Page 51 of Final Down

Her heavy sigh is a relief. I feel less crazy now. She didn’t exactly share things with me.

“You could have told me, even if it was obvious.”

She glances my way again with a brief, tight smile.

“I was . . . scared.”

Her confession hits my chest hard. She’s had a lot to be scared about in her life. The thought that she was afraid to talk to me hurts my heart.

“I wouldn’t have been mad. I mean, I may have been surprised, but not . . . mad. I love Jeff. Like an uncle. Or apparently, astepfather.”

“Whoa, oh oh oh, slow down. Nobody is getting married anytime soon.”

We both settle into nervous laughter, and slowly our conversation morphs into stories about Dad and Jeff on the job. I have a lot of nice memories with the man, and my mother does too. She doesn’t say it outright, but I think perhaps that’s part of the attraction. He’s comfortable. He’s also kind. And probably the man most like my dad out there—besides me.

As we close in on the airport, I promise to reach out to Jeff when I get some downtime this week. I’m sure he’s feeling awkward in all of this, but it’s important to me that he knows how I feel about him and that I approve of this, despite my initial surprise.

“You know, it’s funny,” I begin as my mom enters the departures lane for the airport.

“What is, honey?”

I gather my thoughts and sit with my embarrassment for a minute.

“I really was daft, wasn’t I? I mean, now that we’ve talked about things, and you’ve pointed out the dozens of times you two showed up at something as a couple, and I was literallyright there!”

My mom pats my knee.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re handsome,” she jokes.

“Aww, that’s cold, Mom!”

We’re back to us, and it feels good. In fact, it feels better than before. My mom seems genuinely happy. Less lonely. And if I’m really going to do this thing for more than a single season, I like the idea of her having someone in her life to give her comfort. I like Jeff.

She pulls to the curb, and I hop out to grab my bag before gazing back across the passenger seat to say our goodbyes. Before I speak, though, she pulls out a package from the nook in her door and hands it to me.

“What’s this?” I arch a brow.

“Something I found the other day that I thought you might like to have. You can open it when you get inside.” Her coyness makes me suspicious. It would be like my mom to buy me one of those embarrassing shirts, and I can tell by the floppiness and size of the wrapped item that it’s fabric or clothing.

“Okay, then. Drive safe, and I’ll call you.” I blow her a kiss.

“You better,” she says.

I push the passenger door shut and check the time on my phone. I still have forty minutes before my flight. I adjust my bag’s strap on my shoulder, then pull at the twine my mom fashioned into a bow. Whatever this is, she wrapped it in re-used tissue paper from Christmas, the pale blue paper covered in snowflakes, wrinkled and torn in a few places. I unravel itas I walk inside, and at first glance, the garment doesn’t look familiar. But then I unfurl it and stop in my tracks.

It's my name printed in red across the back of a white jersey. It’s also my dad’s name.

STONE

My fingertip runs along the stitching, the sharp corner of the T scratching my skin. It’s my father’s old public safety football jersey. Fire played games against police every year for charity. I loved this thing, and I wore it for Halloween at least three times when I was a kid. The first year, my mom had to pin the hemline up nearly in half so it didn’t drag on the ground as I walked the neighborhood on a mission for candy. I wanted nothing more than to be him every chance I got. Halloween was the ideal time to act it out. In total, I think I was either a firefighter or a fire football team captain eight times over the years. As far as I was concerned, Todd Stone walked on water.

I fold the jersey, careful not to crease the letters on the back, and tuck it inside my travel bag. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial my mom as I head toward the security checkpoint. She answers right away.

“I love it.”

“I knew you would. It seemed like something that should live with you.” There’s a softness to her voice, a tell of her emotions. She’s not sad, though. She’s reliving moments. I recognize the tone because I speak in it myself at times.

“You think it fits?”

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