Page 74 of Taking It To Overtime

Because for all the times she’s encouraged him to play, let him talk about his NHL dreams, if he lets her follow him, then what will happen to hers? She wants to leave this town. She wants to see her name in lights, her pictures in magazines. She wants to travel the world. If they let this carry on any longer,she’ll end up in Wisconsin with him. That sounds conceited, but it’s not. He knows she’ll follow him because if the roles were reversed, he’d do the same.

The only way to make sure she gets her dream is to cut this off at the knees. Now. Besides, they’re just kids. Right? It’s not like they were going to get married.

She’s going to make it. He knows she will. She’s too beautiful, too charismatic, too creative to not blow the world away. And maybe someday they’ll cross paths again and he’ll tell her why he sent her away. And maybe, if there’s any sort of justice in the world, she’ll tell him she still loves him beyond reason.

“Vera,” he holds his hands out in supplication, his mind looping and twisting and making him dizzy. “Come here, please.”

He wants to wrap her in his arms one more time.

“You know what?” Her shoulders push back and she lifts her chin. The tear tracks on her cheeks glow in the hazy light coming through the back door. “You’re right. This is for the best.”

She could have slit his throat with his skates, and it would have hurt less.

“You’re leaving. I…will be leaving. Probably for New York City, or Los Angeles, or something like that.”

He moves his chin in a jerky nod. Anything to show he supports her. He believes in her.

“Thank you for being my best friend, Robbie Oakes. I will always love you and I wish you all the best.” She says the words as if she’s reading them from a teleprompter, as if this isn’t the end. Her hand appears in front of his eyes and he catalogues each line and the delicate curve of her wrist. She clears her throat, and he slides his palm against hers. One definitive pump up and down and her fingers go slack against his.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, desperate to get her eyes back on his. She’s too busy staring over his shoulder to notice. “I really do love you, Vera. If I thought there was another way…”

She shakes her head to cut him off.

“I know you love me, Robbie Oakes.” She leans in, pressing her lips to his cheek. “You’re the best boy I know, and I can’t wait to watch you win the Stanley Cup someday.”

And then she’s gone, not going through the house, but down into his yard and cutting through the hedges. Taking his heart with her.

Hours, or maybe minutes later, cool hands cup his wet cheeks.

“I know it hurts,” his mom says. “I know how much you love her, but you’re doing the right thing. You both need a chance to grow and chase your dreams.”

He’ll never stop loving her. He will feel this ache forever. He’s sure of it.

“I know, baby.”

He must have spoken his thoughts aloud because he’s pressed to his mom’s body, arms bracketed around him in a hug that feels like a noose. He doesn’t deserve the comfort. He broke the best thing that ever happened to him.

And now he’ll have to live without her. He’ll have to work twice as hard to make his dreams come true. He cannothave done this to both of them for no reason.

“You know she loves you too,” his mom says, and he wants to block out her voice as much as he craves the validation. “I wouldn’t be surprised if someday you two found each other again, but right now, you both deserve the chance to chase your dreams.”

This might be the first time in his life he doesn’t believe his mother.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”I ask as the door closes behind us. The hospital, probably sensing an impending meltdown, was quick to offer us a private room for this conversation. Dad wrings his hands together, carefully looking anywhere but at me. Robbie stands at my back, silent and strong. I could lean back into his chest and I know he’d hold me up. I don’t.

“It’s complicated honey,” Dad says, and for a moment our eyes touch and then his skate away. I do the same thing, averting my gaze when I’m hiding something. Or lying.

“How?” I shake my head. “In what universe is not telling your only daughter that her mother has Alzheimer’s the appropriate response? I’m not a goddamn child. I had a right to know.”

Dad’s smile is sad as he shoves his hands in his pockets. At least he knows better than to reach for me.

“You mother was diagnosed right before we sold the house. We thought—I thought—a smaller space would be easier to manage.”

And yet, despite their change in address being relayed to me, no one saw fit to sharewhy.I feel my teeth grinding together and I order myself to stop. Should I have figured it out? The move to a retirement community could have been a sign. For all the times I can decode Taylor Swift references with the best of them, I must have missed all the hints in my own damn life.

“That’s still not an explanation.”

Dad nods. “I know.” He opens his mouth to continue, closes it, swallows, then tries again. “At first it was really small things. She’d lose a word on the tip of her tongue, substitute the wrong ones in their place. We just thought it was normal, aging.”

---