Days of You and Me (9 page)

“You mean she can find herself?” The air quotes were implied by my sarcasm.

Nate ignored my mocking tone. “Yes, I guess that’s kind of what I mean. She needs to learn to live without depending on us for defining herself through being our friend. Or your girlfriend.”

As much as I wanted to disagree, Nate had a point. I hated that.

“It should have happened right after high school graduation. But then her dad died. And right after that, the two of you got back together again. She went from being Quinn in high school to being the girlfriend of that college football player. And then even after the two of you broke up during college, she never really took the chance to be on her own. I think part of her was always waiting for you.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I noticed one thing. “What about you? You swooped in and started dating her right after we broke up. And then you fucking
married
her.”

Nate had the grace to look a little guilty. “Yeah, I know. In my defense, I knew my time was short. If I hadn’t made my move then, it never would have happened.” He paused. “And marrying her . . . I know you don’t understand that.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” If he wanted brutal honesty, I was going to give it to him.

He sighed. “It’s not easy to explain without sounding selfish or petty. You and Quinn . . . there’s always been something between you, for as long as I can remember. She was drawn to you, even when it seemed like she chose me. I was always jealous of that. When we were kids, and I’d end up in the hospital for weeks, my mom would think she was cheering me up by telling me what you two were doing. But it made me angry that I couldn’t be part of that.” Nate leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Then we got older, and even though I realized I loved her before you knew the same thing about yourself, she was in love with
you
first. She dated
you
first.” His eyes opened and he shot a pointed look at me. “You were her first . . . everything. I guess, if I’m being honest, I wanted this one first to be mine. I married her. I’m always going to have that, even when I’m not here anymore.”

I’d never wanted to hit a dying man in my life, but I was coming close now. “I think we need to get back to the topic at hand, Nate. We’re never going to agree on this point.”

He nodded. “Okay. So I think Quinn needs to figure out who she is without you or me. You’re the only one who can give her that time and space.”

Something like panic bubbled inside me. “You want me to abandon her after you die? Ignore her?” That sounded unbelievably cruel, to push Quinn away when she’d need me the most.

“No. That’s just it. I want you to be there for her, support her, encourage her—but be her friend, not her boyfriend. You remember how to do that, right?”

I didn’t miss the subtle jab. “Yes, I can do that.” I hesitated, considering. “I don’t want to admit it, Nate, but I think you might be right. Okay, I’ll keep it in mind. What’s your second piece of advice? I mean, while you’re on a roll here.”

“This one you’re really not going to like.” One side of his mouth tipped up to a smile.

“Have a feeling you’re probably right. Also have a feeling you don’t give a crap.” I leaned back. “Lay it on me anyway.”

“It’s pretty simple, actually. Football. You need to make a choice, Leo. And this time, it’s got to be the right one.”

A nerve jumped in my cheek. “You think I haven’t done that? God, Nate. How many times have I told Quinn that she comes first? How many times have I said I’d give up football in a minute if it meant making her happy? Remember the summer before college, right after Bill died? I told Quinn that I’d give up Carolina so I could stay with her. I offered to go to Birch. And then this spring, at Matt’s funeral . . . I told her I’d give it all up for her. She knows it’s all for her, everything I do.”

“Does she?” Nate spoke without moving his head. His gaze stayed fastened on my face. “You’ve made the offers. You’d said the words. But what have you actually done? When did you ever act on the offer?”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Quinn never wanted me to. She refused.”

“Because she’s not stupid, and like it or not, Leo, she knows you better than you know yourself. She knows what football means to you, and she’d never be the one to take it away from you. Quinn realizes that no matter what you’d managed to convince yourself is true, football is more than a means to an end. It’s your life. It’s what you’ve always been able to depend on, no matter what.”

“I—” Denial sprang to my lips, but the words got stuck somewhere in my throat. I swallowed hard. “I don’t love football more than I love Quinn.”

“No,” Nate agreed. “I don’t think you do. But you trust football more than you trust Quinn. As much as you love her, you’ve always felt like you weren’t good enough for her. You were waiting for her to decide you weren’t worth the trouble. And then when all the publicity went crazy and she had to step away from you, it was as if she was fulfilling your deepest fear.”

I knew he was right, and it was pissing me off. “I must’ve missed the part when you got your doctorate in counseling and therapy, Nate.”

He lifted one shoulder. “When you spend a lot of your life on the edges of life, you become a good observer. And that’s all I’m doing. You’re welcome to tell me I’m full of shit. You don’t have to listen to me. I don’t have any way to force you into anything. But whether or not you believe me, I really want you and Quinn to make it. Don’t feel like you have to argue with me now. Just . . . think about it, okay?”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to walk out of the house without a single word. I wanted to forget everything Nate had said this afternoon, wipe it from my mind like letters in the sand when the tide came up. But the hell of it was, part of me, deep down inside, knew he was right.

So instead of leaving, I stood up slowly and paced to the patio doors, resting my hands on the edge and staring out to the beach. “What do I . . . do? How do I make Quinn know that she comes first? I could quit playing, but I’m not sure that’s the best answer. If she feels guilty about making me give it up, that can’t help us, right? Somehow we’ve got to be on the same page.”

Nate smiled, and for the first time since I’d come into the house, I felt like we were on the same side.

