Page 92 of Redemption
Hayes sets down his fork and scrubs his hand over his face. “We haven’t won a game yet, and we are two weeks into theseason. I benched my varsity team because they act like entitled monsters. Lily says she’s fielding a hundred phone calls from parents and community members, and if we don’t start winning, I won’t have the position next year.”
His dad whistles through his teeth, twirling his spaghetti squash with his fork. “That’s a lot, but let me ask you a question. Is winning what’s important?”
The contrast of this man to my own father is vast. This is who Langston needed growing up, and he had him in a way. But no one’s opinion mattered to Langston quite like our dad’s.
“No,” Hayes says, shaking his head. “But I know if we are winning, it means the kids are learning the other lessons I’m trying to teach them.”
Evan sets his fork down and looks at his son. “What lessons?”
“That integrity and worth are the most important parts of who they are. I want them to know a football game can’t take those things away from them.”
“Then maybe you should take them off the football field?”
I can’t help but butt in. “What do you mean? Hasn’t he already done that by pulling them from the games?”
When Evan looks at me, there’s a twinkle in his eye.
“Maybe, but I’d venture to say they are still practicing there. If you want them to learn that football isn’t everything, take them off the field. They need a new environment. You can’t teach new lessons while staying in the same place. So,” he says, twirling his hand as if the conclusion is obvious, “take them off the field.”
Hayes chews his food, contemplating what his dad said. “Maybe you’re right.
I laugh when Evan says, “I usually am right. You’ve just not learned to listen to me yet.” Then, he goes back to his food as if the conversation never happened.
Silence settles over the table, but not the heavy kind. It’s the kind that you revel in and remember years later because of the people who were with you in that silence.
We eat the rest of the meal that way, enjoying the food and the presence of the others around us, and when we are done, Madeline stands to clear the table. I stand with her to help.
“You cooked. I’ll help you clean.” Hayes moves to help, too, but I wave him away. “I’ll help your mom. I’d like some time with her if she doesn’t mind.”
Madeline beams. “Not at all, sweetheart.”
Evan pulls out a newspaper, snapping it open to read, and Hayes sits back down while I gather the rest of the dishes.
Madeline is already at the sink when I enter the kitchen. I place the dishes on the counter beside her and grab the drying towel.
We work in silence.
She’s waiting for me to start, letting me do it on my time. So, as I swipe the towel over the plate in my hand, I take a deep breath and say, “I know I already said this, but I need you to know I’m sorry.”
Her hands stay steady as she dips them into the water and pulls up another plate. “For what?”
Shame heats my cheeks, and I keep my attention on my hands. “You were—you were like a mom to me, and I just disappeared. I didn’t even tell you I was leaving. You didn’t deserve that. I was lost. It seems to be my thing—hurting people.”
She stops, and suds splash up when she drops the plate back in the water. Turning so her hip is propped against the sink, she remains quiet as she studies me. I try not to flinch under her gaze.
When I don’t turn to face her, she places her palms on each side of my face and gently turns it to face her.
My eyes burn, and my chest feels like it might crack open.
“I have so many regrets,” I whisper.
Her thumb strikes my cheek. I want to lean into her comfort, but I’m scared. I’ve been scared for a long time.
“No one escapes this life without a few regrets. I have many of my own. But I don’t want you to apologize for doing what you needed to do to heal. Your brother’s death hit us all hard, but I can imagine you more so than anyone. Evan and I, we don’t begrudge you’re healing.”
“But what if I didn’t heal?” A tear escapes, tracing the line of my cheek. Madeline’s thumb catches it, and she wipes it away.
“Why do you say that, sweetheart?”
