CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TOMMY

 

 

 

 

 

 

A smile pasted onto my face for the benefit of the weekly paper, I tried to see past the flashing cameras. Tried to see Bailey. How was she taking it?

I finally spotted her beyond the throng of reporters. A striped blue and white towel clasped around her shoulders, she stared blankly at the new team. The single tear that slipped down her cheek told me all I needed to know. She’d worked hard for this. And her spot had been given to somebody else.

I wanted to tell her that it was okay. That she’d done well. That she could try again next year. But a year in the life of a teenager was, of course, forever. So I tried to think what else I could say. My mind drew a blank—other than to demand of myself why I cared at all.

I’d seen countless candidates turned away. Some eventually made the team. Others never tried again. The waves washed ashore whatever they may. It wasn’t my place to care.

And yet I did. Maybe I was just a selfish old man, wanting to keep close to me the one person who could tempt a little joy from my dry and weathered soul, like sap running anew in long-dead driftwood. Maybe even I still wanted to dream now and again.