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On Wednesday morning, Teig pours his Cheerios as if he’s scared about what will happen when he’s done.
“You okay?” I ask, grabbing a protein shake from the fridge and sitting next to him at the kitchen island. Our new routine is to eat breakfast and then head to the hospital for a few hours.
Teig makes this noncommittal movement with his head. “I was just thinking about how yesterday they said Dad probably wouldn’t be back home by next weekend.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, too.” I down the protein shake and toss the bottle into the recycle bin. The bin’s almost full and I’m not really sure where to empty it. Molly normally takes care of that.
“Marty’s truck has been at the track every day this week,” Teig says. “I guess that means the Regionals are still on?”
“They have to go on. We can’t cancel it right now, not at the end of the series when everyone has already registered and stuff.”
Teig nods. “That’s what I was thinking but . . . can you and Marty run the whole thing? I don’t think Mom’s going to be back to reality any time soon.”
I sigh and resist the urge to ruffle my little brother’s hair and tell him it’ll all be perfectly fine. “We just have to hope that she will be okay. I’ll go talk to her today and remind her that the race is in a week. She’ll snap out of it.”
Teig frowns into his cereal. “I’ve never seen Mom like this.”
“Don’t be sad about it,” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “That’s just true love. She cares about Dad so much that it’s turned her into a zombie.”
“That’s a weird way to love someone,” Teig says. “Do you love Ash like that?”
I stand up so quickly the barstool almost topples over. “And, that’s the end of this conversation,” I say. This time I do ruffle his hair. Maybe it’ll remind him that he’s a kid and has no business talking about love.
*
Some of Teig’s friends are driving in from Alabama to race in the Regionals this weekend, and they should be arriving some point today, so I let Teig stay home and wait for them. Honestly, he’s not missing anything since Dad is always sleeping and Molly is too busy fussing over him to bother acknowledging anyone else in the room anyway.
Marty waves me down as I’m leaving our driveway to head to the hospital. I can only visit dad for a few minutes today because I have waivers to copy and trophies to assemble. I stop and roll down my window, waiting for Marty to ride his four wheeler up to me.
“Jim still doing okay?” he asks, cutting the motor. “Dorothy is supposed to stop by and visit him after she talks to a few of the venders.”
I nod. “He’s doing okay. It’s Molly that we’re all worried about now.”
The wrinkles in Marty’s forehead deepen. “Listen, kid. Do you got a minute to stop by the track?”
“Sure, what’s going on?”
He starts up the four wheeler. “I’ll explain over there. Meet me at the tower.”
I know something is wrong when I drive up to the tower, and I’m pretty sure I know what it’s about. I guess I’ve just been hoping that Molly would snap out of it before the adults who run this place decided to talk to me about it.
Marty is sitting on the table part of a picnic bench, his feet on the long seat. I climb up next to him. The tense feeling in the air makes me think Marty might take off his baseball cap and hold it in his hands in some kind of mourning, but instead he just points out toward the track.
“They’ve already knocked down those two tabletops in the back,” he says, signaling to where the two massive jumps used to be. “And the whoops are flattened for now. They’re supposed to make them twice as tall for the Regionals.”
“At least the Regionals doesn’t get as many track changes as the Nationals did,” I say. “That was a freaking nightmare.”
“Not as many changes, no, but it’s the same track design crew that Jim hired for the Nationals last year. That’s probably why they’ve been so gracious this week, still working and all . . . They like Jim.”
It’s coming. Whatever Marty is going to drop on me, he’s about to do it. “Listen, Hana. I’ve been taking care of all operations since Jim went in the hospital, and I’m happy to, believe me. But I can’t sign the checks and these guys haven’t been paid at all. They’re threatening to pull out if they don’t get something soon.”
I draw in a deep breath. “Like how soon?”
Marty’s lips flatten together. “Today.”
“Oh,” I say with a little nod. “Is that the only problem?”’
“Well, yes, but we can’t do anything without payments. Fuel for the generators and tractors is expensive, and the electricity and internet bill are sitting on Jim’s desk in the tower, unpaid still. We’re short-staffed, but we can handle this. Even without Molly, as long as you, Shelby, and Ash are here, we should be fine.”
