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CHAPTER EIGHT

OF ALL THE GIN JOINTS

JAX

M y phone has been buzzing in my pocket since Emma and I made it to her car in the rec center parking lot. I’m almost afraid to check the screen, and am not at all surprised to see texts from…everyone…when I finally do. And missed calls.

James: Mandy and I have the girls. We’re kicking a ball around the yard. Hurry up, it’s getting cold and I don’t have my key to your house.

After the walk back to my car, it’s a quick trip home, taking me right past Emma’s house. It takes every ounce of my self control to keep from checking in on her, instead I drive by, making note of the dimmed lights and hoping that she’s taking it easy. When I make it home, I find James and Alice sprawled on the patio, and Amanda and Mackenzie passing a soccer ball back and forth across the yard.

“Is Emma okay?” James asks as I drop into a patio chair beside him.

“I got her home, made sure she elevated and iced her knee.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. She looked a little overwhelmed by all of us, and I’m sorry if I contributed to that.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” I tell him, clapping him on the back, “but I think you’re okay on that front.”

“Goodbye Jax,” Mandy loops her arm through her husband’s before guiding him toward the gate.

“See you two later.”

The girls and I spend the rest of the afternoon and evening finishing up their homework, playing a few board games, and ending with a baseball game before bed. After locking up for the night, I follow the sounds of my giggling girls toward the hallway and find them rock-paper-scissors-ing for who gets the bathroom first. Mackenzie wins, so Alice and I snuggle on the sofa and find a soccer game to watch for a few minutes while Alice tells me about the newest book she checked out from the school library.

“Did you bring it home with you, kiddo?”

“Yeah,” she yawns, sinking deeper into my side.

“Do you want me to read it to you tonight?”

“Okay.”

I help Alice off the couch and down to the bathroom for her chance at the shower, and Miss Independent insists she doesn’t need my help, but that doesn’t stop me from standing guard nearby. Once she’s dried off and in her pajamas the three of us climb into my bed for one chapter out of Alice’s book and then I tuck them each into their own bed, spending a few minutes alone with each of my girls. And then I find myself at the computer in my home office.

I recognized Emma’s name as soon as she introduced herself that day on the field, but I type her name into the search bar of my browser anyway. After Jake’s injury, I remember seeing videos on every corner of the internet – analysts breaking down his career, armchair experts talking about what he should have done differently, and every camera angle imaginable of the injury in real time thanks to the age of the smartphone.

My curiosity gets the better of me and I click on the first video I see.

One of the players is leaving the soccer field, sliding the captain’s armband off of her own arm and onto Emma’s, they quickly hug and Emma jogs back onto the field. Her teammate passes her the ball and she’s swarmed by opponents when she goes down, pain evident on her face. She turns her face into the grass, almost as if to muffle a scream and then she rolls onto her back, clutching her knee.

I click out of the video before the trainers are on the field with her, the pain on her face feels too private for me to be watching like this. Me, and the millions of others who’ve seen this video as the number of views points out. It’s too much to take in after hearing her talk about her injury tonight, so instead, I click into an article from the year she made the National Team, my eyes skimming the page…

…top-ranked midfielder…rising through the ranks…Chicago’s captain.

Emma led her Chicago team to a national championship the year before she made the national team, and in her first season with the national team she completely tore her ACL and meniscus. Complete tears of both take longer to recover from thanks to the surgeries required, and I’m sure Emma has gone through extensive physical therapy, and would be surprised if she isn’t still doing therapy for that leg.

I send one last article to my phone to read while getting ready for bed, and as I settle into my mattress, I read Emma’s last interview where she discusses the rehab and recovery process, and her plans for life after soccer. A life here in Saratoga, living with her sister at the time, and looking forward – she said – to using her education degree to work in a local school. At the time she was subbing for the librarian.

Would you go back to the game? The reporter asked in an article dated nearly a year ago.

I haven’t decided yet. Emma answered. Right now it feels impossible, but I’m not ruling it out.

I stop reading when the article goes into details on her personal life, it feels like crossing a line that we haven’t even approached yet. I don’t want to know more than she’s comfortable with me knowing, so I close out the article and plug in my phone for the night, falling asleep to the sound of the first baseball game I can find.

On Monday morning I get the girls on the bus, and dress for work, making plans for a special breakfast Saturday morning, when we wake up stupid early to watch soccer, I’m sorry, football, as Mackenzie reminded me with a smug smile on her way out the door. It’s early enough that I have time for coffee with my brother before I’m needed in the office.

“Did you catch the game last night?” James asks as I sit down and pour myself a steaming mug of coffee.

“Which one?”

“The baseball game. Detroit and Minnesota.”

“No…I um…” can’t believe I’m nervous to tell my brother this. “I looked her up. Emma; I watched clips from some of her games. I knew I recognized her name when she introduced herself the Saturday you almost killed her with the baseball, but I wanted to be sure.”

“Oh really,” James smirks, eyebrows dancing up and down. “And what did you find?”

