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The look of love and adoration on both their faces makes my heart hurt. I want that.
Next, comes the picture of our grandparents that Lucy took her sophomore year of high school. She won a contest for it.
It was spring, two years after our parents died. We were on a family picnic with Gigi and Pappy, and the bluebonnets were in bloom all around us.
Lucy said it looked like we were adrift in the ocean. It was sunset, and I remember her making me clear away all of our picnic things so that it was just Gigi and Pappy on the quilt.
Then Lucy went far away and captured the perfect moment—Gigi smiling as she rested her head on Pappy’s shoulder while he kissed her hair.
There was joy, grief and contentment in the picture, amongst the endless blue of a new season. I love it. And I want that, too.
The final pictures lack the priors’ artistic flair, but they’re no less beloved. I put up the one of Lucy and me at her high school graduation next. She’s flushed with excitement, and we’re both laughing, our mouths thrown open in joy.
Or, she looks joyous and beautiful, and I look a bit like a braying donkey, with my nose crinkled and my eyes half shut. But I don’t keep it for me. I keep it because this is the last picture I have where Lucy looks so happy and carefree.
Which brings me to the last photograph: last year’s school picture of Liam.
Kind, clever, fearless, occasionally infuriating, incredible, lovable Liam.
I made it here for him, just as much as for myself.
The rest of the box is easy. I lean my framed diplomas and certifications against the wall, making a note to bring something to hang them up with tomorrow.
And then I put the few diet and nutrition books that could fit in this box on the shelves. My goal is to just bring a box a day until I have everything how I want it.
Once all my personal things are put away, I take out the paper with my login instructions and begin setting up my computer. I want to familiarize myself with the schedule and software. I’ll need to set up one-on-one appointments with all the players to get everyone on track before the season starts.
I probably want to get Jeremy McDaniels in first since he’s the current quarterback and he’s still recovering from last season’s shoulder injury. I wonder what they’ll do if they have to bench him this season.
My thoughts begin wandering to calculating kilo-caloric intakes and how much time I have to get all fifty-three main roster players—plus the ten practice squad players—set up on individually-tailored nutrition plans. We’re already almost halfway through pre-season.
Then I hear it.
At first, I think it must be the players stampeding in. I almost feel the need to brace myself. But I check the schedule Fran gave me and know that that can’t be it.
The weight room is a ghost town, so I make my way out and follow the noise, down the corridor and up the stairs to the administrative offices.
Everyone is cheering and patting each other on the back. We must have gotten something big.
We.
I feel my heart flutter in my chest again at the thought. I’m part of this now.
I spot Fran and make my way to her, a bemused smile playing across my lips. When I get to her, she grabs me into a hug and, I swear, the sixty-two-year-old grandmother starts jumping with glee.
“We got him! We got him, Ms. Williams!”
I laugh with her. “Yay!” I shout. “And please, call me Izzie.” Then, as Fran and everyone else continues celebrating, I ask, “Got who?”
Fran stops and looks incredulous, then comprehension dawns on her face. “Of course! I’m so sorry, Ms. Will—I mean Izzie. That’s right, you just got here.”
“We’re all acting like idiots,” at this, she waves her hand to encompass the entire floor, “because we just made the deal of the century.” Then she pauses for dramatic effect.
My smile is huge, and I’m vibrating with anticipation.Did we get that new hotshot running back? Did Owen Rodriguez become a free agent?
“Well! Tell me! Don’t keep me in suspense! I want to know why we’re all jumping up and down,” I beg.
Finally, Fran relents, and this time, it’s her smile that’s blinding.
