Page 92 of The Summer of Christmas

“You named it after Ivy.”

“Ivy kills me tomorrow. The last scene.”

“That’s just a movie, Nick. Shouldn’t you be thinking about living?”

“Mom said the same thing.”

“Always listen to your mom.”

“I think Mom likes Ivy more than me.”

“You know that’s not true, Nick,” his dad said. “She just remembers how much happier you were with her.”

“I think I blew it. Twice.”

“Remember that time we went to Cooperstown?”

Nick smiled. “The Baseball Hall of Fame!”

“What do you know about baseball?”

“Steroids keep players out of the Hall of Fame.”

“What else?”

“Pete Rose should never have bet on baseball.”

“What else, Nick? What’s the core lesson of the game? Three strikes, you’re out.”

“What about it?”

“You said you blew it twice. You have another swing.”

“So did Beltrán in game seven,” Nick said. Baseball was the universal language of most fathers and sons.

“You’re right. He didn’t swing. Why?”

“Because he sucked,” Nick said, spoken like a true New York Mets fan.

“He was too scared.”

“So you’re saying I should take another shot at Ivy?”

His dad said yes. Nick high-fived him. His dad helped him back to his office and said good night.

“What’s it like, Dad?” Nick said groggily.

“What’s what like?”

“Dying.”

“It’s easy if you don’t take any regrets with you. If you take regrets with you, you’ll never get a good sleep.”

Nick had a good sleep. His eyes closed as he was looking at his father. He would wake eight hours later as the winery was opening. He stumbled out of his office. It was Kenny checking on him.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Good. Better. What did I drink last night?”