Last Man Out (8 page)

T
OMMY
HAD
ALWAYS
THOUGHT
HIS
mom knew better than anybody, even his dad when he was still alive, about picking her spots when there was some kind of trouble or disagreement with one of her kids.

So she waited a few minutes in the car before she quietly said to Em, “Can we talk about this?”

Tommy looked at Em, who was staring straight ahead, arms folded in front of her.

She shook her head.

“You love soccer, Emily,” their mom said. “You don't just love it, it's a wonderful part of who you are. I know how hard you work at it, but it's also like soccer is a gift from God, the way you can play. You don't just give away a gift like that.”

“I just did,” Em said.

Now she turned and stared out the window, as if that was her way of saying there was nothing more to say.

The inside of the car was quiet after that.

Almost like the quiet follows us wherever we go, Tommy thought.

Em went straight to her room when they got home and Tommy went to his. About fifteen minutes later he could hear his mom and his sister talking. Well, he heard his mom talking. He couldn't hear what she was saying, and wasn't sure that he wanted to.

Whatever they
were
saying the conversation didn't last very long. Tommy wasn't even a little bit surprised when his door opened a few seconds after he heard Emily's close.

“Would you please go talk to her?” his mom said.

“Mom,” Tommy said, putting down the book he was trying to read. “She's Em. You know how she gets when she has her mind made up on something. She digs in.”

“What she's doing here,” his mom said, “is digging a great big hole for herself. And we've got to help her get out of it somehow.”

Tommy shook his head, started to say something. His mom stopped him by putting up her hand. “Please, Tommy,” she said. “Do this for me.”

He knew he couldn't say no, not when she asked like that, not now, even if he didn't think he could do any good. He at least had to try. For her.

Maybe this was part of being the man of the house, even when you were twelve. Maybe part of the job was doing things you didn't want to do, but knew you had to.

Em was on her bed, long legs stretched out in front of her, laptop open, set on her thighs. Tommy came around to see what was on the screen, realizing as soon as he did that he hadn't needed to check. He should have known she'd be watching her favorite Nickelodeon show, the one about a witch.

“How's old what's-her-name doing in this one?” Tommy said.

“You know her name is Emma,” his sister said. “It's one of the reasons I started liking the show in the first place, because her name is so close to mine.”

She reached down and closed the screen on her laptop.

“Look at you,” Tommy said. “You have powers, too. You just made Emma shut up for once.”

“Her powers are real,” Emily said, in that moment sounding even younger than she really was.

“Are you thinking about trying to make me disappear?” Tommy said, hoping he could at least get one smile out of her.

“I didn't want to talk about soccer with Mom,” she said. “And I don't want to talk about it with you, either.”

“C'mon, Em,” he said. “You're the best player on your team. Probably the whole league. Maybe even the entire state. You're just going to throw that all away?”

He saw that she wasn't even looking at him. But he'd promised his mom he'd try. Both his parents had always taught him about the importance of finishing a job you started.

“What are you going to do after school if you don't play?” he said. “Have you thought about that?”

She shrugged.

“Think of all the people you'll be letting down,” he said, playing that card.

“They'll be fine.” She locked eyes with him long enough to say, “What do you care? You don't even like soccer.”

“That's not what we're talking about.”

“No,” Em said. “
You're
talking. I'm just waiting for the conversation to be over.”

Tommy realized it was the longest talk they'd had since their dad had died. He wanted to keep it going without making her mad.

“You should think about this a little more.”

“That's what Mom said.”

“Mom's usually right.”

“Good for Mom.”

He took in a lot of air, let it out, knowing what he was about to say was all he had left.

“What do you think Dad would say about this?” he said.

As soon as the words were out, he wished he could have them back.

“Don't talk about him!”

For a second he thought she might cry. He had heard her crying in her room after they'd gotten back from the hospital last week, and then he'd seen silent tears coming down her cheeks on their way home from the funeral. Now he was afraid she might cry again, and was even more afraid that if she did, he might not be able to hold back tears himself.

But she didn't. She flipped her screen back up and resumed watching her show. Like he'd already left her room.

So that's what he did, closing the door softly behind him. Then he walked downstairs to the kitchen, where his mom was laying out the ingredients for her lasagna, one of her specialties. One of the jokes in their family was that his mom made the best Irish-girl lasagna anywhere.

“How'd it go?” she said.

“How do you think? She's Em.”

“She didn't want to listen to you, either.” It wasn't even a question.

“She didn't want to
talk
.”

His mom sighed, loudly. “Welcome to my world,”

“I'm done trying,” Tommy said. “If she wants to be this stubborn, it's on her from now on.”

His mom turned to face him, wiping her hands on the sides of her apron. “That's not the way it works in this family and you know it.”

