“I know, and it means a lot. It helps.” Her eyes stare forward at the road. “Sometimes I imagine what life would’ve been like if things had gone a different way. I don’t think you could’ve turned out any better, but I regret not being able to give you the life you deserved.”
My throat tightens at the emotion in her voice. Going to the cemetery always ends this way, always brings up the what-ifs and could-have-beens. For her, that is. Not for me.
“I’m not going to sit here and listen to you act like you were a terrible mother,” I say.
“Well, I did?—”
“And we’re also not going to pretend that you didn’t do everything you could to keep food on the table. Because I distinctly remember you going to work at the factory, then working at the sandwich shop in Gilroy, and then staying up all night to sew dresses and pants and God knows what else to make enough to keep the lights on.” I don’t look at her so that I don’t get any angrier when I see the tears that I know are in her eyes.
“I have regrets, Brooks.”
I only regret not getting one last crack at him before he left that night.“You shouldn’t.”
We ride quietly for a couple of miles. She sniffles every now and then, and I clear my throat a couple of times. But we navigate the topic like two well-trained performers who know this dance by heart.
My phone chirps a reminder of my call with Achilles. But it winds up reminding me of a lot more than that. Tension builds in my shoulders as I take a series of deep breaths to stay calm.
This entire situation with my shoulder is such fuckery. There’s been too much pain, too much time off, and too much lost revenue to take it lightly. But if it were a freak accident, like I tell my friends and family, that would be one thing. But it wasn’t.
Jon Pelfry came to the gym that day last year with the intention to hurt me. I saw it in his eyes when he walked in. I knew something was off and never should’ve gotten on the mat with him. I knew better. Unfortunately, I didn’t know the depths some people would go to try to destroy you.
“You know I was just kidding about going to Alfie’s, right?” she asks, breaking the silence.
“You know I was mostly kidding about you not going, right?” I chuckle, happy to switch topics. “I do actually think it might be good for you to date again.”
“Oh, heavens no, Brooks.”
I lift a brow. “Why not?”
“Because I like my life the way it is. I do what I want, sleep when I want, eat what I want, and even go where I want. I like my freedom. Much like someone else I know.”
“Who?Me?” I flinch. “Are you saying that I avoid having meaningful relationships with members of the opposite sex?”
She laughs. “I’m saying that you’re no closer to giving me grandkids than you were ten years ago. That’s all I’m saying.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m well practiced. So if the time ever comes, I know what to do.”
She smacks my shoulder, rolling her eyes.
I flip my turn signal on and make a right onto Winchester Street. Blooper, the three-legged community cat, darts out in front of me and dives between two trash cans on the side of the road. He’s chunkier than the last time I saw him out and about, so the firefighters must be feeding him well. But I’m still a little pissed at the old cat for trying to get Otis to leave me for the streets.
My poor orange cat is too old to be fighting for his life out there with Blooper.
“Do you want to come inside and have a sandwich?” Mom asks as I pull into her driveway. “I roasted a chicken last night and made some of my famous chicken salad this morning.”
I glance at the dashboard to check the time. “I have a meeting with Achilles in half an hour, and then a call with my gym in Vegas after that.”
“Is it about your reinstatement?”
“Yeah, but there’s no answer yet. I already heard through the grapevine that it’s going to be a few weeks yet.” I take her hand and squeeze it, reassuring her. She worries about me more than I worry about me—and that’s a lot. “Why don’t you run in and get your chicken salad, and then come back to my house?”
She makes a face as if she’s considering it. “I’d better not. I have wet clothes in the washer and want to make a list of things I need from Miller’s Market for another batch of desserts. The assisted living facility asked if I’d cater their Valentine’s Day party. Of course I said yes.”
I chuckle becauseof course she did. There’s nothing more on-brand for her than feeding people. She’s never turned down the opportunity to cook for others—especially if they request it.
“Let me know if you need me to pick up anything for you,” I say.
“I’ll be fine.” She kisses my cheek. “Thanks again for going with me.”
