Page 57 of The Transfer
“Lindsey just dropped these off. I wanted to make sure you had the option of caffeine or food. But I can get you anything.” I look over at him and see tears shining in his eyes as he turns toward me.
“This is, I mean, was my dad’s favorite breakfast too. We used to get it every Saturday, even if it was at a travel ball tournament. He’d google and find the closest place.” His lips start to tremble, and I just sit there. “How am I supposed to do this, Reagan? I already miss him so much.” He pulls me to him and starts crying again. My heart shatters for him.
After a moment, his tears dry as he looks right at me. “Thank you for coming for me. Thank you for taking care of me.”
I hug him even tighter and whisper one word in his ear.
“Always.”
FORTY-FOUR
RIGGS
It’s been four days since I got the phone call that wrecked me. My mom has been an absolute mess, and it’s so hard to watch. We had to get some medication to help her sleep the first few nights. I found her wrapped up in Dad’s old sweatshirt and spraying his cologne on his pillow. That about killed me.
I have taken over as much as I can, so she isn’t too overwhelmed. Thankfully, Dad laid out a detailed plan of everything he wanted, and that has been incredibly helpful.
So here I am, sitting in my bedroom at my parents’ house, putting on a black suit. My body feels numb.
Reagan hasn’t left my side since we got the news. I only sleep if she forces me to. I only eat if she brings me food. She has been incredible in this, not to mention all she has done to help my mom. She went and purchased a new dress and shoes for her. Currently, she is in the bathroom curling my mom’s hair and doing a little makeup.
I feel a sharp pang of guilt thinking about how I should be the one taking care of my mom. My dad would expect that of me.
“Riggs, sweetie, we need to go.” I hear my mom call, and I know it’s time.I’m about to bury my father.The man who raised me. The man who taught me the game I love so much. The man who was my biggest fan and my best friend. This is something that no matter how much time you have, you can never prepare for. The blow wasn’t softened by having these extra months because, in the end, he is still gone. He is still going to miss so much.
It takes us about ten minutes to load up and drive to a local church for the service. When I walk in, holding my mom up, I audibly gasp at the sight before me. My entire team, and Reagan, are in the row behind where we will sit. They all showed up to pay respect to a man they barely knew. They are here forme and their coach,and I am honored.
Tears stream down my face as I lock eyes with my uncle and coach. He is visibly shaken but gives me a smile that tells me he is here for me, just as much as my teammates.
The service is short on purpose. Dad didn’t want a lot of time spent on this, but he did ask one more thing of me that I haven’t shared with anyone. When the pastor calls me up to the front, my mom is surprised.
I reach the pulpit and grab the guitar placed there for me, getting it tuned up. As I gaze at the small group of family and friends in attendance, I have never felt more nervous in my life.
When I’m ready to go, I look up and speak. “Thank you so much for being here today. Um, my dad asked me to sing for him. Some of y’all don’t know this, but I have played guitar since I was a kid. The first song I ever played in front of him was ‘Amazing Grace,’ and he requested it for today.”
I see my mom’s shoulders start to shake, and a watery smile on Reagan’s face. I strum a few introductory chords and sing my dad’s favorite hymn for him one last time.
A few hours later,we are back at Mom’s house with our closest family. There is enough food here to feed the neighborhood, but that’s how people in the South show love. Casseroles line the counter, and the food in Mom’s freezer will keep her fed for the next month, if not longer.
Reagan stands beside me as people hug me, tell me how sorry they are, and offer praise for my performance at the funeral. I appreciate her strength, but I also know I need to be strong enough to care for both my mom and myself.
Her parents and Jordan approach and give us both a hug. Jordan’s eyes linger on her with concern. I move my eyes to Reagan and see that she looks exhausted. More guilt echoes through me at all she is sacrificing to be here for me.
It doesn’t take long for the crowd to disperse, leaving me standing with Uncle Jake.
“Listen, Riggs,” he says, “you take your time coming back to the team. They miss you. Truth be told, the team needs you. However, you need to be mentally prepared, and I don’t want you to rush into it. I know how interconnected Joel and basketball are for you. Just know that when that time comes, I’m here for you.” His eyes have unshed tears, and I realize that at this moment, my coach has also lost his brother. I give him a hug and thank him.
“I haven’t thought about basketball for the past week, if I’m being honest.” Pulling my hands through my hair, I realize how selfish that is. My team needs me to get back to them as soon as possible, and my dad would want me to play.
“What about you, Uncle Jake? You lost your brother. Are you going to take some time off from coaching?”
“I am. The assistants will handle practice and the next game,” he says, and it honestly surprises me. Jake is dedicated to the game, just as I am. It’s something we have bonded over for a very long time. But his saying this makes me realize how much Dad’s death has impacted him.
“I’m here for you, Riggs,” he tells me, his voice cracking. I hug him fiercely and promise to check in with him daily. He walks over to hug my mom goodbye, then takes Aunt Lane by the hand and leaves.
Reagan finds me after hearing the door shut, and I know she’s worried. I can see it on her face. I should send her back to her place tonight. She doesn’t need to be here, holding me up. She’s done too much. I’ve asked too much of her.
“Point Guard, what’s going on in that handsome mind of yours? You look deep in thought.” It’s amazing how much you can learn about a person in such a short amount of time. She’s good at reading me. Maybe too good.
