Sunday morning, as I’m lying there checking my phone, it rings.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Benny! How are you?”

“Pretty good.”

“You sound great! I’ve been thinking about you. Wasn’t sure of the best time to call. You heard about the game?”

“Yeah. Awesome.”

“Well, it was all for you.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I miss you, man,” I tell him. “Are things going well?”

“Working hard.”

“Good! I know you are. I can’t wait until you come home and things are back to the way they were before.”

“Won’t ever . . . be the same,” he says.

The way he says it, it feels like someone is ripping my chest wide open. “No, I guess not. But you gotta know, everyone

wants you to come home, Benny. When you’re ready, of

course.”

Again, he doesn’t say anything, so I keep talking.

“I have to decide what to do about college. Soon. The recruiters are starting to breathe down my neck again, with the season winding down, and my dad is about ready to kill me if I don’t make up my mind. I don’t know what to do.”

After it’s out, I regret it. I shouldn’t be griping about this with him. What he wouldn’t give to have recruiters breathing

down his neck.

“Sorry, Ben —”

“You know . . . what to do.”

It makes me laugh. “I do?”

“Deep down. You know.”

I swallow hard.

“Listen,” he says. “Just . . . listen.”

“But I’m scared,” I say, in almost a whisper.

“It’s your life,” he says. “Live it. Be happy.”

“What about you? Are you ever gonna be happy again?”

“Yes. I’m happy. Now.”

“Now?”

“I’m alive. So lucky. I’m happy. Want that . . . for you.”

I can’t believe this conversation. It should be me telling him to be happy. Look at all he’s lost. Instead, I’m the miserable one, and for what?

“Going to state hasn’t really changed anything for me,” I tell him. “I don’t want to play college ball.”

“More to life . . . than football.”

“Benny, is this really you, or is this someone pretending to be you?”

“It’s me.”

“You’re different,” I tell him.

“Yeah. I’m looking . . . at community colleges now. Want to do something . . . in the medical field. You know. Help people. Gives me . . . something to . . . work for.”

“Oh man. Benny. That’s great. You can do it. I know you can.”

“Working hard,” he says again.

“So. You gonna tell me to win state?”

“Nope.”

“How come?”

“You got . . . enough pressure. Won’t do that . . . to you.”

“Yeah.”

“Be happy, Pynes.” He pauses. “Promise?”

I close my eyes. “I promise.”

He makes it sound so easy.

Be happy.

Like you can just get everyone on your side and happiness will magically appear, no problem. Still, I promised. I’ve got to figure out my next move. There’s no one to coach me on this one. I’m on my own.

I’m about to head toward the bathroom to take a shower, when Dad rushes into my room.

“Colby, get dressed. An ambulance is on its way. Something’s wrong with your gram.”

I stand there in total panic. “What do you mean something’s wrong?”

“She might be having a heart attack. I don’t know. Just . . . get dressed. I’m going outside to wait for the ambulance.”

He leaves and I throw on the clothes I wore last night.

I stand in the hallway, hesitant. What should I do? I want to see her and yet there’s a part of me that’s afraid. I don’t know if I can stand to see her in pain.

I take a deep breath and walk to their room. The door is slightly ajar. I can hear Grandpa talking.

“You’re doing great, Judith. Nice, slow breaths. Help will be here in a minute.”

I open the door and step in. She’s in her robe, lying on the floor. “Gram?” I kneel down next to her. Her eyes are closed, and it’s like each breath takes everything she’s got.

She opens her eyes and looks like she’s going to say something, but I put my finger on her lips. They feel cold.

“Shhh, don’t talk. Save your energy. I just want you to know, I love you, Gram. Everything’s going to be all right. Hang on, okay?”

She closes her eyes again.

I watch her chest. Up. Down. Up. Down.

I will it to keep moving.

We hear the sirens a minute or so later. Dad comes in and yells, “They’re here!”

Grandpa’s eyes meet mine. He looks so worried, so scared, it makes me want to cry.

“We need to get out of the way, Colby,” Grandpa says. “They’ll need room to get the stretcher in here.”

We both stand up, but we don’t move. She looks so helpless. So . . . alone.

Grandpa reaches out and takes my hand. Together, we step toward the other side of the room, just as the paramedics come in. He squeezes my hand before he lets it go.

“Who can tell us what happened?” one of the guys asks.

Grandpa steps forward and starts talking. She’d taken a bath. A long one. When she got out, she called for him. Told Grandpa she didn’t feel well. Nauseous. And said she felt like someone was sitting on her chest.

As one of the paramedics begins to undress her to take her vitals, I realize I shouldn’t be watching.

I turn around, my arms squeezed tightly to my chest. I look out their bedroom window. It’s gray and dreary outside.

Raining.

Gram loves the rain.