Chapter 28 - Leaving Home
June eighteenth arrived too quickly.
Jordan’s belongings filled the trunk and back seat.
Sneakers.
Clothes.
Books.
Basketball gear.
A framed signing-day photograph.
The championship trophy remained in the living room.
Marcus noticed.
“You don’t want it?”
Jordan shook his head.
“Keep it here.”
Marcus looked surprised.
“Why?”
“It belongs in the house.”
Marcus nodded.
Jordan pointed.
“Don’t sell it on eBay.”
“I’m offended.”
“You need mortgage money.”
Marcus laughed.
“Get in the car.”
The drive to Carolina State felt different from Atlanta.
No recruiting uncertainty.
No showcase nerves.
This was leaving.
Halfway there Jordan became quiet.
Marcus noticed.
“You good?”
“Yeah.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
Jordan sighed.
“I’m nervous.”
“Me too.”
“Why are you nervous?”
“My son’s moving out.”
Jordan looked over.
“You planned to sell the house after graduation.”
Marcus winced.
“I deserved that.”
Jordan smiled.
“I know.”
Then his expression softened.
“You really keeping it?”
“For now.”
“Because of me?”
Marcus shook his head.
“Because I can afford it if I stop trying to finance imaginary futures.”
Jordan laughed.
“That sounds like therapy.”
“Keisha’s therapist is ruining everybody.”
They arrived around noon.
Students moved between dorms.
Parents carried boxes.
Marcus grabbed two bags.
Jordan took the heaviest one.
“I got it.”
“I can carry a bag.”
“I know.”
Jordan stared.
Marcus stopped.
The old version of him would have insisted.
I’m your father.
Let me help.
Instead he released the handle.
“Okay.”
Jordan smiled.
They moved into the dorm.
Jordan’s roommate had not arrived.
Marcus helped assemble a small shelf.
It took forty-five minutes and several arguments with instructions.
Jordan laughed.
“You build houses in real-estate investments?”
“No wonder Ridgeway failed.”
Marcus threw a pillow at him.
When everything was finished, silence arrived.
Marcus looked around.
“This is it.”
Jordan nodded.
“Yeah.”
Marcus wanted to say a hundred things.
Call me.
Be careful.
Don’t trust everybody.
Remember classes.
Remember who you are.
Instead he asked:
“You need anything before I go?”
Jordan thought.
“No.”
Marcus nodded.
He reached for his keys.
Jordan looked at them.
Same keys.
New plain key ring.
The Darius wristband was gone.
Not erased.
Stored.
Marcus headed toward the door.
Jordan called him.
“Dad.”
Marcus turned.
Jordan looked uncomfortable.
“You can call.”
Marcus smiled.
“I know.”
“Not every day.”
“I know.”
“Maybe every few days.”
“I know.”
Jordan frowned.
“Stop saying you know.”
Marcus laughed.
Jordan hugged him.
Longer this time.
When they separated, Marcus’s eyes were wet.
Jordan pointed.
“The eyes.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I raised you.”
“You missed one championship and now you want sympathy?”
Marcus burst out laughing.
Jordan did too.
The joke surprised them both.
Months earlier, the memory had been too raw to touch.
Now it could exist without owning the room.
Marcus walked outside.
Jordan stood at the dorm window watching him cross the parking lot.
Marcus stopped beside his car.
He looked back.
Jordan lifted one hand.
Marcus did the same.
Then he left.
Jordan’s roommate arrived twenty minutes later.
Life moved.
Back at the Walker house, Marcus entered alone.
The quiet was enormous.
He walked into the living room.
The championship trophy sat beneath the family photograph.
Beside it Jordan had left something Marcus had not noticed.
The all-star medal.
A note was wrapped around it.
Dad—
Don’t get sentimental.
I just don’t have room.
Marcus laughed.
Then turned the note over.
One more line.
Thanks for being in the second seat.
Marcus sat down.
He read it again.
The second seat.
Not the championship.
The all-star game.
The return.
Marcus closed his eyes.
His phone rang.
Keisha.
“How’d drop-off go?”
Marcus swallowed.
“Good.”
“You crying?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Marcus laughed.
Keisha came over that evening.
They ate takeout in the living room.
Darius called Jordan from his own house and spent twenty minutes arguing about basketball video games.
Life did not merge neatly.
It overlapped.
That was healthier.
Three weeks later, Jordan called at midnight.
Marcus answered immediately.
“What happened?”
Jordan sounded angry.
“Coach benched me.”
Marcus sat up.
“Why?”
“Turnovers.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
Marcus almost offered advice.
Then stopped.
“What do you need from me?”
Jordan went quiet.
“What?”
“You calling because you want advice, because you want me to agree Coach is wrong, or because you just want to be mad?”
Jordan laughed despite himself.
“Third one.”
Marcus leaned back.
“Okay.”
Jordan complained for ten minutes.
Marcus listened.
No fixing.
No lecture.
At the end Jordan said, “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Nothing.”
Marcus smiled.
“Anytime.”
After they hung up, Marcus looked toward the trophy.
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