“I’m sure he’s just trying to warm up to us.” Maybe. Right?

“Alomejor.” Maybe, Dad said in that same sort of tone he used when I was a kid and I’d ask him for something he knew damn well he wasn’t going to give me. “Nothing happened, then?”

I didn’t even need to close my eyes and think back on what had happened that day. Not a single thing. Kulti had just stood back and watched us run around executing a variety of exercises to make sure we were all in shape. He hadn’t even rolled his eyes, much less call us a group of incompetent idiots—another thing he’d been known to call his teammates when they weren’t playing to the level he expected.

“Nothing,” and that was the truth. Maybe he’d gotten shy over the years?

Yeah, not likely, but I could tell myself that. Or at least tell Dad that so that he wouldn’t sound so disheartened after he’d been so over-the-moon when he’d first found out Kulti would be our coach.

“But hey, I had the best times during each sprint,” I added.

His laugh was soft and possibly a little disappointed. “That’s my girl. Running every morning?”

“Every morning and I’ve been swimming more.” I stopped talking when I heard a voice in the background.

All I heard was my dad mumbling, “It’s Sal… you wanna talk to her?... Okay… Sal, your mom says hi.”

“Tell her I said hi back.”

“My daughter says hi… no, she’s mine. The other one is yours… Ha! No!... Sal are you mine or your mom’s?” he asked me.

“I’m the milkman’s.”

“I knew it!” He finally laughed with a deep pleased sigh.

I was smiling like a total fool. “I love you too, old man.”

“I know you do, but I love you more,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah. Call me tomorrow? I’m pretty tired, and I want to ice my foot for a little bit.”

A ragged sigh came out from him, but I knew he wouldn’t say anything. His sigh said it all and more; it was a gentle wordless reminder that I needed to take care of myself. We’d gone over this a hundred times in person. Dad and I understood each other in a different way. If it had been my brother saying something about needing ice, I probably would have asked him if he thought he’d live and Dad would have told him to suck it up. It was the beauty of being my father’s daughter, I guess. Well it was the beauty of being me and not my baby sister, who he constantly fought with.

“Okay, tomorrow. Sleep good, mija.”

“You too, Dad. Night.”

He bid me another goodbye and we hung up. Sitting up on my bed in the garage apartment that I’d been renting for the last two years, I let myself think of Kulti and how he’d just stood there like a golden gargoyle, watching, watching and watching.

It was then that I reminded myself about him pooping again.

Chapter Four

The next few days went by uneventfully and yet as eventful as they normally were. We had to get our physicals for the team one day and the next day we got measured for our uniforms. After each small chunk of a morning, I’d go to work afterward where I’d be harassed by Marc about whether I’d gotten Kulti’s autograph for him yet. Then each evening, I’d practice yoga or go swimming or do some weight training, depending on how tired I was. Then I’d get home and talk to my dad or watch television.

Everyone wanted to know what Reiner Kulti was like, and I had nothing to give them. He showed up to whatever we were doing and stood in whatever corner was available, and watched. He didn’t really talk or interact with anyone. He didn’t do anything.