From upstairs, they heard Em's door close. Tommy wondered if she'd been sitting at the top of the steps, listening in on their conversation. But he didn't care. For now he was through worrying about someone who hadn't wanted to finish her game today, a game her team had actually been winning. Because Tommy still couldn't shake the game
he'd
lost from his mind.

“I'm going for a walk,” Tommy said.

“Where to?”

“Don't know. Just need to get some fresh air.”

His mom fixed him with her eyes, looking at him like she wished she could just make everything better with a wave of a wand, like that witch from Em's favorite show. “She's just hurting,” his mom said.

“I get that, Mom. I do.”

He went out the back door. He really didn't want to go for a walk; he never went for walks, unless he had somewhere to go. He just couldn't stand being in the house for another minute.

Tommy Gallagher didn't want to have to worry about somebody else hurting, because he was still hurting too much himself.

H
OW
CAN
YOU
POSSIBLY
LIKE
girls' soccer and still love football?” Tommy asked his dad.

They were on the back porch. His dad had told him he'd try to get home in time to take Tommy to Rogers Park before dark, but Em's soccer scrimmage had run long, and then he'd taken her for ice cream.

“I never liked any kind of soccer when I was growing up,” his dad said. “When I was your age, all of us tough guys thought soccer was for guys who weren't tough enough for football. I found out later how wrong I was about that.” He grinned. “And about a lot of other things, too.

“But it doesn't matter whether I like it or not,” he continued. “Because I love my daughter and she loves soccer. That's more than enough for me.”

They sat now and listened to the night sounds behind the house, watched fireflies light up the small backyard, in what Tommy's dad always said was his favorite kind of fireworks display. Mom was inside reading. She always had a book going. As soon as she'd finish one, she'd start another.

Em was up in her room, probably watching TV. Tommy knew how much he loved his sister. He knew she loved him back. But that didn't change the fact that they
were
brother and sister. So they got on each other's nerves sometimes, maybe even a lot of the time. It went both ways, though. Em could always give as good as she got.

“I can't believe you watched a scrimmage tonight,” Tommy
said. “Sometimes I have a hard time paying attention even when the games count. Probably because I lose interest if Em doesn't have the ball.”

“If it matters to her, it matters to me.”

“But, come on, Dad. Not like football matters to you.”

“Yes, exactly like that. It's why I keep trying to learn as much about the game as I can. Hey, tonight I even spotted an offside before one of the coaches blew her whistle.”

“A gold star for you!” Tommy said, grinning.

They both reached over for their lemonades at the same time. Tommy thought there were more fireflies than usual tonight. Tommy leaned back in his chair, happy. He loved it when it was just the two of them out here.

“So you're telling me,” Tommy said, not giving it up, “that you like watching Em play soccer as much as you like watching me play football?”

“You got it.”

“And you think soccer is as important to Em as football is to me?”

“I do.”

It actually stopped him for a second. This wasn't about how
much his dad loved Em. Tommy knew how much he loved her, saw it in his face when his dad looked at Em. Tommy didn't think his dad loved him more because he'd been a football player, too. But when they were out on the field together, working on Tommy's game, Tommy could see how much football his dad had in him. No way he could feel the same way watching a bunch of girls run around kicking a ball.

His dad looked straight at him. “You'll understand when you're a dad.”

“Oh, one of those.”

“One of those,” his dad said. “You want to know the truth? I wouldn't have been smart enough to be a good soccer player. Or fast enough. I was good at one thing: getting to the guy with the ball, even if it took me a wee bit longer than some of the other guys.”

“What about all the strategy you've taught me?” Tommy said to his dad.

“I've learned that since I stopped playing,” he said. “I've probably taught myself as much about football as an adult as I have about soccer. I would've done the same if one of you had taken up piano. Or skateboarding, not that I'm so in love with those lunatic skateboarders flying through the air. I got over that after trying it a bit as a kid.”

“Dad,” Tommy said, “you know more about football than the announcers.”

“Nah,” he said. “You give me too much credit. In a lot of ways, I'm still the guy charging into the other team's backfield. I just run into burning buildings now.” Then he tipped his chair back,
as if he wanted to see all the stars in the night sky. “Don't get me wrong. I love watching you play with all my heart. I've told you before, it's like watching a better version of myself, making plays I never could.”

Tommy looked over and saw his dad smiling at the night sky.

“But, good Lord, I do love watching your sister play,” he said.

His dad kept smiling, as if he could see Em running across that sky.

“Keep an eye on that girl,” he said. “She's like your mother.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means she's as tough as either one of us, boyo.”

H
E
JUST
WANTED
TO
WATCH
football, alone, on Sunday, starting with the one o'clock games even though the Pats weren't playing until 4:15.

But his mom told him after church that he needed to go do something with his friends, get out of the house today for longer than it took to walk around the block.

“So you're kicking me out of the house,” he said to her.

She smiled. “Pretty much.”

“What are you and Em going to do?”

