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She nods, and then steps back, welcoming me into the massive two-story foyer that looks like something out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.
“Why don’t you have a seat in the salon, and I’ll grab Jack.” She motions for me to wait in the sunken living room.
It’s decorated in layers of creamy whites and elegant olive greens with masculine walnut accents. Small, elegant picture frames on top of a roll-top desk against the far wall. When I get closer, I can spot Faye and Edie, growing up before my eyes. Faye in a bright yellow tutu when she couldn’t have been more than four. Faye playing a flute, eyes closed as if she can picture the music she’s making. Faye wearing a stethoscope over her graduation gown with Aly and Edie, standing in front of a Mission-style building. She’s beautiful in every single one, but there’s something missing. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Not in the way I’ve seen her smile, anyway.
“Zeke?” Mr. Benington walks down the steps, hands in his pockets.
“Sir,” I say, holding my hands together in front of me.
He motions to the plush sofas and I sit on the one opposite him as Mrs. Benington emerges with a tray of iced tea and glasses.
“Were you in the area? For a game?” Mrs. Benington asks.
“No, ma’am,” I say. “I made a trip.”
“To see us?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, and then catch myself. I want to be completely upfront with them. “And no.”
Mr. Benington frowns. “Well, why don’t you say what you came here to say.” His words are no-nonsense, but not unkind. I nod and take a sip of the iced tea in front of me, and then sit as straight as I can.
“I’m sorry for what happened at your daughter’s wedding. For any pain or embarrassment I may have caused. I know how important that day was to you all, and I would hate to think that anyone saw, or overheard what happened that it in any way ruined your day.”
They flash a look at each other, and Mr. Benington clears his throat.
“That’s very kind of you to say, Zeke. Thank you for the apology.”
“You know,” Mrs. Benington says, placing a hand on her husband’s. “It’s okay, Zeke. We know what happened. We spoke with Darwin’s parents the morning after, and between that and a long talk with Edie and Darwin, we understand what actually happened. And we’re sorry that you were put in that position.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, unwilling to accept any sort of apology for my own behavior. “I should have known better than to put myself in that situation.”
They seem to accept my words and we sit quietly, sipping our tea for a long moment.
“So, I take it you and our daughter have worked things out?” Mr. Benington says.
I shake my head. “No, we haven’t. I’ve had a few distractions recently, and it’s allowed me time to think about what it is I want in life.”
“Distractions?” Mrs. Benington says, frowning in exactly the same way Faye does. Her plump lower lip quivers ever so slightly.
“Your injury?” her father says.
Both her mother and I nod, and I’m grateful he puts it that way. It makes me think I’ve still got a shot with him, that maybe he’s still in my corner.
“Is it serious?” she asks.
“It was,” I say, rubbing at the tender spot along my jaw. The truth is that my jaw is aching after all the smiling and talking I’ve done today. I’ll need to ice it tonight.
“You’ve recovered then?”
“If you can keep this between us,” I say, motioning between us, and they both nod. “I’ll be announcing my retirement from professional hockey in the coming weeks.”
They’re sympathetic as I explain the risk that future concussions pose and the talks I’ve had with my doctors. But Mr. Benington arches an eyebrow when I mention mine with Alan.
“You’ve been in conversation with Alan?” he says.
“I have.” And then I explain a bit about what Alan and I have worked out. That he’ll begin managing my broadcast career, and I’ll be starting with a small web series. He’s found a backer and he’s negotiated an option to go into syndication on a leading sports news network. I tell them about my pitch, how excited Alan as well as the other producers were about the idea of visiting Colombia to cover a Tejo tournament.
Faye’s parents nod along and seem interested. But after a little while, I notice her mother’s frown and her father’s eyebrows knitted into a single thick caterpillar.
