The Good Luck Charm(44)

“What’re you doing?” my dad asks in his slow, garbled speech. He has to work on fine motor control to fast-forward through commercials, or wait for the show to come back on. Apparently he’s not in the mood for TV remote physio.

It takes her a second or two before she looks up and smiles. “Statistics homework. Remember I told you I’m taking a course?”

My dad nods, then taps on the arm of his chair as he clears his throat. “You should’ve been a doctor.”

I step into the living room, the floorboard under my foot creaking. “Dad!”

He glances over his shoulder at me, face ticking as his mouth tries to catch up with his brain. “’S true.” He motions from Lilah to me. “Botha you.”

This has been the hardest part to get used to since the stroke. My dad has always felt free to speak his mind, but now, in addition to his lack of censor, he’s also tactless, and sometimes the things he says are unnecessarily hurtful.

“I enjoy nursing. I like that I get time with the patients and their families,” Lilah replies, an edge in her otherwise serene tone.

My dad taps his temple, then points at me, while still focused on Lilah. “This one wasted his brain.”

“That’s enough, Martin,” Lilah snaps. “That’s not even remotely true. Just because Ethan didn’t follow in your footsteps doesn’t mean he wasted anything. You’re being cruel for no other reason than you’re in a bad mood. If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

“He should’ve stayed.” My dad jabs at the couch with a finger, still focused on Lilah, mouth moving as he fights to string the syllables together. “Stay. For you.”

I bark out a laugh. “Well, that’s rich, considering you’re the one who told me to break up with Lilah in the first place, or don’t you remember that conversation?”

“So you stay!” he shouts.

“What? You’re not even making sense, Dad. You’re the one who pushed me to end things. You said it would be selfish for me to leave her here and keep her tied to me.”

He slaps the arm of his lounger, more agitated than I’ve seen him in a long time. “No! I-I-I … ” He blinks furiously, struggling harder because he’s so upset. “Th-thought you would stay. For DJ. Not go.”

The shock of this revelation is a punch in the chest. “You told me to do one thing and expected me to do the opposite?”

“You ne’er listened to me!”

My father and I had always been at odds with each other, especially when I was a teenager. I spent all my time at the hockey rink, and he pushed me toward a career in medicine. When I made the NHL, instead of sharing my excitement, he wanted to know what I was going to do afterward, since I’d likely be retired by my midthirties. We’re very much alike, and because of that we argued a lot. But this is … more than I can handle, especially with how good things have been with me and Lilah recently. “Well, that was a pretty shitty fucking gamble, wasn’t it?”

“It cost you eight years.” It’s the clearest sentence my dad has spoken in the weeks since his stroke.

I glance at Lilah’s wide eyes and pale face. I feel the weight of this admission in my bones. All the time I lost with her because I listened to my father the one time I shouldn’t have, and then I did it again when I had the chance to come back for her. I don’t understand why he would chance something like that.

“Time wasn’t the only thing it cost me.” If I stay in here, I’m going to go off on him, say things I can’t take back, so I look to Lilah. “It’s been a long day. I’m going down to the lake for a quick swim. When my mom gets back, we can go.” I punch through the screen door. It slams roughly behind me, the hinges rattling. The porch boards shake beneath my feet, and guilt at leaving Lilah in there to deal with him makes me pause when I reach the grass.

“Why, Martin? Why say that to him with me here? We’re trying to figure things out. He just got home from an away game where he scored a goal. The least you could do is be supportive instead of tearing him down with your black mood.”

When he replies, his tone is broken, distressed, apologetic even. “You get one soul mate. I don’t want him to lose his again.”

The damage is long done, though. An apology can’t give me back what he took from me. From Lilah. I drop my bag on the porch and walk across the grass, gaining speed as I go, desperate for an escape from what’s in my head now.

I take the dock at a run, pushing off the edge, arcing in a dive. The cold water is a welcome shock as I go under. I stroke hard and kick fast, propelling myself forward, breaking the surface only when my lungs are screaming for air. I keep pushing, swimming out, creating distance between me and the words that feel like a knife still buried in my chest.

We could’ve been building a future together. Instead, we have years of separation from a history so thick with emotion, so full of love, it’s almost painful to have it back after being without it for so long. And even though my career seems to be on an upswing, I have no idea if I’ll be able to carry this through the season. And if I don’t, what then?

I don’t know when the hourglass on my career is going to run out, but I know I don’t want this to be the end. And if this contract isn’t renewed, what the hell am I going to do? What if I have to move to another city, or worse, back to a farm team—what then? Am I going to up and leave her again? Uproot her life and take her with me? What if she doesn’t want that? We’re still so new again, and I don’t feel like I have the right yet to ask her these questions, to put that kind of pressure on her when she’s just started on a new path for her own life.