Fourth Down (2 page)

The rest of the day served only to
drive me deeper inside myself. My doctor came in to explain the
surgery I would be having the following morning to repair the bones
in my leg. Most of it was over my head, but I did catch that there
would be various pins and screws holding my leg together. After the
surgery I would be in the hospital for another week while I worked
with a physical therapist to develop a recovery plan. It would be
six more weeks before I could bear weight on my leg.

The doctor hesitated before saying it
was unlikely I would ever be able to play football at the high
level I had been. He volunteered that information; I hadn’t even
bothered to ask.

By late afternoon I had convinced
Leah, Josh and Grady to leave so they could catch their late flight
home. They all wanted to stay to see me through surgery, but I just
wanted to be alone. It was my actions alone that put me here, and I
didn’t want to hear the forced optimism in their voices. Although
it was a serious injury, the surgery itself was fairly routine.
That was enough to convince them to go home.

Soon after they left, my team came to
visit, also on their way to catch their flight home. To say it was
an awkward visit was an understatement. Nobody knew what to say to
me, and they seemed to be afraid to talk about the game. I didn’t
have it in me to put them at ease, so after twenty minutes of
crickets chirping, Coach sent them all out. He stayed behind and
pulled up a chair next to my bed.

“I talked to the doctor, Ford. I know
you’re facing a tough road ahead. I want you to know that I’ll be
here for you. The guys are heading home tonight, but I’m going to
stay here until you’re released to go home.”

“You don’t have to do that, Coach.
I’ll be fine,” I replied woodenly. In just one day I had become an
expert at saying I would be fine. Too bad I didn’t believe it for a
second.

“I understand that you might want to
face this alone, but I’m still going to be here - in the waiting
room at least, if you don’t want me with you. You’re one of my
players. You are my responsibility.”

Coach was the closest I’d ever had to
a father figure, and I knew he would be there for me. But there was
an emptiness spreading through my chest, and it prevented me from
reaching out to anyone. It had been less than twenty four hours
since my world had collapsed on top of me, and I just wanted to be
alone. To wallow, to rage, to grieve.

It wasn’t just my future I had lost; I
had let my mom down. She would adamantly disagree, but it wouldn’t
change the regret I would always feel. The moment when I decided to
keep running instead of sliding and ending the play would replay
over and over in my mind.

The surgery went as expected, and I
minimally cooperated with the physical therapist. In the week that
I spent in the hospital I didn’t turn on the TV, I didn’t take any
phone calls, and I didn’t let Coach in to see me again. My life as
a quarterback was over, and it was just too painful to remember
what could’ve been.

My scholarship would extend through
the spring semester, but what was the point in going back? My major
in sports management was chosen without much thought. I had been
counting on playing football professionally, not using my college
degree.

So when I was released from the
hospital, I dropped out of school and went home to Penn Yan, New
York. As soon as I was able to get out of the wheelchair and walk
without crutches, I started tending bar at The Last Call. It kept
me busy and helped my mom pay the bills.

Life went on around me - my mom
continued to fight her cancer, Grady got his shit somewhat together
and threw himself into his work, Leah and Josh made plans to start
a family. As for me, the emptiness remained. I was perpetually
stuck in that moment when my leg was broken and my dreams along
with it.

Chapter One

Poppy

Angela slid the file containing the
information of my new assignment across her desk to me.

“Now, Poppy, are you sure you want to
continue with the terminally ill patients?” She asked me
kindly.

For the last two years, I had been
working as a home health aide. Not a nurse, but someone certified
in CPR and first aid as well as state certified as a nursing
assistant. Along with my other part time job as a yoga teacher, it
was how I paid my rent and put myself through college. This job was
also a stepping stone in my plan to become a doctor.

My last four assignments had been with
patients at the end of their terminal illnesses. Essentially Angela
was asking me if I wanted to continue to watch my patients die. It
was always hard to say goodbye, but it was something I felt I
needed to do. There weren’t many aides who would take on these
patients because of the emotional toll - on the patient, the family
and the aide.

“I’m sure.”

Angela nodded once and leaned back in
her chair.

“All right. Your shifts will start
tomorrow afternoon and run Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday from
2:00 pm to midnight. Will that work with your school schedule this
semester?”

Mentally running through my classes at
school as well as my yoga classes at the community center, I said,
“That’ll be fine. I have all morning classes this semester, and
yoga is just on the weekends.”

Angela motioned to the information
sheet on the patient and gave me a quick rundown of the situation.
Unfortunately her cancer had stopped responding to treatment, and I
would likely only be on this assignment for a few months before she
passed away.

Often the most difficult part was
dealing with the family of the patient. Usually the patients had
accepted their diagnosis by the time they required a home health
aide, but the family members were the ones who stayed in a state of
denial for much longer. Sometimes right up until the end. That is
probably the reason I continue to take these
assignments.

When I was ten years old my father
died of lung cancer. It wasn’t until after he was gone that I
realized what had happened. During the entire time he was sick, for
eight long months, my mother repeatedly reassured me that he was
going to get better. I never got the chance to say goodbye. Ten
years later I still wished I had been able to tell him how much I
loved him, to know what was coming and be able to prepare for
it.

“Poppy?” Angela’s voice brought me
back to the present. “You will let me know if this gets to be too
much for you, won’t you? I have plenty of easy cases I can switch
you to.”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks,
Angela.”

Helping other families go through this
difficult transition somehow made my own loss a little easier to
take. Taking the patient’s information sheet and address, I headed
home for a long evening of homework.

