“You gave me half of what you made, which is a five-egg omelet. I’m definitely done but you’re welcome to it,” I said, and he took my plate. I had memories of Max eating my food, but not always when I’d offered it. He’d been more of a grabber. “What are you doing today?”
He had to go to the stadium to have meetings there, since the team was getting ready to start inviting different players to their summer training camp (held at the practice facility just down the road from Walter’s, and our busiest time of year). I did haveclass and I did have to get to the restaurant, although I was strangely loath to leave.
“Maybe we could go out to dinner,” I suggested, since invitations involving food had worked for me in the past.
“Sure, and then we’ll sleep in a bed instead of a car.”
He didn’t mean together. He was talking about beds in a general sense and I agreed that it was a good idea. I left after that and it was a pretty normal day, except that I was more distracted than usual. It was probably due to being tired and slightly cranky because of a crick in my neck that I didn’t seem to be able to rub or stretch away. I was glad when I returned home that night, back to the room that was still cleaner than my sister’s (although she was making more of an effort now, because I’d even heard her vacuuming).
Mine had fresh sheets—well, maybe not. I had been so busy that it was hard to remember the last time I’d changed them, so I would do that tomorrow. Anyway, it was better to be in my bed with slightly dirty sheets than in the front seat of my car. Why hadn’t I woken up Shane, and then we could have both been comfortable for the night?
I hadn’t wanted to leave, that was why. I was thinking about him again now and I had been for most of the day. I reached for my phone to look at his pictures and that was when he called.
“Molly, can I ask you a big favor?”
“Yes,” I answered immediately. I perched on the edge of my bed, poised and ready.
“I’m having car trouble. Could you come over to the stadium?”
“Woodsmen Stadium?” Yes, duh, because what other stadium was there? “Why? I mean, yes, but why?”
“I need your help. Do you know your license plate number?”
I didn’t, not off the top of my head, but I gave it to him once I got down to my car. The front door had squeaked because it had been a while since I’d oiled it, but I moved fast, and no one in my family probably cared enough to wonder where I was going so late. By the time I made it over to Woodsmen Stadium, Shane had relayed the information on my license plate to the security guards still stationed at the gate and they let me pass. I went over to the parking area where he had directed me and found him standing next to his truck.
I rolled down my window. “Hi,” I said.
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” he told me as he approached the car. He was frowning, but not like he was angry. I thought that he looked worried. “I need some help getting out of the stadium. I’ll follow you down the drive, and you can pull into whatever parking lot you think looks good once we’re past the gate. I’ll leave my truck there for the night. Please go slowly.”
When he’d called, he had mentioned car trouble but I still didn’t understand what was wrong. “Can’t the Woodsmen security people give you a jump? They would let a wrecker back here for a tow, wouldn’t they?”
“I just need to drive out,” he answered, so I shrugged. Ok, fine.
He stayed behind me, fairly close. At this time of night, the roads were empty and it was easy enough to turn into a shopping center where he could park under a light. He pulled up next to me and stopped, and I looked over at him in his driver’s seat. He was gripping the wheel and staring straight ahead, so I walked around my bumper to knock on the glass.
“Are you ok?” I asked him.
Shane also got out and then leaned back against his door. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong with this?” I pointed to his vehicle. “It seems to be driving ok.”
“It is, but I’m not. I’m the problem, not the truck.” He reached up and started to rub his eyes before he put his hand back down. “Thanks for this, thank you very much. You don’t have to hang around.”
“What? No, hold on. What are you going to do?”
“I’ll get a rideshare home,” he said. His deep voice had dropped down even further with what sounded like exhaustion.
“I can take you but I don’t understand,” I told him. “I’m not going to leave, not when I think that something is wrong. What is it?”
He was silent for long enough that I thought he was avoiding the question, a different tactic from my father’s preferred method of getting out of situations by yelling or berating us. I did appreciate the silence more than insults but I didn’t like the avoidance. I waited him out.
“If you don’t mind driving me, I can explain it along the way,” he finally said.
I nodded yes, ok. Once we were both in my car and back on the road, he slowly started to speak. “I don’t see well at night. I can’t drive when it’s so dark but I had to stay late for meetings and then I didn’t want anyone to notice that I was getting a ride. I don’t want them to know what’s going on.”
“Oh,” I said, but I didn’t really understand. “Do you need glasses? Do you wear contacts?”
“It’s beyond that. I’m losing my vision,” Shane stated.
