Chương 7
Elaine knew the name.
He hated needing her.
At dinner that evening, Daniel pushed peas around his plate until Ethan kicked him under the table.
“What?”
Ethan nodded toward Elaine.
Daniel glared at him.
Ethan kicked him again.
Richard looked up.
“Would you two knock it off?”
Daniel set down his fork.
“Mom, I need help getting medical records.”
Elaine stopped chewing.
“For what?”
“An ankle injury.”
“You sprained your ankle when you were twelve.”
“I know.”
“They want records for that?”
“Yes.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Richard kept eating.
Elaine frowned.
“Northwest Orthopedics?”
“I think so.”
“It closed.”
Daniel’s stomach dropped.
“What?”
“The doctor retired.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Where are the records?”
“How should I know?”
Daniel pushed his chair back too fast.
“Great.”
“Sit down.”
“I have a deadline.”
Elaine put her fork down.
“Daniel.”
He stood there breathing too quickly.
Then Richard spoke without looking up.
“The practice got bought by Ohio Sports Medicine.”
Everyone looked at him.
Richard cut another piece of chicken.
“I had my shoulder records transferred there.”
Daniel stared.
“You knew that?”
“I know where I get cortisone shots.”
Richard finally looked up.
“Call them tomorrow.”
Daniel sat down.
Nobody thanked anybody.
Nobody apologized.
Ethan reached for another roll.
For one strange minute, they simply ate dinner like a family that had not spent months tearing itself apart.
Then Richard asked Ethan whether the Bowling Green scout had emailed again.
The old order returned.
But not completely.
Something had shifted by an inch.
Elaine made the call to Ohio Sports Medicine the next morning before Daniel left for school.
She did not announce it as a favor.
She stood at the kitchen counter in her robe, one hand around a mug of tea, and said, “They’ll release the records if you sign the authorization they’re emailing.”
Daniel paused with his backpack half over one shoulder.
“You called already?”
“I was awake.”
It was six twenty.
Elaine was rarely awake before six forty unless something bothered her.
Daniel nodded.
“Thanks.”
She looked into her tea.
“Don’t make it strange.”
“I said thanks.”
“I heard you.”
He left before the conversation could become something else.
The records arrived three days later, and the medical review moved forward.
Daniel’s nomination result did not.
Every afternoon he checked his email after school.
Every night he checked it again before bed.
Nothing.
By mid-November, the congressional office had become a silent building in his imagination where Captain Ward and the others sat around a table discussing all the reasons he should not be chosen.
He knew that was ridiculous.
He also checked spam folders.
Twice.
Ethan began to notice.
“You look at your phone like it owes you money.”
“It might.”
“What happens if you don’t get the nomination?”
Daniel hated the question because he had researched the answer thoroughly.
“I can apply to the senators.”
“Can?”
“I already did.”
Ethan grinned.
“Of course you did.”
“But it’s competitive.”
“So is everything.”
Daniel shoved his phone into his pocket.
“That’s inspirational.”
“I’m basically a guidance counselor.”
“You got a C in chemistry.”
“People contain multitudes.”
Daniel stared at him.
“Where did you learn that?”
“TikTok.”
That evening, Richard came home with an envelope from the electric company and spent twenty minutes at the kitchen table recalculating a budget on the back of it.
Daniel was doing homework nearby.
He tried not to watch.
Richard wrote numbers, crossed them out, and muttered.
Elaine stood at the sink rinsing dishes.
“Did you include the insurance increase?”
“Yes.”
“The full increase?”
“Yes, Elaine.”
“I’m asking because last time—”
“I said yes.”
The room tightened.
Daniel lowered his eyes to his calculus problems.
Ethan was at practice.
Richard rubbed both hands over his face.
“We can’t do the recruiting camp in Indiana and the hotel for Toledo.”
Elaine turned off the water.
“Then we skip Indiana.”
“Ethan’s coach says Indiana matters.”
“His coach isn’t paying.”
“He says there’ll be MAC scouts.”
“He says a lot of things.”
Richard stared at the paper.
Daniel tried to focus on an integral.
He could feel the old arithmetic of the family happening six feet away.
Every expense became Ethan.
Every sacrifice became Ethan.
Every dream had a number attached except Daniel’s, which had already been classified as unnecessary.
Then Richard said, “If Daniel gets that academy thing, at least that’s one problem solved.”
The pencil stopped in Daniel’s hand.
Elaine looked at Richard.
Richard seemed not to notice what he had said.
Daniel did.
Something sour rose in his throat.
He closed his textbook.
“What does that mean?”
Richard looked up.
“What?”
“One problem solved.”
“Don’t start.”
“You called me a problem.”
“I called tuition a problem.”
“You didn’t say tuition.”
Richard exhaled hard.
“I am trying to keep this family financially above water.”
“And I’m trying not to cost you anything.”
“Then why are we fighting?”
Daniel stood.
“Because you act like me getting out of your way is the same thing as supporting me.”
Elaine turned from the sink.
“Daniel.”
“No.”
Richard pushed his chair back.
“No what?”
“No, I’m tired of pretending the only issue is money.”
“What do you want from me?”
The question was louder than it needed to be.
Daniel almost answered immediately.
Then he found that he did not know.
An apology.
Respect.
Pride.
A father who would drive him to an interview instead of arranging errands.
A father who could say fourteen seventy without laughing.
The list came too fast.
He hated how childish it sounded inside his own head.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Richard blinked.
It was the first time Daniel had ever seen his father look unprepared for an argument.
Daniel picked up his textbook.
“I just know it isn’t this.”
He went upstairs.
Ten minutes later, someone knocked.
He expected Ethan.
It was Richard.
Daniel sat at his desk.
His father stayed in the doorway.
“I shouldn’t have laughed at your score.”
Daniel looked at him.
May you like
Richard’s face was stiff.
It did not resemble an apology so much as a man testing the structural limits of a bridge.
