Ch. 32
March 13th, 1998
The clock in the living room ticked and ticked and ticked. Ron couldn’t help but notice it — a grandfather clock that was almost as tall as he was and definitely looked older. Despite how good it looked, he really wished he could just stop it from ticking. It was getting beyond annoying … and he was always stressed out enough as it was.
The Heat were fighting off the Bulls and Knicks for the top seed, both teams less than two games behind them. The return of Shareef had boosted the morale of the team — along with the contract extensions of Dominique, Malik, and Terrence. All three had signed on for at least two more years, and had signed on for manageable prices. The team’s core was going to remain in place going forward, which was perfect — a team that stayed together usually won together.
But all the basketball thoughts in the world couldn’t silence the other things going on in his head. Thoughts about that night in 1996. Thoughts about his parents. Thoughts about how much he missed them.
Thoughts about what his options were.
“Here he is,” Cynthia said, a smile on her face as she carried the baby into the room. Cynthia looked just as good as when Ron last saw her — motherhood agreed with her, it seemed — but Ron’s thoughts about her came to a screeching halt when he saw the baby.
Little baby Leo’s face was like a knife … it just cut through Ron.
Cynthia flashed him a concerned look. “What’s wrong?”
He tried to collect himself. “He um … he looks a lot like my parents.” His mother’s eyes. His father’s chin. He saw them in him. It was at once eerie and exciting.
Leo looked at him for a long moment and then flashed a smile, laughing.
Cynthia sat down on the couch next to Ron and balanced the baby on her knee. “He likes you. He’s a good judge of character.”
Her words registered, but didn’t exactly leave a mark: Ron was too lost in the baby’s face. “Hey, you,” he said as he held a finger out.
The baby’s hand reached around it and grasped it, eliciting more laughter from the child.
Cynthia smiled at them both. “He does seem to really like you.”
Ron smiled at her, then at Leo, and finally shook his head. “I’m not sure why. Not like I kept up with you.”
She gave a nod. “Well, you definitely could have called. Or wrote. Or sent a carrier pigeon.”
“Smoke signals?”
“I probably would have mistaken it for a neighbor lighting up,” she joked.
Ron let out a chuckle. They sat there in silence for a long moment before he cleared his throat. “I understand why you didn’t want to see me.”
Her smile fell away and was replaced with a concerned frown. “I hope so. It wasn’t out of spite or anything, Ron, I just wanted the father of my child to be there or not. No in-between.”
“And if I had a regular 9-5 job?”
“Then that’s one thing; but being a coach, in the NBA? That’s not a 9-5. That’s 24 hours … and if they could find a way to extend the day, it’d be longer than that. If that morning after taught me anything, it was how much you loved basketball. You just talked and talked and talked about it … you were passionate about it, to the point even I couldn’t help but listen and enjoy it.” She started bouncing Leo on her knee, the baby’s face lighting up. “I had a hard time believing you could be that passionate about a baby.”
“You think I’d place basketball above a child?”
“I do,” she answered without a moment of hesitation. “Not on purpose … I think you’d try, and try hard, but I don’t know if you’d ever fully buy-in. I don’t know if you’d be able to do it without regrets, without thinking about all the things you’re missing … without trying to win more of those,” she said as she nodded at his championship ring.
Suddenly, the weight of his ring felt like an anvil on his finger. Part of him knew she was right, that he would miss basketball, that it would make him look longingly at the game. Would he be able to get past that? Could he?
“I get where you’re coming from,” he eventually said. “And I understand your concerns.” Little Leo reached out and grabbed his finger again, laughing as he did it. Ron just smiled at him. “But if you’re telling me it’s basketball or him, than that’s not a hard choice.” He locked eyes with her. “Go ahead, ask me.”
She stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“Ask me, Cynthia. Ask me.”
“Ron —”
He leaned in close, a smile on his face. “I promise you, the answer isn’t basketball.”
She looked caught between two emotions: utter confusion and relief. “I … you want to quit? Leave?”
Ron looked at her, then at the baby, then back at her. “I want to be a part of his life … a big part, not just a name or a face or a guy who pays for *hit. You’re right, he deserves a hundred percent of my effort … the maximum I can offer. I can’t do that while I’m in the NBA … but the season is near an end. I’ll resign after it’s over, win or lose, and then he’ll have me.” Ron flashed a smile. “And so will you, if you want.”
She bit her lip, tears forming in her eyes. “You’ll give up the NBA? All of that? Just for … you can’t do that.”
“I can and I will,” he promised. “I can’t willingly choose to be an absentee father, Cynthia. I couldn’t live with myself … and I know, for a fact, that my parents — if they were still around — would want me to be there for the two of you.” Ron reached out and grabbed her hand. “I can do this.”
She squeezed his hand. “Somehow, I believe you can.”