Arash had given William a binder of information that included the transcripts of his interviews from the summer; William had documented them on a miniature tape recorder, at Arash’s request. The player on the team with the highest vertical jump was the one who’d told William he’d been stabbed, and William noticed the worried expression on his face while he played. The young man with the large forehead tapped his shoulder sometimes, and William wondered if it had dislocated recently and if he was in pain. The boys with past concussions sometimes shied away from contact, and he wondered if they were scared of their brains thudding against their skulls a second time. William watched the players, and their histories, sweep up and down the court. He reread the contents of the binder at night in bed, because the better prepared he was, the better chance he had of being helpful. William could feel the information swirling around inside him. He believed—even if that belief was couched in worry—that he could provide a service to this team that no one else could. It might be something small, almost unnoticeable, but there was something. He just had to figure out what it was.
In rereading the transcripts of his interviews with the boys—his eyes so tired they landed heavily on each word—William was reminded of his own manuscript, where his questions also appeared in typeface. The manuscript was in an unopened box in his closet, along with other items from the Northwestern apartment; William and Kent had emptied the small storage locker shortly after he’d left the hospital. Written on the outside of the box, in Julia’s handwriting, was: william’s belongings. He wasn’t ready to look at the manuscript, to consider whether he wanted to write more about the game of basketball. When William tried to recall his questions in the footnotes, all he could remember was self-doubt and anxiety, as if he were standing on thin ice. He could read a note of worry in his questions in the transcripts too. There, he seemed concerned about the state of the ice the boys were standing on. William had asked: Have you been hurt before? During high school or the summers? How bad was it? Was anyone there to help you?
* * *
—
He showed up at Sylvie’s apartment on Christmas, but only because he thought one or all of the sisters would come and get him if he didn’t, and he didn’t want them to ruin their holiday waiting in the snow for a bus to Northwestern. He would have spent the holiday with Kent, but Kent was traveling to Des Moines to meet his girlfriend’s family for the first time. William understood that the three sisters were trying to continue to be a family to him, and he deeply appreciated their kindness, but he knew he had to stop spending time with them.
He had a clear vision of what his new life should look like. He would be a lone, monkish figure. That was the safest way not to hurt anyone else, after all. He had his hours with the basketball team, his friendship with Kent, and a roof over his head. Most of his new life would take place on the side of a basketball court, where he might be able to help young players avoid the kind of injury he’d suffered. It would be a fine life, full of purpose and friendship. He didn’t need family, or sisters-in-law, and he certainly didn’t need whatever Sylvie had become to him. He promised himself, on the bus ride to Pilsen, that this would be his last evening with the Padavanos. They would be better off without him.
He arrived with a wrapped fire engine for Izzy and three identical women’s sweaters he’d panic-bought in the Northwestern campus store. Sylvie’s apartment was small, especially with a Christmas tree taking up one corner, so William leaned against the wall, near the open window. The cold air felt good against his back. Izzy marched in circles around the space, wobbling occasionally because she’d been too excited that afternoon to nap. Sylvie served Charlie’s favorite holiday food: turkey sandwiches. The three sisters seemed happy together, but they took turns glancing at the closed apartment door. It occurred to William that they hoped their missing family members might magically appear: Julia and Alice, Rose, even their father. The Padavanos had never spent a holiday apart from one another like this, and the three sisters still here were haunted by ghosts.
William hadn’t asked, but he assumed Julia had no idea her sisters were spending Christmas with him. He wanted to apologize for giving them another reason to lie to their older sister, but he knew that would make everyone uncomfortable. He shouldn’t have come. Loss and ghosts were his shadow, and his darkness was spreading across the small apartment.
“You all right?” Emeline said, coming to stand next to him. She was wearing the white-and-purple-striped sweater he’d given her; so were Cecelia and Sylvie. They looked like members of some unidentified winter-season team.
He nodded and sipped his wine. “I’m going to head back soon. The city buses end early tonight.”
Emeline looked at him, her eyes wide, and then put her hand on his arm. William realized she was tipsy. “Do you know,” she said, “that I’m a lesbian? Did they tell you? I only just started calling myself that.”
He hadn’t known this. He considered it for a moment, then disregarded the subject as none of his business. “You look happy,” he said, because she did. Her face was wide open, and he realized he’d never seen Emeline look like this before. She’d carried a hesitation inside her ever since he’d met her at his basketball game when she was fourteen. Emeline had always seemed occupied with watching everyone else and trying to be helpful, but she’d stayed on the sidelines, as if it weren’t her turn to live. William had thought the hesitation was part of Emeline—part of her personality—but now it was gone. She seemed fully alive in front of him.
She leaned close to his ear and said, “I’m in love.”
Something happened inside William’s head; the words made his cheeks flush, and he felt a longing so powerful that for a moment he thought he might cry. That phrase—I’m in love—sent an ache like an arrow into his past. He knew that he never would have been able to love Julia in a true, deep way, nor she love him. And now, in his new, safe life, he was landlocked, and love was the sea; William had chosen stability over any more risk or loss. He smiled brusquely at Emeline, grabbed his coat off the couch, and said his goodbyes and Merry Christmases and thank-yous as he walked to and out of the apartment’s only door. He felt a great relief, under the snowfall, as he stood at the bus stop beneath the dim lights of the city. This was where he belonged, alone in the semi-darkness.
William had been back in his dorm for just half an hour—most of the building was emptied out, with only a few foreign students and committed athletes remaining over the holidays—when there was a knock at his door. He sighed, knowing it would be a lonely student, or perhaps the elderly security guard hoping William would offer him a drink. He tugged the door open slowly, reluctantly.
Sylvie stood in the hallway, with melting snow on the shoulders of her winter coat. She shrugged the coat off as she walked inside. She was still wearing her striped sweater.
He blinked at her, confused. “What are you doing here? Did you take the bus too?”
She walked past him, into the middle of the small room. “Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing?”
“Excuse me?”