"What's the letter say?" Jodi shifted Matt on her back. Frowned at me.
"Just that they regret I've elected to give up my football scholarship and will not be attending the university this fall..."
Epilogue
A year had zipped by since Jodi and I made love that one time in a deer hunter's cabin here in Wisconsin. Well, twice, actually.
From the peak of the cabin I was hammering on, I spotted Jodi marching down a grassy, tree-lined path, Matt cradled on her back in a sling, papoose style. I slid the last shingle into place and pounded away, while a squirrel in an oak tree ten yards away skittered about and scolded me for making so much racket.
After slamming the final nail home, I perched on the roof and wiped the sweat off my face, arms, and shoulders with my T-shirt. It was five o'clock in the evening, still hot for August here in Wisconsin, though I was working in tree shade. I wore only camouflage jeans, combat boots, and a leather tool belt buckled around my waist. Travis had shown me how to lay shingles. Tomorrow he'd show me how to cap the roof. That's how Travis and I worked together. He'd show me how to get started on a project like roofing, and I'd do as much as I could by myself. Then he'd show me the next step.
I worked for him almost seven days a week. I lived alone in a used-but-like-new, thirty-four-foot trailer I'd bought with some of my trust-fund money. It was parked in a clearing a good distance from Jodi's house and the campgrounds, like seventy-five yards. Mom'd shipped me household items—silverware, dishes, pots, pans, sofa, lamps, kitchen table and chairs. My own bed. Jodi and Lois hung curtains everywhere in the trailer, and Travis and I laid new carpeting.
Jodi stopped fifteen feet below me now, hands on her hips, tilted her head, looked up, and said, "Well, the shingles look straight. Think they'll keep the rain out?"
"No. You got a few buckets ready?"
She smiled, then reached in her back pocket. "Got a couple of letters."
I wiped my face again with my T-shirt. Tucked it under my tool belt. "What do they say?"
"I read only one of them."
I climbed down the ladder. I stuck my face over Jodi's shoulder and kissed Matt on a fat, pink cheek. He was sleeping, his thick red hair sticking up. He always smelled of baby powder. Well, not always. And he kept growing every day. Amazing.
Jodi handed me an official-looking envelope from the University of Iowa. I sliced it open with my shingle-cutting knife and read it silently.
"What's the letter say?" Jodi shifted Matt on her back. Frowned at me.
"Just that they regret I've elected to give up my football scholarship and will not be attending the university this fall. They extend their best wishes for my future." I stuffed the envelope and letter into my back pocket.
"I wish there could've been a different way, Michael."
"Let's not hash it over again."
"All right."
"We start a year from now, like we said, both of us. Junior college will be just fine. End of discussion."
Of course Jodi's and my college dreams had changed somewhat. I mean, lots of things change when you have the responsibility of a baby—Mom had told me that. And she was right.
Rather than becoming an environmental biologist, Jodi's aim now was to become a high school biology teacher. My goal was to earn a BA in business administration, and then I was going to help Travis build Ghost Bay into the most awesome resort in all of northern Wisconsin.
"What's the other letter?" I said.
She handed me the envelope. It was addressed to her and had already been opened. I slipped the letter out. It said that October 20th had officially been added to the St. Joseph's Church calendar for the date of Jodi's and my wedding with a reception to follow in the church basement.
"Well," I said, "that's one more problem solved."
"C'mon, Michael, time to quit work. We've got to get ready—you've got to take a shower. Class tonight."
Jodi's hand slipped into mine as we strolled up the path toward my trailer. Our trailer.
Twice a week—on Tuesdays and Thursdays—Jodi and I attended prenuptial classes at her church. The classes were designed to help us understand what marriage is all about, its meaning and responsibilities. A married couple with three young kids sponsored us, friends of Travis and Lois. Four other unmarried couples attended class with us with their sponsors. We were the youngest people there—both eighteen now—and the only couple with a baby already. We got a lot of weird looks—Jodi with her blonde hair, Matt with his red hair, and me with my black hair. But that was all right. Let 'em wonder.
At the trailer, Jodi squeezed my hand.
In a few months we'd be living here together, man and wife.
The trailer perched in a nice spot with lots of trees and grass around it and with a view of the lake. Before winter set in, I wanted to add a deck, and Jodi said in the spring she was going to plant wildflowers around it.
"Don't be late for supper," she reminded me.
"I won't."
I pecked a kiss off Matt's cheek and Jodi's and then watched her trot off down the path in the dappled sunlight toward her parents' house. Forty yards away, she turned and called, "Hey, Michael?"
"What?"
"You know what the lazy cat said to the mouse?"
"What?"
"Catch you later."
I laughed. I laughed at every one of her stupid riddles and knew I always would.
I sighed and squinted up at the bright sky through the trees. Dad I missed, and Mom, too. Football I missed. I didn't play in the all-star game. Coach Flynn said he agreed with my priorities. My dream of playing for Iowa and becoming a star I missed. Oz I missed. The big house Dad built for Mom and me I missed. Hell, I missed everything from my old life. And sometimes I still felt too young to be getting married and becoming a family man. Instantly.
But on the bright side, I have a new dream—house, job, family. Longer field goals to kick. After Jodi and I are married, I'll be able to adopt Matt. DNA testing proved Luke to be the father, but he signed off on any claim to the boy.
Matthew Travis Panther. The name sounds awesome.
And last night, as we sat near the lake on the bank, the moonlight glistening off the water and frogs croaking nearby, Jodi said she thought our next boy should be named Mike. I agreed and said the one after that we should name Pete, after my dad. He'd like that.
"All right," Jodi said. "But we need a girl in there somewhere."
I kissed her in the moonlight. "Sounds good to me."
The End
Coming Wednesday: Final Thoughts About LFGTK
