Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

A lot happened over the next few weeks. I signed a monster of a contract to play for a team with real playoff potential, flew out to California for a live press announcement followed by a two-day media junket, and I packed up my apartment in New York. I still had plenty of time until practices would start, but since there was nothing keeping me here anymore, I said screw it and booked a moving company to come get my stuff. Then I went online and bought a one-way ticket back to California five days from now.

I should’ve been out-of-my-mind happy with all of my good fortune. Most people worked their entire life to earn what I was going to earn in one year, and everything I’d dreamed about since I’d laced on my first pair of skates was within reach. Yet I was miserable. So fucking miserable.

My mother was currently up in Boston to visit my brother and the kids, and I was supposed to go see her. But considering I could barely stand myself, I couldn’t expect anyone else to put up with my miserable ass, so I called and told her I had a lot of things to wrap up here, and instead I would come up to Washington once I was settled in on the West Coast next week.

Then I decided to go for a run.

I had no idea how far I’d gone, but I was a mile or two from home when it started to rain. Not just drizzle either, it goddamn poured. But it felt kinda right. On my way back, I passed the Garden. Glenn, one of the security guards I’d been friendly with, happened to be outside under the overhang, smoking a cigarette. He’d been on duty the night I met Georgia. He waved, so I stopped.

“Yearwood, you traitor.” He smiled. “Figured you’d be out on the West Coast, hamming it up at parties with movie stars and starlets by now.”

“Soon.” I put my hands on my knees and bent to catch my breath. “What are you doing here? I thought you only worked nights.”

“A day-shift spot finally opened up. You remember Bernie, the guy with the weird, red goatee but has white hair?”

“Yeah, I know Bernie.”

“He got a job in operations. Took over Otto’s gig.” He shook his head. “Such a shame about that guy, huh?”

“Shame about who?”

“Otto. I figured you knew. They sent out an email to the team.”

“I’m not on the team anymore. What happened to Otto?”

“Had a cough that started last week. A few days later, he was in the hospital with pneumonia. Yesterday they had to put him on a ventilator. Antibiotics aren’t working, and his immune system is shot from the cancer treatments.”

Shit. “You know what hospital he’s in?”

“St. Luke’s.”

“Thanks. I gotta go. It was good seeing you, Glenn. Take care.”

• • •

“Hi. I’m looking for Otto Wolfman.”

The nurse pointed to one of the glass rooms on her left. “He’s in bed four.”

The intensive care unit was one big space with a nurses’ station in the middle and small, individual, fishbowl glass rooms located around the perimeter. The sliding door to Otto’s was open, and a woman sat at his bedside. When she saw me, she stood and walked out.

“Hi. Are you Mrs. Wolfman?” I asked.

“I am.”

“I’m Max Yearwood, a friend of your husband’s from the Garden.”

She smiled. “I know who you are. Otto talks about you all the time, and he never misses watching your games. He adores you.”

I smiled back. “You sure you got the right guy? He calls me jackass.”

Mrs. Wolfman chuckled. “That’s how you know he likes you—if he calls you names.”

I looked over her shoulder at Otto. He was hooked up to all kinds of monitors and drip bags. “I just heard what happened. How’s he doing?”

She shook her head. “Not too well, I’m afraid. He’s got sepsis now, likely from the pneumonia.”

“I saw him pretty recently. He seemed like he was doing so well.”

“He was. The pneumonia took us by surprise. He’s got lung cancer, so having a cough isn’t unusual. That’s what we thought it was until he came down with a high fever. It spread fast because his immune system is compromised from the chemo.”

“Would it be alright if I visited him for a few minutes?”

Mrs. Wolfman smiled. “I think he’d love that. I was going to take a walk downstairs to grab some coffee. There’s a Starbucks in the lobby. So I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Would you like me to grab you a cup?”

“No thanks.” I smiled. “Otto is so anti-Starbucks.”

“Oh, don’t I know it. But I really enjoy it. I’ll tell you a little secret.” She motioned for me to come closer. “I keep a sleeve of plain, white Styrofoam cups in my cupboard. Sometimes I pick up a Starbucks and dump it into one of those so I don’t have to listen to him rant for a half hour about how the place is overpriced.”

I laughed. “That’s classic.”