“Now I think you’re onto something. You’re right. Just walking away from football isn’t going to solve anything. As a matter of fact, I think you’re right. If you quit the game, you’d be miserable, and that wouldn’t help either of you. If she gets some time and space, I’m pretty sure she’ll be able to understand that giving up football isn’t going to solve your problems, not in the long run. The point is that Quinn needs to know that she is everything to you, that there’s nothing you would put before her. You have to make her realize that you would lay down everything and anything to make her happy, to win her. She has to know that you won’t let anything come between you two again. She needs you to prove it, in a big way. And before you ask me, no, I don’t know what that is. And maybe you won’t know, either, until it’s time.”

“So you’re not going to lay any words of wisdom on me, oh great guru?” I smiled, softening the words to teasing.

“Not any more than I already have,” Nate returned. I noticed that the shadows under his eyes had deepened. He looked exhausted. “But I do have one more favor.”

From under the blanket, he withdrew a flat white envelope and held it out to me in hands that shook just a little.

“What’s this?” I turned the envelope over, but there wasn’t any writing on it other than Quinn’s name.

“It’s for Quinn.” His voice was strained. “I want you to give this to her . . . the day you marry her.”

“Nate—” I began, but he cut me off.

“I’m too tired to argue with you, Leo. Take it. I promise, it’s nothing bad. It’s . . . my way of giving you both my blessing, okay? Call it me trying to be part of your day, if you want. I can’t talk to her about this, not now. But I want her to know . . . that it’s okay. That I want you to be together.” He attempted a smile. “And humor me. In the front row that day, leave one chair empty. Remember me when you look at it. Somehow, I’ll be there.”

The silence that stretched between us was heavy and deep. Nate exhaled and tucked his hand back under the cover. He seemed somehow even smaller now, as though he had shrunk a little during our time together.

“I should let you rest now. I don’t want to wear you out.” It sounded ludicrous coming out of my mouth that simply lying there talking had tired him, but it was the truth. His skin was almost translucent, and it struck me anew how thin he was.

“Yeah, crazy, isn’t it? Sometimes I need a nap after interacting with anyone. After the nurse stops by, I sleep for three or four hours.” He yawned enormously, as though the power of suggestion had pushed him over the edge.

“I’ll go now.” But I didn’t move yet. “I’d rather not run into Quinn. I have a feeling she’d get good and pissy that the two of us were talking about her behind her back.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, some things don’t change.”

I dug my car keys out of my pocket and slid the keyring over my finger. “Is it . . . what’s it like? Being married to Quinn?” I’d long ago established that I was a glutton for punishment. Asking this question was downright masochistic.

Nate’s eyes drifted to half-mast. “It’s . . . perfect.” His voice had dropped, and his words slurred a little in sleepiness. “It’s what I always wanted.” He managed to focus on me briefly. “But . . . not like it would be with you. What Quinn is to me . . . it’s not like what you’ll have. ‘Sokay, though. It’s okay. It’s enough, you know? For someone like me, it’s enough.”

My throat closed. Looking down at my friend, I had the overwhelming sense that I wasn’t going to see him again, and it dawned on me what kind of gift Nate had given me today. He’d sacrificed precious time and energy, first to convince me to come up and then to give me advice that I knew couldn’t have been easy to share. Everything he’d suggested had to do with how we would live our lives after his was over.

“Uh, Nate . . .” I cleared my throat. “Thanks. For this, I mean. For today. For everything.”

His lips curled up into a slight smile. “You’re welcome, Leo.”

“I know I haven’t been a very good friend. I’m sorry, Nate. I wish . . . I wish things could’ve been different for us. I wish—” I choked. “I wish you didn’t have to die.”

He adjusted his head a little. “I know. Sucks, but . . .” He blinked, the movement so slow that I wasn’t sure his eyes would open again. “I got everything I ever wanted, in the end. And no matter what you think, I had the best friends in the world.” His smile grew brighter momentarily before it began to fade. “Don’t think I’ll prob’ly see you again. Take care of our girl, ‘kay?”

“Always.” I coughed and swiped at my eyes. “Always will. For both of us, all right?”

“Yeah.” Nate sighed and his chin sagged a little as he fell asleep. “Bye, Leo.”

I stood in the living room near him as the afternoon’s light began to fade.

“Good-bye, Nate.”

Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye
by Judy Collins

“I
s it raining?”

I looked up from my book when Nate spoke, his voice laden with drowsiness. “Yes. It has been all day. Perfect weather for curling up with a good book . . . or napping. So between us, we’ve got this covered.”

“Hmm.” He turned his head, blinking at the gray light filtering into the bedroom. “It’s so cold. Feels like it should be snow.”

I reached over to tuck the heavy comforter more securely around Nate’s legs. “The temperature’s not quite low enough here for snow, but I bet they’re getting some of the white stuff up at home.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Where’s Mom?”

I bit my lip, swallowing back a surge of unease. “She and your dad drove up to see Leo’s game today. The Rebels are playing in Philly.”
We talked about this last night. Don’t you remember?
I didn’t say the words, because they would accomplish nothing. A nurse and a social worker from hospice had come to talk with us last week, and one of the signs of progression they’d mentioned was an increase in memory lapses.