Chapter Nine
It was him, it was Mr. Winger, Christine thought as she came to and found herself in a hospital bed, dizziness providing her with a sense of distorted reality, the bed seeming to tilt and swivel as she lifted her head from the less-than-comfortable hospital pillow and strained to look about, appraising her surroundings.
Of course it was Mr. Winger. That was why he’d had a wrench that he’d so quickly hidden in his pocket when he’d seen her. He’d used that wrench to loosen the bar that had given way and had made her fall, landing her here. And that’s why he’d said, “Break a leg!” in a too-cute tone of voice. Christine wondered how badly injured she was. Her butt hurt. Her head hurt. Not as much as she thought they might have, though. The doctors must have given her pain killers. Her mouth was dry, too, she observed. Her thinking slow. Still, she was alive.
What is it they say? she wondered. The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children? That was it. She was paying for her dad’s sins.
The door opened. A nurse appeared.
“Oh, you are awake,” the nurse said. “Wonderful. You have visitors. Do you feel up for visiting?”
“Who is it?”
“A number of people. You’re a popular young lady. I’ll let you decide who’ll be first. There’s your parents, a girl, Joanie, a man named Peter, and your coaches.”
“I don’t want to see any coaches,” Christine blurted. “Tell them to leave.”
“Are you sure? They said they want to apologize for something.”
“Like, now - please!”
The nurse left for half a minute. When she returned, she said, “Done – no worries. So, who’s first on your Nice List?”
Intrigued that her favorite custodian would make a trip to the hospital just for her, Christine decided she wanted to hear from him before anyone else. “Let me talk to Peter.”
He arrived in uniform, shyly presenting a bouquet of flowers.
“Oh my gosh,” Christine murmured. “No one has every gotten me flowers before.” She grinned as best she could, wondering if she looked like an undead teenager with a grotesque caricature of a grin distorting her ugly makeup-free mug, and she accepted the flowers and held them to her chest. She was truly touched. Granted, she had never pictured it this way. She kinda pretty much definitely always pictured a boyfriend being the first one to give her flowers… but, oh well.
“It’s okay,” Peter replied. “I stop at 7-11 on way to hospital.”
“Flowers aren’t cheap. Even 7-11 flowers,” Christine said, then hoped it hadn’t come out sounding like, “You’re poor.”
“So big deal. This week I no buy lottery ticket. I never win, waste money. Flowers better.”
“Thank you.” She sniffed the bouquet and set it on the bedside table. “They’re just what the room needed.”
Peter pulled up a chair beside her. He patted her knee once, gently, then retracted his hand as if not sure whether this gesture had been appropriate. Then he said, “Your dad he hurt you?”
Christine remembered she’d told him her dad might be having an affair. “Oh. No. I hurt myself in gymnastics.”
“You sure? You want I should talk to him?”
Christine got the feeling that Peter would be willing to “talk” to her dad with his fists if he thought it would help.
“No – my dad only hurt my heart.”
Peter frowned and nodded slowly, then stood. “I go now, you see your parents. Don’t forget what I tell you: go and be strong.”
“Even when I’m laid up in the hospital, eh?”
“Especially in hospital.”
She saw Joanie next.
After a big hug and a lot of commiserating, Joanie said, “Ooh, I feel special, I’m ranked higher than your p’s for hospital visits.”
“Duh.”
Joanie closed the drapes and switched off the lights. “This is serious business,” she whispered. “I know almost everything.” She must have had heard most of the story from their mutual friends and from talking to the others in the waiting room. “Tell me the rest.”
So Christine did, and then she asked Joanie to help her to the bathroom. She would never have made it two feet without Joanie’s shoulder to lean on. This made Christine feel like an invalid, like an old lady, or at least like a mortal – which she sometimes forgot she was. Weird. One moment she’d been on top of the world: standing up to her dad, getting her mom to drive her to the tournament, competing for a scholarship, maybe; the next she knew she was in a hospital needing help to go potty. She saw pity on Joanie’s face as they returned from the trip to the bathroom. No surprise, it’s how she felt about herself.
Once Christine had gotten settled back into bed, Joanie said, “They can’t get away with this, Christine. I know, sue them. Sue ‘em big time.”
Christine adjusted the positioning of her head on the lumpy pillow. “I don’t know. It could be worse. I’m not sure it’s worth a lawsuit for a concussion and a pain in the butt.”
“Severe concussion, coccyx contusion. Seriously, that guy Mr. Winger needs to be tossed in jail.”
“Probably. I’ll think about that when feel a liI ttle better.”
“Man, what kinda world are we living in?”
“I know, right?”
When Mom and Dad visited next, Christine was thrilled to see that her mom had brought not only her stuffed Tigger doll to make her feel pampered, but she’d also brought her pillow, swapping out the lumpy hospital one.
“Thanks, Mom. SO much comfier. But, um, can you please let me talk to Dad alone for a sec?”
Her mom shot her a look of understanding, and she ducked out.
After a dramatic pause, Christine said, “I know what’s going on, Dad.”
He hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“The affair.”
“There’s no affair.”
“The other day I got a text from you to COACH ALEXIS.” Uttering this name again had clogged Christine’s mouth as though with a couple of exotic, unforgiving words from a distant alien planet. “You sent it to me by accident.”
“I know, but it’s not what you think.”
“I spied on you. I saw you and her in the alley behind the gym. An email, too. That night I screamed about there being someone out in the yard. It was a lie. I did that to sneak a look at your computer.”
Her dad sighed. “Yeah, I wondered about that. I guess I deserved it. I did. I know I did.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’m sorry, Christine. I really am.” He was choking up, his voice breaking. He even sniffled. Christine found this highly irritating.
“I want to hear it from your lips,” she said. “I want you to admit it.”
He nodded and looked at her directly. “I didn’t cheat on your mom. I never have.” Now he lowered his gaze. He pinched tears from his eyes. “But what I did was very wrong.”
He went on to explain that he’d been talking to the Axe one day about scholarships, and she’d mentioned how valuable they were. Once they’d come to agreement about this fact, somehow the conversation had gravitated to the possibility that scholarships may at times be arranged in untraditional ways. Her dad had pressed the Axe about this, and he’d come to learn of what he and the Axe would refer to as an investment opportunity. It was a bribe, but they didn’t call it that. $5,000 of her dad’s money would be split between the coach and the scout. The scout, after watching her perform at the tournament, would recommend Christine for a full scholarship to the University of Idaho. The Axe was the connection, the “middle man” who made all arrangements and saw to it that everyone was satisfied.
“So,” Christine said, “in the email, when she said to find a time to meet…”
“That was to finalize the payment. I’d given her the first half, a deposit. The second half I was to pay two nights before the tournament.”
“That’s it? No affair?”
“No. And I’m done with this. I promise you I will never do su
ch a thing again.”
Christine felt strangely empty. Then she realized why. “You need to apologize to Mom. You need to tell her everything. And I want to hear you do it.”
Her dad grabbed her mom from the waiting room, and then Christine facilitated the conversation, making sure her dad didn’t leave anything out. Evidently, she did a good job because he even admitted that he and the Axe had flirted quite a bit. He’d had to take a few moments to collect himself in the middle of divulging this.
Christine couldn’t read her mom’s emotions. She’d expected more anger. She’d thought maybe her mom would blow up, maybe hurl Christine’s stuffed Tigger doll at her dad. Instead she waited quietly until it was clear that her dad had finished.
“What?” Christine had said, speaking for her dad, who seemed barely able to talk because of his guilt and shame.
Her mom looked at her, her eyes glazing with tears. She said, “I need to say something also.”
Then she turned to her husband. “I had an affair.”