She patted my shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

After Mrs. Wolfman left, I stood at the doorway, not sure what to say or do. A nurse came by to add another bag of fluids to Otto’s IV pole. As she worked, she spoke aloud, telling him what she was doing. I stopped her on her way out.

“Can he hear you?”

She had a kind smile. “Maybe. Many people do wake up remembering conversations visitors had, but it’s different on a case-by-case basis. I like to assume they can and just let them know what I’m up to. There have been studies that show patients benefit from the familiar sound of the voices of loved ones. They believe it can help awaken the brain and improve recovery time.” She nodded toward Otto. “Go ahead in. It may feel weird at first, but just try telling him about your day.”

I nodded. “Okay, thank you.”

I took a seat beside Otto’s bed and looked up at all the wires and monitors.

“Hey, old man.” I smiled sadly. “I was going to come visit and say goodbye before I left. You didn’t have to go and do all this just to get my ass in gear. The nurse says you might recognize voices. I figure if I’m too nice, you might get confused, so I’ll just be my regular charming self.”

I paused and thought back to the first time Otto and I met, seven years ago. “I’m going to tell you something, but if you remember it when you wake up, I’ll deny I ever said it. Anyway…I looked forward to seeing you every day after practice. You always reminded me of my dad. He was my biggest supporter, but never afraid to dish out a dose of reality. My rookie year, I walked in with a chip on my shoulder. I thought the team would be excited to land me, that I’d proven my worth by my stats in college and the price tag of the big contract I’d signed. I didn’t understand that some of the guys had put in ten or fifteen years and watched more than one big-name rookie turn out to be a disappointment. There was a guy named Sikorski who rode me hard that first year, and we started to go at it on the ice. One day after practice, I was sitting around in the penalty box, stewing over us getting into it yet again. You were pushing a broom and asked me if I planned on marrying Sikorski. I looked at you like you were crazy and said he wasn’t my type. And then you said something that’s stuck with me to this day: ‘Not every battle is worth the fight.’ You told me to stop wasting my time on shit that comes between my destiny and me.” I shook my head. “Something just clicked. I was funneling all of my energy into a fight I didn’t have to win. And that just took focus away from the things that really mattered, like improving my game.”

I stared up at the numbers on the monitor for a while, watching Otto’s heartbeat. “By the way, I finally met Mrs. Wolfman a little while ago. I don’t think I have to tell you she’s too pretty and nice for your grumpy ass.”

I heard a chuckle behind me and turned to find Otto’s wife standing at the door.

She had two coffee cups in her hands. “Thank you. I can see why you two are friends now. That sounded just like something he would say.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

She smiled. “It’s fine. That’s exactly what Otto would want—people being real.” She walked into the room and handed me a coffee. “I know you said you didn’t want one, but you always brought him coffee, so it felt right to return the favor.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Over the next two hours, Mrs. Wolfman and I shared funny stories about Otto. She told me the only person who ever got the soft side of her husband was their daughter. Apparently, she had him wrapped around her finger and could get him to do anything. Like the time in seventh grade she was struggling in algebra, and Mrs. Wolfman told Otto their daughter couldn’t go out and play until she did all her homework. He got home earlier than his wife and had to enforce the rules. It had seemed like he was, until one day when the teacher called with concerns because their daughter’s homework had gone downhill in quality. Even her handwriting had become sloppier. Turned out, Otto was doing her math homework, while she went out to play. And he was even worse at algebra than their daughter.

I was really glad I’d come. Mrs. Wolfman seemed to enjoy sharing stories. But when the nurse asked if we would step out so she could wash Otto, I figured it was time for me to get going.

“Would you mind if I gave you my number so you can let me know if anything changes?” I asked her. “I’m moving in a few days, but I’ll pop back in again before then, if that’s okay with you.”

“I’d love that. Thank you, Max.”

After I entered my number in her phone, I said goodbye, but then turned back. “Mrs. Wolfman?”

“Yes?”

“The other day when he told me he was leaving the Garden to drive cross country with you, he told me his life always felt full because he was with the person he loved. It wasn’t only your daughter Otto had that soft spot for.”

She smiled. “I think there may have been a certain hockey player in that category, too. He just would never let you know it.”

• • •

Two days later, Mrs. Wolfman called to tell me Otto had passed.