Infinity(62)

“Wh… What?”

“The voicemail that I left you.” She pauses for a heartbeat. “You haven’t been home yet, have you?”

“No. I’m just pulling into the driveway. What’s going on?” I ask as my heart starts racing. I park Bertha in the driveway. Fuck the neighbors if my truck doesn’t fit in with their pristine community.

“I think Ainsley has an ear infection. Brad and I were in the process of loading the tank when she just started crying, and wouldn’t quit. I called her doctor, and she said to bring her in. Brad and I are in an exam room now.”

“Poor baby. How is she?” I’m flooded with worry. My baby hasn’t had more than an upset tummy. I can’t imagine her crying, and Charlie not being able to console her. Just the thought makes my stomach clench.

“Brad’s bouncing her while they look at animal artwork that lines the halls. She’s at least calm now.”

Then it dawns on me. How can Ainsley be at a doctor’s office in Houston? Her pediatrician is here, in Dallas. Charlie and I interviewed numerous doctors before we chose Doctor Kaufman. Charlie clearly said that she called Ainsley’s doctor. “Who’s seeing Ainsley in Houston?”

“You mean what doctor?” She keeps talking before I can confirm that yes, I mean what doctor are you taking my daughter to that I don’t know. “She came well recommended by one of the nurses at the office. I haven’t met her yet. Oh, Colin, she’s coming in. I have to go.”

The phone disconnects before I can even tell her goodbye. I sit in my truck, and stare out the window at my empty fucking house for longer than I care to note.

Helpless. That’s a good word to describe how I’m feeling. Motherfucking helpless. My baby girl is in pain, and I’m not there to kiss the ache away. It’s my fucking job. My wife’s assistant is holding my daughter and bringing her comfort, and I’m paying him for that privilege. My wife is frazzled, and I’m not there to hold her hand, and stroke her hair, telling her that everything is going to be okay even if I don’t know that it will be. The two most important people in my world are four hours away from me, being comforted by Brad. Fuck my life.

I let Pancho out with zero enthusiasm, and sink into the living room couch while I grip my phone. She’s got exactly thirty minutes to call me back before I do something really stupid like drive to Houston when I have to be at the stadium at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.

I sit there in my quiet, still house, smelling the wonderful dinner that Chef prepared for us. Too bad it’ll go to waste. In the corner are some of Ainsley’s favorite toys. It’s even more depressing, seeing them piled up neatly instead of strewn all over the living room rug. I check the time. Charlie has ten more minutes.

Should I do a NASA countdown clock? I remember watching the space shuttle launch when I was in school. They had this huge digital clock that would tick down the seconds until launch. A space shuttle launch and football game are both very similar in a lot of ways. Most importantly, ten minutes on the countdown clock, and ten minutes left in a football game both don’t really mean ten minutes. There are a lot of time-outs and clock stops. What I mumble to no one in particular is, “Ten minutes now really means ten fucking minutes.”

Five minutes…

Four minutes…

Three minutes…

“How is she?” I ask when I answer before the phone has a chance to complete a ring.

Charlie lets out a sigh. “Double ear infection. We have numbing drops, and an antibiotic, because she also has a stuffed-up head.” Before I can say anything, she continues. “Colin, she’s fine. She has a cold. She’s not the first kid to have an ear infection, and she will not be the last.” Charlie’s using her “I’m the doctor, and everything is fine” voice.

I growl. It’s probably not the correct response, but I can’t help it. “I don’t care. She’s my daughter, and this is her first time sick. I. Want. My. Baby.” I open and close my fist, knowing that this is so much more than not being with my sick child. This is the frustrating month of not seeing my family but once since the funeral. This is the disappointment of not having them waiting for me when I arrived home from practice. This is every time that I talk to Charlie, hearing what Brad’s doing with MY daughter. This is my loneliness and frustration that I can’t get in the car and drive to them because I have to toss a ball in twelve hours.

Charlie begins to cry, which makes me feel like a dick, on top of my frustration and disappoint. “Look, I’m going to put Ainsley to bed. We’ll get up early tomorrow, and drive straight to Dallas. I think that I can still make it to your game.”