Page 80 of ClickBack

I reach for the phone, but she moves it out of reach. Mom is crying in the picture. Von is all elbows and neck in a bow tie he tied himself. At the end of the row, Pops’s gray fedora sits on an empty chair beside a white rose.

“Whose hat?” she asks.

“My grandfather’s. He’d been gone two years by then.”

Her smile changes. She looks at the picture again, taking in the chair this time.

“Your mother looks so proud.”

“She called me afterward to ask whether I remembered to thank the woman who altered the suit.”

“Did you?”

“Twice. Once because I meant it and once so Mom could hear.”

Giselle laughs and hands back the phone. I look at the picture before I put it away. I remember wanting somebody to call my name. Nine years later, I’m waiting for a phone call to tell me where I’m allowed to work.

Cam calls around the eighth pick.

“We have an agreement,” he says. “Three teams. Philly gets the picks they wanted. San Antonio gets you. The third team takes the salary we couldn’t fit.”

I walk away from the television. “Agreement or done?”

“Pending medical review and the final paperwork. Don’t call your brother yet.”

“When would they need me?”

“For a physical? Could be Friday. Keep your bag ready. I’ll know more before the night’s over.”

I look at Giselle. She is watching from the kitchen, the oven mitt still on one hand.

“Friday,” I repeat.

“You wanted San Antonio, Jay.”

“I want to know when I’m leaving. That’s what I’m asking.”

“And I’m telling you the earliest possibility. Nothing goes public from us until I call you back.”

I agree and end the call. Giselle sets the mitt on the counter.

“Good?” she asks.

“Looks like San Antonio.”

She comes around the island and throws her arms around me. “Jarrett.”

I catch her, laughing because she nearly takes us into a stool. For the first time, I let myself picture it. Same locker room as Von. Same court. His name on the back of a jersey in front of me instead of on a screen. I have wanted that longer than I’ve been willing to say.

“Congratulations,” she says into my neck.

“Not official yet.”

“Then give that back if it doesn’t work.”

I hold her a little tighter before putting her down.

“I might have to go Friday,” I tell her.