“I found some videos of her injury, and read a few articles, ended up falling asleep watching the game.” The game I played for nearly twenty years, myself.

“First of all, you hit that ball, not me. You can’t keep trying to blame me.”

“I can, because you threw it. It was a bad pitch.”

“That you couldn’t hit!” James grins. I haven’t felt this loose and carefree with anyone in a while, let alone my family, and it feels good. I leave James with a quick slap on the back and head into the office knowing I have a handful of patients today, an interview to conduct with Nate and Erin to hire a new doctor for the practice, and I have a good feeling about today’s candidate, and not just because she graduated from my alma mater; she’s got an impressive track record, experience with emergency medicine and obstetrics, and stellar references.

“You don’t pass out at the sight of blood, do you?” Erin asks midway through the interview and Dr. Moriah Williams looks more than slightly confused.

“Um…you’re kidding, right?”

“You’d be surprised,” Erin replies with all seriousness. After the last interview, anything will be a win for us.

“No. I don’t get squeamish at all. I wouldn’t have chosen this field, or specialty, if I did.”

“You’re okay with the on-call hours we laid out over the phone?” Nate asks, as I look down at the proposed schedule in front of me. Because of my reduced hours and ban on weekends (unless in case of an emergency), anyone we hire would take additional on-call days.

“I’m fine with that,” she doesn’t hesitate.

“Moriah, will you give us a few minutes?” Nate asks, and the three of us step down the hall to my office.

“I think she’s a good fit,” Nate says the minute my door is shut, and Erin agrees. “I think we extend the offer right now. Put the ball in her court.”

Moriah accepts the position almost immediately, and my mind is put at ease as she begins to meet our patients, and I watch her interact with the rest of our staff. She is already fitting in here, and knowing that we can trust her with our families, and let her take on patients is a relief. Especially when my phone starts to ring, the name of the girls’ school lighting up the screen.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Hutchinson? This is Mrs. Bennet at Teddy Roosevelt Elementary, calling on behalf of Mrs. Owens. We have Alice here in the office for pick-up?”

“I’ll be right there.”

I find Nate and let him know I’m headed to the school to get my girl. I didn’t ask questions, I should have instead of just taking off toward the school with my mind racing with every worst case scenario of why I’m picking Alice up early, but nothing could have prepared me to find her sitting in the office, face streaked with tears as she clutches a wad of tissues in her hand.

“Why can’t I go back to class, Daddy?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out, baby girl.” I press a kiss to the top of her head before the secretary ushers me into the principal’s office where I find out that my youngest has been skipping recess for the last two weeks, and hanging out in the library instead.

“Jax,” Mrs. Owens looks down her nose at me, “recess is about socialization. Alice needs to socialize with her peers. We are not going to make an exception for one student to sit alone in the library when she should be outside on the playground.”

“But that’s the thing, Mrs. O,” I do my best to control my tone of voice, tempering my frustration with the woman sitting across the desk from me. I love Mr. and Mrs. Owens, but inside the walls of the school, Mrs. Owens is hard nosed and stubborn, and it can be hard to reconcile that with the grandmotherly woman that my girls love so much. “There might be other students like Alice that would like to be in the library instead of on the playground. They could socialize in the library. ”

“Jax, that would require our librarian, Ms. Mitchell, to be in the library everyday, for every lunch period, giving up her own lunch hour. We can’t possibly ask that of her.”

“Um, actually,” a familiar face pops into the doorway of Mrs. Owens’ office. She steps into the office, her hair hanging in waves slung over one shoulder and held away from her face with a thin headband, and she’s dressed in a navy blue dress dotted with yellow and white stars, with a matching cardigan over top. A far cry from the workout gear she was in when we met. My heart stutters into my throat at the sight of her standing in the office. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Mrs. Owens, I am always in the library for every lunch period. I eat at my desk. You know that.”

Emma – Ms. Mitchell – smiles so sweetly at Mrs. Owens, who scowls at her before shooing her out the door. But Emma doesn’t get the hint, instead, she steps fully into the office and sits down next to me, turning to me with a brilliant smile and holding out a hand for me to shake, for Mrs. Owens’ benefit I suspect.

“Nice to see you again, Dr. Hutchinson.”

“Nice to see you again, as well.” Her hand fits into mine and I let my hand linger perhaps a moment too long as Mrs. Owens very pointedly clears her throat to get our attention. Emma is unphased by the stern woman across the desk from us, turning the full force of her smile, and charm, on the old woman, regarding her with a quirked brow.

“Mrs. Owens, I would have absolutely no problem opening the library at lunchtime for kids that would rather be inside. Readers Who Lunch. Lunchtime Librophiles. I’ll workshop the name.”

“Ms. Mitchell,” Mrs. Owens removes her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose with a look on her face that says this is normal interaction between the two. A look I’ve seen more than once when Mr. Owens is up to his usual antics on the ball field. “Children need recess.”

