Page 5 of Hard Hitter
"Well, it goes in phases. The first phase is about six weeks, and then they say you can start strengthening and conditioning again," Mitch said. "Since you are at a professional level and will need to fully recondition after being out, the doc says you should expect to be out for at least a year."
"A whole year?" Quinn exclaimed, then let out a sigh. “Shit, so I won’t be playing again until the middle of next season." What the hell was he supposed to do with a whole year and a bum arm?
“That seems to be what they’re thinking,” Mitch nodded.
Quinn unconsciously rubbed up and down his bad arm, feeling that little twinge at his elbow. It didn’t feel that intense, but it had been made pretty clear how bad it could get if he kept playing without surgery. "Right, okay. So, you've got the details?"
Zoey pulled out her phone and leaned over to show Quinn all her notes she had taken regarding what to expect before and after surgery when a familiar ringtone went off from the phone next to Quinn on the couch. His old phone.
"You haven't switched them yet?" Mitch said, peering at the phone screen to see if a friend or foe was calling.
"The new phone wasn't charged yet," Quinn said, looking at the number. It was a 231 area code, but the rest of the number was unfamiliar. Quinn's brow furrowed, wondering who would be calling from his hometown, or at least close to it. "That's weird, it's from Northern Michigan."
"Family calling to check in?" Zoey suggested as Quinn swiped to answer. His team and the people in his life knew very little about his life in Michigan, just that he'd grown up just outside of Traverse City and had been fought over pretty aggressively by college recruiters.
"Hello?" Quinn was acutely aware of how uncertain his voice sounded.
"Hi, Mr. Casey, this is Sandra Burke, the home nurse you hired to look after your mother," the friendly voice came over the phone. Quinn's mouth went dry, his voice catching in his throat, and he found himself unable to speak. He had received email updates from Sandra ona monthly basis, just to know that his mother was still alive, but hadn't talked to her over the phone since he had hired her.
When Quinn failed to respond Sandra continued, "Of course I'm calling about your mother's health. I didn't think this was appropriate for an email. Her liver and kidneys are failing, Mr. Casey. I know we haven’t had the best communication, but your mother has progressed to stage five of chronic kidney disease. She has started her dialysis treatments, though it is unlikely that she would be considered for a transplant due to…” the woman hesitated, “the factors that led her to this stage.”
Heroin use. They won’t offer a kidney transplant to a patient who essentially chose to destroy her body.And why should they?
“I thought you should know in case you wanted to come see her...Even if it’s just to say your goodbyes."
Quinn closed his eyes, unsure of how to respond. He knew this day would come eventually, and he never knew how he would feel to get the news. He did not have a good relationship with his mother. He really didn't have any kind of relationship with her. She had spent his entire childhood and adolescence either passed out from drinking too much or in a dazed trance from heroin use. Repressed images of needles littering the bathroom counter filled his mind, his mother sitting in her ratty green chair staring out the dirty front window, completely unresponsive for hours. Quinn had spent his childhood taking care of her as best as he could, making sure she ate enough to stay alive and making sure the house stayed clean enough to ward off social services.
He had been silent for quite some time and became suddenly aware that both Mitch and Zoey were looking at him with deep looks of concern on their faces. "Sorry," he breathed into the phone. His words came out slow and shaky, "Um, yeah, of course, thank you for, uh, letting me know. I'll, uh, I'll let you know what my plan is. I'm having surgery Sunday morning. Is it, uh, is Sunday too long to put it off?"
"No, Mr. Casey," Sandra's polite voice sounded reassuring, "The dialysis treatments should give her time, but the disease progressed quickly through stage four. Your mom’s condition is severe, but she’swilling to fight as long as she can.” She was silent for a few beats, “I know your relationship with her is...complicated, but she really would like to see you.”
Complicated. Yeah. That’s one way to put it.
Quinn chewed the inside of his cheek before nodding. Upon realizing Sandra couldn't possibly register his nod on the other end of the phone he cleared his throat and spoke, "Thanks, Miss Burke, I'll be in touch." He hung up the phone and dropped it into his lap. Falling back onto the couch, he pinched the bridge of his nose, then pressed his palms into his eyes, as if blinding himself would make this go away.
After a long pause, Zoey leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Is everything okay?" she asked.
He sighed and stared up at the vaulted ceiling above him. “What a fuckin’ day.” Quinn grabbed the plush accent pillow from behind his head and pulled it over his face, wishing he was alone so he could scream into it.
Chapter 3
1998
Sun was bursting through the sheer lavender curtains in seven-year-old Raelyn's bedroom. Much like a Disney princess, she padded over to the window and threw the floor-length curtains open with a flourish. Raelyn smiled out at the beautiful view of her family's vineyard which seemed to go on for miles. This was always an amazing view, but today it really seemed to sparkle just a little more because it was Raelyn's seventh birthday. She just knew seven was going to be a good year- no, agreatyear. Lucky number seven, as the adults were always saying.
Staring out the window she thought about the day ahead. She would get to see all of her close friends and family members. Her grand-mére and grand-pére from her mother's side would be visiting all the way from Bordeaux. She always loved to hear them speak French with everyone; Raelyn could speak French decently but was better at listening and understanding the words than actually making the throaty sounds herself. Raelyn's father's side of the family was French-Canadian, which was apparently just not the same as really being from France, and there was always light teasing about which was better.
Birthdays were a big deal in the DeRose household. On June 21, Raelyn’s was the longest day of the year- except for those pesky years when the Summer Solstice fell on the twentieth or twenty-second. To her, this meant that she got more time to spend with her friends and family than she would any other day of the year, and it was the dawn of her favorite season.
She took in a deep breath and the scent of bacon filled her nostrils. Smiling, she took off running down the stairs, not bothering to change out of her light blue and yellow ducky pajamas. She followed the scent of bacon into the kitchen, realizing that that wasn't all that was cooking in there. When her eyes fell on the kitchen island they grew wide with excitement.
Her mother and father were in the kitchen pouring each other mimosas made with champagne from their own vineyard and winery. They must have been up for quite some time with the maids to put together the display between them: Raelyn's very own personalized breakfast buffet with all her favorite breakfast foods. French toast, bacon, chocolate chip pancakes, blueberry muffins, a variety of flavored syrups, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and a giant fruit bowl with pineapple chunks, strawberries, kiwi, blackberries, and raspberries covered the surface of the large kitchen island.
"Wow," Raelyn breathed, eyes unblinking and scanning the buffet in front of her. "Thank you!" She rushed over to give her parents each a hug.
"Happy birthday, sweetie," her dad said, handing her a piece of bacon from the serving tray.
"Raelyn, please get a plate, you are not an animal," her mother chided, her accent always thicker when she was making reprimands.
