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Don’t get me wrong, my sister’s competitive. You should see her in an office setting back at Hardin. There it’s easy to spot her drive, but here she doesn’t have the ease of a practiced athlete and it shows.
She’s trying and it isn’t until later when a ref makes a bad call, that every single one of us on the sidelines is hollering out our frustrations. Even my mini-me tosses up his arms in anger.
The ref flashes, pulling his fancy-ass whistle back to his mouth and pointing it straight in our direction. I’ll show him where he can shove it, right up his pompous—
Phwwwwhht!
Ignoring the bad call, the girl’s high-five surrendering to the cheap claim and reset into starting position.
Extending his arm, the ref blows his whistle once more at the receiving team and the ball’s served over the net and back into play.
This happens a few more times as both teams go back and forth without incident and the girls end up getting the serving ball back.
“You know this is sort of a tradition for our family,” Hailey’s dad mentions while I watch Hailey serve the ball to the other side of the net.
He must read my confusion because his eyes dip above his sunglasses as they slide down his nose. “We were never much of a football-for-holidays kind of household since we were at the water and sand so much. Volleyball became an omen of good luck for our family holidays or celebrations,” he admits, and it unfurls something inside me.
“An omen? How?”
“It didn’t matter the festivity, Hailey’s aunts, uncles, and cousins, we’d all break into teams,” he remarks. The corner of his mouth lifts as if he recalls the memory with fondness.
I nod, mute to his storytelling.
He wags a finger toward the sky. “We all wanted to win because winning meant good luck for the champions for the year…or the next event.” He chuckles.
“How’d you conclude that one?” I concede, unsure of how winning eradicates itself to luck, especially the good kind, but hey, if this is their thing, do whatever.
He shoots me a sideways glance. “It’s what we used to tell Hailey and her cousins when they were younger after they wanted a reward for winning.” He shrugs. “It kind of just…stuck.”
Hailey’s dad’s explanation brings blinding clarity on why she was so insistent on Rory and her doing this together. In her own twisted way, she wanted to better Rory and Cole’s odds in marriage. She wanted to wish them luck.
“Ah, so I have you to thank for Hailey’s competitiveness.”And her deceitful ways.I’m smart enough to swallow down the last part of my statement though.
He pats my shoulder. “Nah! You can give full credit to her mom on that one. She puts the ‘me’ and ‘I’ in competitive.”
Fair enough.
“After her mom and I got divorced, things were different, but I was glad when Hailey mentioned she’d signed them up to play.”
The word divorce sobers the conversation more than an addict in recovery. I know how much Hailey cherished their relationship.
“Anyway, it’s nice seeing some things not change for once.” His hand squeezes my shoulder and it carries too much underlining resentment.
I don’t respond and I think he’s okay with it.
Slowly, and I blame it on my short time of knowing I’m a father, I’m starting to realize maybe not everything needs an over-the-top flashy closure. You can be subtle in your sympathy and the impact can strike as hard.
This is one of those times.
The volley is still in play when sand kicks up behind Cole’s feet because he’s charging the court—
Wait, Cole’s on the court?
Willingly, Hailey’s dad takes Aiden from me as Eli and I blitz out in the same fashion, spotting Rory’s contorted figure huddled on the ground.
“What’s wrong,” Cole fumes, nuclear.
The ref has enough common sense to call a time-out on the play even though we’re all already huddled around her.
