Page 19 of The Game Is Afoot

And I’m still thinking aboutit Monday morning.

All of it.

Therapy, and if that L-word was the L-word I thought it was and maybe hoped it was, and how I feel about that and what I would say back if he actually said it out loud and why the hell didn’t he say it out loud, and has he been conspiring with Corey or something to push this therapy agenda, and how are they both so goddamnbalancedand what does it mean aboutmethat I attract these balanced men,not that I’m attracting Corey, and oh my god, Coach Cole, I can’t stop seeing his head hit the ground, and I wonder if his family knows what the cause was yet, and does he even have family nearby, should I organize something, and is my child scarred for life because of what she saw, amIscarred for life, and is the trauma in my body also responsible for the crop of zits on my chin that seem like they’ve decided to just take out a mortgage?

It’s like an alarm bell has been rung and now my body is living in the reverberation, trapped in this pulsating, overwhelming beat. And it’s all rushing together as it plays on repeat, so it sounds more like:

Therapy-L-word-therapy-balance-Coach-Cole-scarred-for-life-trauma-zits-with-a-mortgage

Therapy-L-word-therapy-balance-Coach-Cole-scarred-for-life-trauma-zits-with-a-mortgage

So when Pearl shoves a Post-it right up to my eyeballs, I almost fall off the kitchen stool because that beat is blocking out everything, including approaching footsteps.

“What does this mean?”

I blink, trying to process why my daughter is holding up a Post-it withshitwritten in glittery orange gel pen.

“Pearl!” I say, snatching the thing from her. “That’s a bad word.”

She crosses her arms and juts out her hip. “Yousaid it on Saturday when you ran me to the car. I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget.”

“I said that?” But even as I’m responding, IknowI said that. I can sorta even hear myself saying that, if I push through the hazy cloud of panic that’s still surrounding Saturday morning in my memory. But if IadmitI said that, Pearl will probably share it with her whole class in today’s morning announcements.

“Yeah. Well, you said, ‘Shit shit shit shit shit—’ ”

“Don’t say that!” My finger flies up to her tiny, innocent mouth that shouldn’t be spewing out expletives. The FBI agent in my phone is probably listening in horror and typing up reports to the appropriate authorities.

“You said it,” she repeats, tilting her head to the side and raising her eyebrows in a challenge she knows she’s going to win.

I sigh, conceding. “I did say it.”

“What does it even mean?”

I sigh again. “Poop.”

Her brown eyes light up in delight, and I can tell by the mischievous smile pulling at her lips that she’s already come up with five ways to use it in a sentence.

“But it’s still a bad word! And if you say it to Mrs. Tennison, you’re going to get in trouble.”

“Even if I tell her you taught me it?”

Lord.

“Even if you tell her I taught you.”Please don’t tell her I taught you.“Sometimes grown-ups say words when they’re really upset that they shouldn’t say. And that’s what I did.”

She looks down and sucks in her bottom lip, sadness knocking her over like a rogue wave at the beach. “You were upset because…because Coach Cole died?”

Her voice sounds small, unsure—like she’s trying out a new language. We’ve already talked about what happened—it feels likeallwe talked about this weekend. But I understand her need to keep confirming, to keep making sure this is all real, because I can hardly believe it myself.

“Because Coach Cole died,” I say, and her bottom lip immediately sticks out, the first warning sign before the tears fall.

“Come here, baby girl.” I pull her into my lap, stroking the braids on her head. My wall is back up. I relaid all the bricks last night after Jack left. It may be shaking slightly withTherapy-L-word-therapy-balance-Coach-Cole-scarred-for-life-trauma-zits-with-a-mortgage-FBI-agent. But I need to stay steady and strong for her.

“It isn’t fair,” she whispers.

“It isn’t.”

“And I feel…sad. And mad. But mostly sad.”

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