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He turns and leaves. The door closes behind him.
I pick up my phone.
I open the message thread. The last text from Tobík is from a couple of days ago. A photo of the Beltline at sunset. No caption. Just the path and the light and the city he built. I scroll past it.
I type.
Tobík. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have started this. It was a poor decision. I’m signing with Munich. The captaincy is the right answer. From now on I’m just Tomáš‘s friend. Take care of yourself.
I read it twice. I hit send.
The checkmark appears. Then the second checkmark. Delivered. Read.
The three dots don’t appear. They won’t appear. Some things the body reads before the mind catches up.
I put the phone down on the desk and open the laptop. The contract is still in the email. I click the signature link. The signature line is blank and stares back at me. I close the laptop.
Training at noon. The body knows how to do training. The body has been doing training since I was six years old. The body is a machine that runs on the schedule and the schedule has shape and the shape will hold me the way it has always held me.
I go to the closet. I pull out the training kit. Shirt, shorts, the bag I’ve packed a thousand times. I get dressed. I drink the cold coffee. I put the cup next to the phone.
I pick up the bag and walk to the door. The hallway is quiet. Somewhere downstairs Šíma is getting more coffee and the tournament goes on. There is a match to prepare for and a flight back to Germany after that and a captaincy waiting.
I close the door behind me and walk toward the elevator.
Chapter 17: Tobík
The air has weight this morning. The honeysuckle stretch smells like honeysuckle and the coffee shop stretch smells like coffee and the flower stand woman near Piedmont Park is setting up her buckets.
Five days since the message. Seven sentences. The last one said Take care of yourself and the voice behind it wasn’t his.
I haven’t replied. I don’t know what language I would use.
The flower stand woman sees me before I see her. Her arms are full of sunflowers taller than her head.
“Morning, honey.” She holds one up. “You look like you need it.”
“Thank you. I am fine.”
“Baby, I didn’t ask if you were fine. I said you need a sunflower.” She puts it in my hand. Wraps my fingers around the stem. “Take it. No photo today. Just take it.”
“I do not need a photo every time.”
“You take a photo every time. That’s how I know something’s off.” She tilts her head, the way she does when she’s decidingwhether to push. She decides not to. “Go find Bagel. He’s been looking for you.”
I hold the sunflower at my side and walk. Something in me has gone quiet and the city hasn’t noticed, which is either the cruelest thing about a city or the kindest.
Bagel spots me from fifty yards. Claire is holding the leash with both hands and losing. He reaches me and sits on my left foot, his full weight, committed, vibrating. I scratch behind his ears.
“He missed you yesterday,” Claire says. “You didn’t come.”
“I was not feeling well.”
“You okay, sweetheart? He gets worried. Not that he understands days, but his body knows the schedule. Tuesday came and went and he kept looking at the path.”
“I am sorry I worried him.”
“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to him.”
