this time, for what had happened at practice. He even picked up the phone, about to speed-dial Nickâs number, before he changed his mind. He started thinking more about what had happened. Even though heâd gotten benched tonight, there was still a part of him that didnât think he should have been punished.
Seriously? When did coaches start punishing guys for trying too hard?
Tommy had always been taught that in football you were
supposed
to try harder than everyone else. The best players never left anything on the field. It was the football version of being the last man out, like his dad used to be when he was fighting fires.
He and Nick Petty would have to work things out.
Just not tonight.
He opened his laptop and went to NFL.com. The Dolphins were ahead of the Jets 7â0 late in the first quarter, their quarterback having already thrown a touchdown pass. Tommy figured heâd go downstairs in a few and watch the game until it was time for him to go to bed, even knowing that his heart wasnât in it tonight. It was just one more part of the general weirdness of his life, not being interested in watching a football game, eventhough heâd once told his dad that heâd be happy if there was a game on every night of the week.
Tommy sat up suddenly, taking in big gulps of air, feeling as if all of the quiet in his house was sitting on his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe, like he was at the bottom of a dog pile in football.
After a while, struggling to inhale and exhale, he regained control of his breathing. He decided to get out of his stuffy room. He opened his door and walked toward the stairs. Then he looked down the hallway and saw Emilyâs door was still closed, no light sneaking out from inside her room, no music playing, no sound at all. He remembered Em, standing in his doorway before, like there was something she wanted to ask him.
Tommy walked toward her door. âEm?â he said softly, not wanting to wake her if sheâd already gone to sleep.
Nothing.
He gave a light knock. âEm? You awake?â
He stood there waiting, but heard no response. Maybe she was asleep.
Tommy went downstairs to watch football, just because he couldnât think of anything better to do. He would watch the game alone. He knew heâd have to get used to that. He hadnât watched any football last Sunday, the day after his dad died. But heâd watched some of the Monday night game, by himself, just to finally get away from the crowd of people whoâd come to pay their respects.
It hadnât been the same, not without his dad there to talk
X
âs and
O
âs.
Now here he was again. Alone. Trying to study what was happening on the field the way his dad had taught him, trying to be a good reader.
But even as he tried to do that, his mind wandered to a place that he kept coming back to, no matter how hard he tried to stay away.
Why hadnât his dad read the situation better in that burning house?
After all the times heâd gone into houses like that, surrounded by fire, why hadnât he gotten out of that one when heâd gotten the chance?
Why hadnât he made a bigger hole in that window and jumped out of it himself after the little girl was safe in Uncle Brendanâs arms?
At the worst possible moment, why had it been Patrick Gallagher, the dad whoâd always told him to be a step ahead instead of a step behind, whoâd been a couple of steps too slow?
Tommy felt like heâd asked his dad a million questions in his life. Now heâd never get the answer he wanted the most.
The answer he needed the most.
TWELVE
O N S ATURDAY MORNING , before it was time for his mom to drive him to the game, Tommy decided something important: The way he saw it, his season was starting today. Or starting all over again. There was the football season heâd had when his dad was still here; now there was this one.
With his dad gone, he
Seriously? When did coaches start punishing guys for trying too hard?
Tommy had always been taught that in football you were
supposed
to try harder than everyone else. The best players never left anything on the field. It was the football version of being the last man out, like his dad used to be when he was fighting fires.
He and Nick Petty would have to work things out.
Just not tonight.
He opened his laptop and went to NFL.com. The Dolphins were ahead of the Jets 7â0 late in the first quarter, their quarterback having already thrown a touchdown pass. Tommy figured heâd go downstairs in a few and watch the game until it was time for him to go to bed, even knowing that his heart wasnât in it tonight. It was just one more part of the general weirdness of his life, not being interested in watching a football game, eventhough heâd once told his dad that heâd be happy if there was a game on every night of the week.
Tommy sat up suddenly, taking in big gulps of air, feeling as if all of the quiet in his house was sitting on his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe, like he was at the bottom of a dog pile in football.
After a while, struggling to inhale and exhale, he regained control of his breathing. He decided to get out of his stuffy room. He opened his door and walked toward the stairs. Then he looked down the hallway and saw Emilyâs door was still closed, no light sneaking out from inside her room, no music playing, no sound at all. He remembered Em, standing in his doorway before, like there was something she wanted to ask him.
Tommy walked toward her door. âEm?â he said softly, not wanting to wake her if sheâd already gone to sleep.
Nothing.
He gave a light knock. âEm? You awake?â
He stood there waiting, but heard no response. Maybe she was asleep.
Tommy went downstairs to watch football, just because he couldnât think of anything better to do. He would watch the game alone. He knew heâd have to get used to that. He hadnât watched any football last Sunday, the day after his dad died. But heâd watched some of the Monday night game, by himself, just to finally get away from the crowd of people whoâd come to pay their respects.
It hadnât been the same, not without his dad there to talk
X
âs and
O
âs.
Now here he was again. Alone. Trying to study what was happening on the field the way his dad had taught him, trying to be a good reader.
But even as he tried to do that, his mind wandered to a place that he kept coming back to, no matter how hard he tried to stay away.
Why hadnât his dad read the situation better in that burning house?
After all the times heâd gone into houses like that, surrounded by fire, why hadnât he gotten out of that one when heâd gotten the chance?
Why hadnât he made a bigger hole in that window and jumped out of it himself after the little girl was safe in Uncle Brendanâs arms?
At the worst possible moment, why had it been Patrick Gallagher, the dad whoâd always told him to be a step ahead instead of a step behind, whoâd been a couple of steps too slow?
Tommy felt like heâd asked his dad a million questions in his life. Now heâd never get the answer he wanted the most.
The answer he needed the most.
TWELVE
O N S ATURDAY MORNING , before it was time for his mom to drive him to the game, Tommy decided something important: The way he saw it, his season was starting today. Or starting all over again. There was the football season heâd had when his dad was still here; now there was this one.
With his dad gone, he
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