The One & Only(86)

She glanced at the television, then took a seat on the floor, her back to the screen, before continuing, “I told you I wanted you to help look after Daddy … then when you tried to do that … I acted … difficult.”

“It’s okay,” I said as quickly as possible. This was as close as Lucy came to an apology, and it made me uncomfortable given everything that I knew to be true. Bottom line, she really didn’t owe me one. “I get it.”

“Do you?” she asked as I turned the volume down three notches.

“Yeah. I think so. Sure.” I folded a pair of flannel pajama pants from the pile on my sofa, avoiding her hard stare. It was obvious that the conversation, whatever it was she wanted to discuss, was not going away no matter how much I wanted it to.

“It’s just that I’m a little bit … jealous,” she said.

My pulse quickened and my mouth got dry. “Jealous of who?” I said, folding a T-shirt with great care and precision. It was quite possibly the neatest folding job of my life, which is saying a lot given my practice in Lucy’s store.

“Jealous of you and Daddy. How close you are,” she said. “He’s my father, but sometimes I think he’s closer to you.”

“That’s not true,” I said, feeling queasy. I plucked another shirt from the sofa, shook it out, and got to work.

“It is true, though,” she said, taking a sip of Coke, then placing the glass on a pile of Sports Illustrated issues on the floor beside her. “It always has been true.”

“It’s just … football,” I said, although I really didn’t believe those two words belonged in the same sentence together. “We have football in common. That’s it.”

“That’s like saying that … that … Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein only have fashion in common … or …” She stared up at the ceiling, thinking. Analogies had never been her strong suit.

“I get your point,” I said, smiling, pretending to be amused when I only felt sick.

“Whether it’s football or something else … you two have always had this connection … He talks to you. Really talks to you. He doesn’t do that with me. I go over there … and it’s just awkward. It’s like he has nothing to say.”

Her description weakened me, but I shook my head and denied it again. “We don’t have a connection, Luce,” I said, thinking about the look he gave me last night. “We just like football. I’m a sportswriter. He’s a coach. And we both love you. That’s it.”

“But even when you’re not talking about football … You could be playing Trivial Pursuit … and it’s like you have all these inside jokes.”

I almost said, They’re not inside jokes—they’re simply jokes. You just don’t get them. But I didn’t think that would make her feel much better—so I simply said, “No, we don’t.”

Lucy leaned back on her hands and stared at me. “Okay. Look. I’m curious. Last night? Did he invite you over? Or did you call him?”

I told her it was his idea, and could tell right away that wasn’t the answer she wanted. The corners of her mouth drooped slightly, and her forehead scrunched up.

“See? That’s what I thought,” she said, although I wasn’t sure how this fact made a difference. Wouldn’t it be just as bad if I’d initiated?

“Well, wait,” I said, pretending to think over the particulars, then backtracking. “Actually, come to think of it, I called him. Then he called me back. But I was at Taco Bell … and so … I offered to bring him something to eat. So, technically, I invited myself over. All he said was yeah, he’d love a taco. See?”

She waved off my explanatory babble and said, “The fact remains … he never calls me like that. He never invites me over like that. And definitely not after a game.”

“But you’re his daughter,” I said. “It’s totally different.”

She asked why, folding her arms across her chest.

“Because fathers don’t need to invite their daughters over. Daughters just … stop by whenever. Like you do all the time.” I thought for a second, remembering my own dad. “Unless a divorce is involved.”

“Or unless a dead mother is involved,” Lucy snapped back.

I shuddered, perhaps visibly. Or maybe Lucy realized how harsh her statement sounded. In either event, her voice and expression softened markedly as she said, “Look. It was one thing when my mom was here. She was our go-between. My mom and I talked three, four times a day, and at least one of those times, he was somewhere nearby. In the background. And that worked just fine. We were all happy with that arrangement. But now … Everything is different. Everything …”