit than anything else.
I speak first. “I was cleared by the club’s medical team. I’ll resume normal training next week, so I’ll be ready for a charity match we have in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s good.”
