Page 42 of Off Court Fix

“Deer were eating it,” she quickly corrects me. “Then they started after the plants. I told you, it wasn’t Crosby running into the bushes to get his ball.” She looks at me. “We need a deer fence, Paul.”

After all these years, I should be able to hold my heart in my chest and keep it from falling into my stomach, but I’m only human. And the fact that my mother is sitting here, talking to me as if I’m my father and I’m really an eight-year-old—who did always mess the landscaping trudging through to find my soccer ball—it crushes me. It doesn’t matter if it’s the first or fiftieth time. You’ll never get used to the idea that the person who made you from the atom up, who once held your beating heart within her own body, could forget you so easily.

Pressing my lips together, I steady my breathing so the ache in my chest lessens. “He’s a naughty one, that Crosby.”

She laughs and waves a hand at me. “Would you stop, Paul? He’s a wonderful boy, my Crosby.” When her eyes meet mine, I shudder. “Agoodboy.”

Am I?

I look around the neat, decorative room. It’s clean, comfortable. Mom sits at the window in fresh clothes. Her hair is brushed, her blouse buttoned, her trousers wrinkle free. And even though she looks far older than her actual age, that’s not the doing of this place. This place, it keeps her safe and, apart from the small incident, cared for.

Good or bad, it was worth all the money—every illegal cent.

“How about a walk? It’s nice and sunny and not too hot,” I suggest, stepping closer.

“Did you break your glassesagain?” Mom laughs. “Oh, Paul.”

I inherited much from my father—his height, his green thumb, and his poor eyesight. The difference between the glasses I wear now and the pair my father used to must confuse her.

“Yes,” I tell her. “It was hot, so I took them off and put them in the truck, and then Isaton them.”

This makes her laugh. “How are we going to pay for Crosby’s college if we keep spending all this money on glasses? I think maybe I’ll have to find some extra work when summer starts in a few months.”

Another blow. It’s already mid-June.

I suck in a deep breath and release it. “How about a walk?” I ask again.

“Don’t you have work?”

“The guys are handling it.” Apart from me, my father had two other employees he hired on and off, depending on the season. “Some fresh air would be good, don’t you think?”

Mom sighs. “It might rain.”

There’s less humidity outside than there are clouds.

“Okay.” I shuffle my feet. “How about we go sit by the piano?” My suggestion goes unanswered as Mom continues to stare outside. I sigh. “You know, I’ve been practicing ‘Chopsticks,’” I say, trying to keep up the playfulness of the room.

It’s then my mother looks at me and presses herself back into the pillows, looking around frantically before she shrieks, “Who are you?”

* * *

Driving back across Long Island, I contemplate nearly a dozen times taking the day off. There’s nothing my staff can’t really handle, and what I need is a long run, a hot shower, and an alcohol-induced nap. But an hour later, I find myself pulling into my spot at the club and getting out of my Range Rover the moment Maxine is walking to her own car parked beside mine.

“Hey,” she calls out, opening the door and tossing her visor and racket bag into the backseat.

I follow the trail of her long, dark ponytail and shut my door.

“Why didn’t you swim today?”

Maxine narrows her eyes. “Are you some kind of stalker?” Her tone has a playful edge. “I have to get out of here early today. Why didn’t you run?”

“Whose stalking whom?” I ask.

This brings a smile from her, but she’s waiting for my answer. I scratch the back of my head. “Didn’t sleep well, needed to take the morning off.”

Maxine looks at me questioningly and then nods. “I know how that is.”

“The lack of sleep or the need for a day off or both?”

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