My phone rang for about the twentieth
time today, and I was seriously tempted to hit Ignore again.
Dropping my bookbag on the floor just inside the door, I pulled my
phone out of my back pocket and answered it. Now that I was home
from work and class, I didn’t have a good excuse to avoid my mom’s
calls. I loved my mom, but the only possible reasons she would be
calling me with such urgency were either to line me up to babysit
my brothers or to talk about plans for Thanksgiving. Neither of
those topics sounded appealing to me, but I couldn’t avoid her
forever.

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?” I asked, hoping
to avoid small talk. I had a ton of homework this week, and I was
starting my new job tomorrow.

“Poppy! Finally. Have you been
avoiding me?” My mom wasn’t one for small talk either.

I walked the few steps it took to
cross my small studio apartment and collapsed on my bed, which also
served as my couch, my desk and sometimes my dining
table.

“No, Mom. I’m not avoiding you. I had
two classes this morning, and then I had a lab this
afternoon.”

She huffed out a breath and got to the
reason she was calling. “We’re going to Buffalo to spend
Thanksgiving with Rick’s family this year. I need to know if you’re
coming with us. Rick’s sister needs a final headcount for
dinner.”

Since moving out right after high
school, I tried not to spend any extended amount of time at home.
It’s not that I don’t love my family, because I do. But they drive
me freaking crazy.

I get a lot of confused looks when I
explain that I work two jobs so I can have my own miniscule
apartment when my family lives a mere ten miles away. People always
ask why I don’t live at home to save money. My answer is that I am
saving my sanity by not living at home. And riding in a minivan for
several hours with my mom, my stepdad and my four year old triplet
brothers was my own personal idea of hell.

“I don’t think I can go out of town
this year, mom. I have a couple of big papers due at the end of the
semester, and I will probably have to work some over Thanksgiving
break.”

“Okay, honey. That’s fine. The other
reason I called…” I wasn’t surprised that she didn’t care that I
wouldn’t make it for Thanksgiving, but crap. Two reasons for
calling? Today is not my day. “Can you babysit for us in a couple
of weeks? Rick has a work thing.”

I sighed and closed my eyes to regain
my inner calm. “Sure, Mom. Just text me the details.” Rick had a
“work thing” every other month. If my mom was just honest and said
“my kids are hell on wheels and I need a break,” I might be more
inclined to help her out. Maybe.

After hanging up with my mom, I
unpacked my bag and turned on my ancient laptop. Just like my car,
it was on its last leg. I prayed nightly that both would last just
a few more months until I had enough money saved up to replace them
when the time came.

While I waited for my laptop to go
through the five minute boot up routine, I searched in my
econo-size fridge and pulled out ingredients for a salad. Just as I
was chopping a tomato, my phone beeped with an incoming
text.

Brooke: I’m on my way
up.

Oh, no. Not Brooke. Not tonight. I
need to get started on my paper for my Public Health class, and
homework was not something Brooke understood.

Before I can throw on pajamas, mess up
my hair and pretend to be sick, there is a quick knock on the door.
Knowing I sometimes forget to lock the door, Brooke opened it and
walked right in. She was dressed in some semblance of a tiny black
dress and extremely high black stilettos. Her bright red hair was
curled and teased and topped with a black headband with black cat
ears. And…is that a tail? Only Brooke could wear such a ridiculous
excuse for a costume and do it with confidence.

Brooke is my landlord. Well, actually
her grandmother is my landlord. Brooke was raised by her
grandmother and still lives here with her. I rent the small studio
apartment over their garage. Ever since I moved in here two and a
half years ago, Brooke has made it her mission in life to corrupt
me. Not that I’m a super goody-two-shoes, but I am too busy with
work and school to go out and party all the time. Brooke does hair
at the salon downtown during the day and spends her evenings
searching for Mr. Right, although she only ever ends up with Mr.
Right Now.

“What are you wearing?” She asked,
eyeing me with barely concealed disgust. That was my question for
her.

I look down at my faded jeans and
black long sleeve t-shirt with a purple witch on it. My nod to
Halloween.

“What’s wrong with what I’m
wearing?”

Brooke breezed past me and set a large
bag down on my bed. She started pulling out clothes and laying them
out on the bed. “You cannot wear that to the party.”

“What party?”

She stopped unpacking and
turned to me with an exasperated expression on her face.
“
The
party. At The
Last Call. Their annual Halloween party.” When I just stared at her
blankly she threw her hands up in the air - hands that were holding
a very small plaid skirt. “The party you agreed to go
to.”

Realizing that the items she was
laying out were the components for a slutty schoolgirl costume, I
waved my hands in front of my face and backed away. Unfortunately,
after a few steps I ran into the wall, and there wasn’t any place
else to go except for the bathroom.

“No way, Brooke. I have a
crap ton of homework, and I am not wearing
that
out in public.”

Brooke’s expression went from pissed
to pouting in less than a second.

“Poppy,” she whined, dragging out my
name so it sounded like more than two syllables. “You
promised.”

“I don’t remember ever promising to go
to this party with you,” I replied, attempting to stand my
ground.

“Yes. You did. Last week when I was
upset about Marty breaking up with me. I was complaining about
having to go to this party alone, and you said you would go with
me.”

Hmmm, that sounded vaguely familiar. I
really should pay more attention when Brooke is crying and
babbling. Brooke may be my polar opposite in all areas, but she is
a good person and probably the best friend I have right now. If I
needed her, she would be there for me in a second.