“Go shopping at the Shops.”

The place used to be called the Chestnut Hill Mall, over on Route 9. But last year people had started calling it the Shops.

“Em's up for going shopping?” Tommy said.

“Not even a little bit.”

“So you're kicking her out of the house, too,” he said. “You're just going with her.”

“Pretty much,” his mom said.

Tommy thought about giving Greck or Nick a call. But then he remembered Mike Fallon had asked for his phone number
the other day after practice, even though they'd never hung out outside of school or football. For some reason, Tommy decided to call him instead. Maybe he just wanted to be around someone who didn't know him so well, considering how weird Greck and Nick had been acting around him lately.

“Hey,” Mike said.

“Hey.”

“What's up?”

“Just hangin'.”

There was brief silence until Mike said, “That was a tough one yesterday.”

“Tell me about it,” Tommy said. “You know how they talk about guys willing to run through a wall in sports? I wanted to punch one when I got home.”

“I could tell.”

Another pause.

“My dad just told me I can't watch football all day,” Mike said. “Apparently there's a world outside with plenty to do besides watch football.”

“My mom told me the same. You got any ideas, at least until the Pats play?”

“Actually,” Mike said, “I do.”

• • •

It didn't take long for Mike to get to Tommy's house on his bike. It turned out he didn't live that far away. Tommy hadn't known, but then, he didn't know a whole lot about Mike in general. Tommy knew he'd grown up in Los Angeles. Mike said he rooted for the San Diego Chargers, because they were the closest team to L.A.
Tommy did know one thing for sure, though—Mike got after it in football as much as anybody on the Bears. They weren't boys yet, but that was enough for him to earn Tommy's respect.

“Am I allowed to ask where we're going?” Tommy said when he got his own bike out of the garage.

“Yeah,” Mike said. “We're going to Wirth Park.”

Tommy actually knew about Wirth Park, even though he'd never been there, because his dad had told him a little about it. It had been the first skateboard destination in Boston, and his dad used to go there when he was a kid with his buddies and their old boards with their clunky wheels. The city had built a basic bowl, with ramps and jumps and even some stairs. But even by the time his dad was Tommy's age, skateboarding hadn't been very popular in their town. Still wasn't.

“It felt like a fad around here,” his dad had told him one time, “like hula hoops.”

Before long hardly anybody was going to Wirth Park for skateboarding, the bowl tucked back into a far corner of the property. Most people just went to Wirth Park to hike the hills and trails of what had been a fort during the Revolutionary War days.

When they stopped their bikes at the top of the hill overlooking the empty skateboard bowl, Mike reached into the basket behind him and pulled out a fancy-looking board that had “Warrior” written on top.

Tommy looked at it and said, “No way.”

“Way,” Mike said. “
My
way.”

“Never had any interest, even though my dad did it a little
when he was a kid,” Tommy said. “My dad said it was like snowboarding in the winter, just with much harder landings.”

“That's only if you don't know how,” Mike said.

“I
don't
know how.”

“And you're telling me you never wanted to learn?”

“I've never really known anyone who skateboards,” Tommy said. “So I never had much interest.”

“Well,” Mike said, “now you've got a friend who does. Give it a shot?”

Tommy looked at the red board, then down at the bowl, and then back at Mike.

“I don't think so.”

“C'mon, it'll be fun,” Mike said. “I'll teach you.”

“How about this?” Tommy said. “I'll
watch
you.”

Mike ignored him, and just started walking down the hill.

“Follow me,” he said.

Tommy didn't see as how he had any choice. So he did as he was told and followed Mike down the hill and into the old bowl. They were down in its lowest point, the walls looking even steeper down here than they had from up at the top of the hill. Like they were closing in on Tommy Gallagher.

All he'd wanted to do this afternoon was the same thing he always did on Sundays during the season: watch football. But before long he was watching Mike do crazy things on his board, launching himself in the air, twisting his body around the way daredevils did on their snowboards in the Winter Olympics, sometimes yelling his head off as he did. Tommy kept expecting Mike
to go one way and his board to go another. It never happened. Every time he'd land, Tommy found himself holding his breath. But Mike nailed every single one, like it was as easy as breathing.

Mike was showing off for an audience of one, they both knew it, but he was having mad fun, too. Tommy couldn't believe the way he was able to control his board and his body.

“So,” Mike said when he finished, not even sweating, “what'd you think?”

“That you're insane?”

Mike grinned, and then handed the board to Tommy. “Now it's your turn,” he said.

Tommy shook his head. But Mike was nodding his at the same time.

“You're gonna love it.”

“Watching is enough for me.”

Mike tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. “You're not afraid, are you?” he said. He was still grinning as he said it, but to Tommy it came out sounding like a challenge.

That was all it took. Mike knew exactly what he was doing.

“I'm not afraid of anything,” Patrick Gallagher's son said.