“It is,” I agree.
“Who are you playing?”
“Ludlin,” I answer, taken aback again.
Our conversations about football usually consist of me talking and Opa—maybe—listening, with the animosity of our previous disagreements on the topic of me and football a rocky current running beneath any exchange.
“You expect to win?”
I smile. “I always expect to win.”
“They must be happy to have you back.”
I nod. “I’m happy to be back.”
We continue walking in a silence that’s surprisingly relaxed. Sections of Tannfeld have cobblestone streets, including the original area near where Opa lives. And we’re headed toward the oldest portion of the village, the spire of the slate-roofed church visible past whitewashed houses. I typically take the longer route into town to avoid driving past that church. My one and only memory of it is attending my mother’s funeral there.
But that seems to be our destination now. My grandfather attends services here every Sunday.
It’s a beautiful church, despite my negative association with it, painted white with yellow accents. It glows in the afternoon sunshine, the cemetery sloping behind it a stretch of immaculately manicured grass.
We pause by the black iron fence that separates the church from the street.
“Should we head back?” I ask, preferring that to lingering.
“I’m ill, Otto.”
I stare at my grandfather. I don’t see him often enough to catalog daily changes, but he looks the same as I recall from my last trip here. Improved, I thought when I first arrived, more color on his face and better balance.
“What-what do you mean?”
The solid stone I’m standing on seems to be sloping all of a sudden. I’m five years old again, watching my grandfather stare into space with an empty glass in one hand.
“I’ve been wanting—needing—to tell you. Mila has been badgering…” Opa sighs, glancing at the graves. “I should have told you a while ago. I kept putting it off. We don’t see each other often. And when we do, it’s…” He looks at me, then away again. “I owe you an apology. Lots of them really. After Lina died… I didn’t handle it well. I know that, and I know you know it too. And I’ve spent all these years too embarrassed to?—”
“Opa,” I interrupt, “you don’t have to?—”
“I do.” He turns his head, fixing his steely gaze on me. “I’ve been stubborn and prideful and allowed it to interfere with the only meaningful relationship I have left. I didn’t agree with your decision to play football professionally. But I never should have allowed that to become a reason you wouldn’t come home.”
I exhale. “I could have done more too. I got swept up in being on Kluvberg and what being part of the club meant, let it become everything to me. I realized, when I got injured and lost it for a little while, just how much I’d relied on it.”
“That wasn’t your responsibility. No matter what you chose to do with your life, I should have supported it. Your-your mother would have been ashamed of my behavior.”
I hardly remember my mom. I have no sense whether she would have wanted me to play football or not. But she and Opa were close. I’m not certain she would have told me to choose football over him, which is essentially what I did.
“What do you mean, you’re ill?” The question comes out slowly. I’m dreading the answer.
Opa isn’t one for dramatics. Him telling me means it’s serious.
His grip on the cane tightens. “They found the tumor a few months before I fell. It’s part of why I resisted the hip surgery—it seemed pointless. But Mila said she would tell you herself if I didn’t have the operation, and I wanted to tell you. And then you came for the surgery, and I still hadn’t decided what to say.”
“You’re getting treatment?” I ask, hating the hope in my voice.
Opa wouldn’t be saying all this, bringing up my mom, if he thought he’d be around on the day I did retire to ask what I planned to do with the rest of my life.
“There’s nothing they can do.”
I was worried it was coming, but it still knocks the wind out of me. Burns in my chest and behind my eyes. I assumed my moving to the States would involve seeing him as often as I do now. Maybe more, depending on the length of my trips home. I even thought the change might improve our relationship, jolting us out of a routine we were too accustomed to.
