I fought back a pang of annoyance as I said, “Maybe he can change. But I can’t bank on that.”
“You don’t love him enough to help him?” she asked. I could tell the question wasn’t laced with judgment, but I still felt annoyed by her dogged focus on what Ryan needed. By her transparent attempt to hold on to what she saw as such a prize in my life.
“First of all, no. I do not love him enough to turn his violence into my cause,” I said, my voice firm. “Second of all, I think that’s a very dangerous game to play with your life. Sure, it could work out. But what if it doesn’t? Not to be dramatic—and I don’t think he’d ever go this far—but, theoretically speaking, that’s how women end up dead.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.”
I gave her a passive-aggressive shrug.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“It’s okay, Luce,” I said, momentarily tempted to blurt out everything, the whole truth about my feelings for her father. But I tempered my reply, saying only “Bottom line, I don’t love him.”
“Because of this, though, right?” Lucy said, biting her lower lip. “You don’t love him because of this?”
“I’m not sure how that makes a difference. But no. I don’t love him, period. I didn’t love him before this. I cared about him,” I said, using the past tense. “And I wanted to love him. Maybe I could have grown to love him. But those feelings just weren’t there. I liked the idea of him. It was exciting. He was exciting.” I forced a smile and said, “Too exciting.”
Lucy nodded as all dwindling hope in her was finally extinguished. “So what next?”
“Well … I need to return the earrings,” I said. “I need to tell him to stop calling me. I need to tell him face-to-face that it’s over. I want him out of my life completely.”
“Are you scared?”
“No. But I should probably go with someone. Maybe you and Neil?” I said, thinking that I didn’t want to further embroil Coach.
“Sure,” she said. “Of course. Whatever you need. You know I’m here for you.”
“I know, Luce. Thank you,” I said.
We sat in silence until I said, “So this goes without saying, but don’t say anything to anyone … except Neil.”
She gave me a somber nod. “Of course. I would never.”
“I know … The worst thing in the world would be for the media to catch wind of this,” I said, imagining the horrible headlines, how it would be spun. Not as one man with a problem but as the dark, ugly side of Walker football.
Thirty-six
Two days and more than twenty voice-mail messages from Ryan later, Lucy, Neil, and I met at Mi Cocina in Dallas, ready to execute my game plan. I had texted Ryan exactly once, simply asking him to come to the restaurant after the Cowboys’ practice, which I knew ended at six thanks to the team schedule pinned to the fabric wall of Gordon’s cube. Ryan had agreed, thanking me profusely, clearly under the impression that this was the opening he had been pleading for.
Little did he know I would have a protective posse in tow at the popular Mexican restaurant in Highland Park. I knew it was probably overkill to bring Lucy and Neil, and Coach and I were both a little worried that Ryan might mention Coach’s involvement in our final fight, but we decided that it was better to be safe than sorry.
“Are you okay?” Lucy said to me as we walked into the restaurant. “You look pale.”
“Just a little nervous,” I said, reaching into my purse now to rub the velvet box containing the earrings, as if for good luck or strength.
“Would a Mambo Taxi help? Or does that feel too celebratory?” Lucy said, referring to the famed frozen margarita with a swirl of sangria.
“Oh, hell. Why not? This is cause to celebrate.” I gave the queen’s demure finger wave, then said, “Buh-bye, Ryan.”
Neil and Lucy laughed, even though it really wasn’t funny, as the waitress came to take our chips, guacamole, and drinks order.
“Are you ready for Christmas?” Lucy asked at one point after our drinks had arrived. She was obviously trying to distract me with idle chatter while intermittently eyeing the door.
I told her not even close, as she informed us that her shopping was pretty much completed, mostly executed online over her morning coffee.
“You really are your mother,” I said.
Lucy beamed; this was her favorite compliment.
“Seriously,” I said. “How are you so efficient with a child and a business to run?”