“I agree,” Emma’s demeanor takes on a serious expression, more serious than I’ve seen since she walked in the door. “And I’m proposing we give them another option for recess. The library is already open, I am in there every day. Some children need a quieter space. Some children need to recharge their batteries before going back to class. Trust me, Mrs. Owens. This is going to work.”

Mrs. Owens throws her hands up in defeat before agreeing to allow Emma to open the library for alternative recess. And as she dismisses Emma, she makes it very clear that I’m to stay behind.

“I wouldn’t be suspending her if it weren’t district policy. It’s not my choice, it's my job . Please make sure she knows that.”

“Of course,” my frustration recedes as Mrs. Owens regards me from across her desk. Sometimes, I see her daughter when she looks at me like this, and other times I see the pain that her daughter left behind when she left. “I’ll make sure she knows. Will you let Mackenzie know that Alice is leaving for the day? She’ll worry herself sick otherwise.”

“I’ll tell her myself,” She assures me.

“Thank you. Will we see you Saturday?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Stepping out of the principal’s office, I take a deep breath, doing my best to calm my racing mind. When I look up, I find Emma seated next to Alice in the chairs across from the secretary’s desk. I sit down on the other side of Alice, and pass her a tissue to wipe the tears that still sit on her cheeks.

“Go grab your backpack from class, kiddo. I’ll wait here for you.”

Alice walks out of the office and makes her way down the hall, leaving me alone with Emma, an empty chair between us.

“ Of all the gin joints, ” I whisper.

“You walked into mine, Dr. Hutchinson.” She grins and I can’t help but do the same.

“I’m sorry if Alice has caused you any trouble.”

“She’s no trouble,” a slow smile spreads across Emma’s face. “She’s a sweetheart. This isn’t the first time she’s been in the library at lunch, I always keep an eye on her…this is just the first time Mrs. Owens has caught her.”

“Ah.” I don’t know what else to say. But I like knowing that this woman has been looking out for my daughter. And that she went to bat for her today. My guess is, she doesn’t know the relationship between my girls and Mrs. Owens, and the four of us have worked hard to keep it that way. We’ve never wanted the girls to think they are receiving special treatment, or for anyone in the school to think that they receive special treatment just because the principal is their grandmother.

“She’s a good kid, Jax. She gets overwhelmed when she’s around other kids, I’ve seen it when her class comes down to check out books. It’s chaotic. And loud. And overwhelming, even for me. I can tell that Alice likes the quiet. Like I told Mrs. Owens, she recharges in the library before going back to class.”

“Forgive me Ms. Mitchell, but it sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I am,” she shifts nervously in her seat, her expression losing some of its previous glow. “And I know how isolating it can be when you feel like you’re different from the rest of your classmates. To be clear, I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, this lunch with the librarian thing, but Alice gave me the push I needed. I only wish I could have done it sooner.”

When Alice returns, she sits between us again and Emma turns to her, gently brushing a loose curl behind her ear and passing her a tissue to wipe her eyes and nose. “Alice, I hope you’ll come back and see me tomorrow during lunch. You won’t get in trouble for it this time, I promise. The only reason you got in trouble for it today is because your teacher didn’t know where you were. You understand that, right?”

Alice sniffles and nods, tears falling silently. My girl loves school, and I know she’s more upset about being sent home today than she is about getting in trouble. I’m not of the opinion that the punishment fits the crime, but as Elaine said, it’s district policy. If we were anywhere but here, I’d have no problem facing her, and I don’t want to get Emma in trouble, or get Alice in any more trouble, so I let it go.

“Thank you, Ms. Mitchell.”

“You’re welcome, Jax,” Emma says low enough that only I can hear it.

“Alright kiddo, let’s go.” I take Alice’s hand and walk her out to the car, helping her buckle into the backseat and gently wiping away the tears that silently fall from her eyes. I know I need to do the dad thing and talk to her about her behavior, but I want to give her a chance to calm down first; Emma seemed to do a good job of stopping the tears, and that’s half the battle with Alice.

“Do I hafta go to Grandpa and Grandma’s now?” Alice’s voice wavers as she calls up from the backseat. “So you can go work?”

“Nope, you’re stuck with me, kid.”

I glance in the rearview and see a small smile spread across her little face. As much as I hate the circumstances, I get to spend the rest of the day with my kid, and I plan to make the most of it.

“Did you eat your lunch?”

“Only the carrots so I didn’t get the books messy,” she responds as if that’s obvious and I should have just known. I pick up lunch for the two of us, and we eat together on a bench in the park, with a view of the lake. Alice sits silently beside me, slowly eating her sandwich and watching the ducks swimming nearby.

“Why don’t you go to recess?” I ask after a few minutes have passed.

“There’s too much…” she says, scooting closer to me.

“Too much what?” I ask, trying to understand what’s going on in that little brain of hers.

“I don’t know what to do out there,” her voice raises a bit, she’s getting frustrated and I can tell she doesn’t quite know how to express what she’s feeling. I drop my arm around her shoulders and she sighs, relaxing against me. I decide not to push it anymore, but plan to address these things with Mom soon.