“Everest,” she says, her eyes softening.
Her voice is clearer today, more grounded and alive.
“Hey, Ma.”
She stands to meet my height. Half of Richard’s DNA may be running through my veins, but I’m definitely my mother’s child. We have nearly matching heights and identical features—the same cheekbones, strong nose, and even the shape of our eyes. Though where mine are slightly lighter, hers are a deep shade of brown. She’s wearing her signature red lipstick, and her hair is longer than it was last week.
My mother wraps me into a hug, and I plant a kiss on her cheek.
“What are you doing here?” she asks while searching my eyes. “How was your game?”
I grin. “I took the winning shot.”
She playfully smacks my arm. “Get out. You did?”
“Yeah. It was a close game, but we won.”
She shakes her head, her smile now reaching her eyes. “I’m so proud of you. You boys off to nationals yet again.”
“Thanks.”
“Come. Sit with me.” She gestures to the chair beside her. “How’s Alex and Bryden?”
“Good. Actually, I wanted to see if you wanted to get some fresh air and walk with me.”
“Yes. Let me clean up my cards.”
Patiently, I wait for her to scoop up the cards and stuff them into the box before we head over to the nurses’ station to check her out for a walk outside.
My mother slips her hand into the crook of my elbow and pats my bicep as we go through the double doors. “Good thing I have on my thick sweater, I know it’s chilly out there.”
I remove my hockey jacket. “Here. This should help keep you warm.”
“Nonsense. Then you’ll be cold.”
“I work out six days a week, with less than ten percent body fat. I’ll be fine.”
She shakes her head and smirks. “You athletes.”
“As if you weren’t one,” I counter.
Back in the day, she was a beast on the track. She had record-breaking stats, and a full-ride offer, her name in bold on the SKU bulletin boards. Hell, she’s the reason I wanted to go to Sovereign King’s. She was a star; everyone knew La’Kia Kane—the sprinter, jumper, and champion. She used to joke that the only thing faster than her legs was her mouth. Which was an understatement because the woman could talk a mile a minute.
I guess I get the competitive gene honestly. Because I damn sure didn’t get it from Richard; neither did Alex, for that matter.
I watch her, remembering the stories she shared, remembering the medals she had hanging on her bedroom wall. Even remember the photo of her midair during a hurdle framed on my grandparents’ wall, thinking that’s what strength looked like. What resilience looked like.
Richard gave me hatred; she gave me everything else.
We descend from the deck, and my mother waves to others as we step into the yard.
I step into the grass first, holding out a hand to help her down the small flight of stairs. Flowers and neatly trimmed bushes line the property. There are benches scattered throughout along with some oversize outdoor games to entertain everyone.
I match her pace, and she wraps her arms around mine. We approach the fountain, and she gazes at it for a moment too long.
“You never told me how the boys are?” She breaks the silence.
I suck in a breath. This isn’t what I want to talk about, but until I muster the courage, I go with it.
