Page 9 of Goalie Lessons

“This must be a lot,” she says, her fingers working the fringe of her quilt. “Did you know Joshua was the only one of my grandsons who came to visit me regularly in the home? I know the two of you have grown apart in recent years. Adulthood does that to people, and the distance—I just want you to know that I’ve heard all about you. Josh still told your stories from college like they happened yesterday. And I know, without a doubt, that he would want you to take in his girls.”

My head is moving, I’m nodding, but I also have my hand over my mouth. I haven’t felt like this in a long time, but I know it’s there. An attack, hovering just in the back of my head, threatening to wash over me.

“Believe me, Grayson,” Mrs. Welch continues. “If I could take them, I would. Unfortunately, they don’t let you bring little kids to the nursing home with you. If you can’t take the girls, they’ll go into the foster care system. There’s nobody left.”

“What about Beth’s family?” I ask, voice rough as I think of Josh’s wife. Surely there must be someone on her side who could take the kids?

“Unfortunately, her mother was on the plane. Her father passed away years ago, and she was an only child.”

“Would I…need to move to Denver?”

“We understand you have geographic restraints, given your profession,” Ms. Clearing says, lacing her fingers together. “As of right now, we have special permission for you to take the children out of Colorado and back to Milwaukee with you. Child Protective Services will communicate with you once you arrive home, and you can expect frequent checks. Do you have space for the girls right now?”

I think about the house I’m living in, the four guest rooms I hardly use. How old is Athena? Can she even sleep in a regular bed, or will she need something different? Acrib?

“I have four extra rooms at home, but they’re not, like, kids’ rooms, or anything—”

“There will be time for that, Mr. O’Connor. Right now, I think it’s best to get the girls with someone familiar, no matter how small that connection might be. And, of course, something to keep in mind is that they are experiencing a very specific trauma right now. You can speak with their caseworker more about it, but to lose so many family members at once, and then to be removed from their aunt…it’s resulted in some behavioral issues.”

“Oh.” It’s the only word I can get out. I twist my hands together in my lap.

“Nothing violent,” Ms. Clearing assures me. “I just want to make sure you have all the information before making a decision. And, of course, you don’t have to decide right now. I can send this file with you. Go home, think about it. But it would be better to hear back from you sooner rather than later, so we can start to make other arrangements for the girls, should it be necessary.”

My eyes dart to the file on the table. She straightens up the papers and tucks them inside neatly before handing them over to me.

“Thank you,” she says. I stand and turn to say goodbye to Mrs. Welch, who takes both hands in mine. Hers are cold and soft, the skin paper thin. When I look down at them, I can make out a single blue vein snaking across the top of her hand, and that, more than anything else today, makes me feel lightheaded.

She has no other options. Other than me.

Without saying anything, she releases my hand. Then I’m walking out of the room, past the nursing aid waiting for Mrs. Welch in the hallway, and down to the lobby. I push out into the bright sunshine and walk down the street. This part of Denver is surprisingly empty. Five minutes go by before I realize I’m not even walking in the direction of my hotel.

When I turn around to head back, a flash of nausea rolls over me again. I locate the nearest trash can, hold the folder out of the way, and throw up while the person nearest to me crosses to the other side of the street.

Astrid

“Admitit!”

“Okay!” I laugh, settling my soda against my stomach. Sloane and I are in the middle of her pool, floating. My floatie is a donut, hers a unicorn. “This is actually nice.”

Between Callum’s money from the Frost and Sloane’s media business, Slap Shot, the two of them have managed to get a nice house in a beautiful neighborhood. When you walk into Sloane’s backyard, the first thing you see is the huge, glittering pool, fun floaties drifting on the water. To the left is a fire pit surrounded by chairs, and under the upstairs deck is a shaded seating area with a grill and several electric coolers.

“See!” She flips a bit of water toward me, and I shield my can from the spray. “Milwaukee isperfect!”

“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far—”

“But you said you heard from so many people at the career fair. And look at this weather, Astrid!”

I close my eyes against the sun. “You know I came here from California, right?”

With my eyes shut, I can’t see her, but I can practicallyfeelSloane rolling her eyes at me.

“Yes, I also lived in California. Which is why I can tell you that Milwaukee is, without a doubt, better than Los Angeles.”

“That is a very bold statement, McKenzie.”

“That’sHendricks, to you.”

“I still can’t believe you changed your last name.”

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