Nate grinned. “I played youth football when I wasn’t much older than Josh. Same season. I loved mud.”
She sighed. “So does he. I’ve learned to keep a ratty old towel in the car for him to sit on.”
Nate laughed, but after the conversation ended, he didn’t immediately check missed calls. Instead, he pondered why Molly hadn’t played any sports. Swim lessons in the summer, essential when she’d lived on the lake, and that was it. Did any of her friends play soccer? He wondered if she’d like to try it next year. To his recollection, she’d never participated in any after-school youth activities. And that got him to wondering whether Sonja had had her first glass of white wine a lot earlier in the day than he’d realized, and had developed a problem with booze a lot longer ago than he’d realized, too. With the hours he worked, she could have hidden too much from him.
He called the treatment center only to be politely rebuffed. The first days were always difficult. Patient information was kept confidential. The woman he spoke to wasn’t moved by his explanation that Sonja’s young daughter was scared for her.
Nate returned a few calls before thinking, To hell with it. This day was past resuscitation. He was ready to call it, start anew tomorrow.
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