Page 77 of Off Court Fix

Standing in the hallway as Judy changes, I put a hand on Crosby’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay. It’s not far, and we can turn around and come back if we need to.”

He stares at the door.

“What you did for your mom.” I pause, gathering my thoughts before continuing. “Workingto keep her in a place like this... I wish there had been another way to do it, but you did it because it’s the best place for her. But there’s still a world outside. Even if she only remembers bits and pieces, it’s still there in her mind, Crosby. So are you. You’re also in herheart. You’re special enough that, even if it’s only a little bit, it means a whole lot.”

He turns his eyes to me and sighs, lifting a hand to cover mine on his shoulder.

“It’ll be alright.”

The drive goes alright, despite Judy insisting Crosby has been driving the wrong way the entire time, and I stifle my laughter from the backseat while trying to dodge the curious looks from Judy’s aid, Maura.

“Are you sure this is it?” Judy asks, even as we park on Main Street in Greenport across from the carousel.

“Yes, Ma,” Crosby groans, getting out of the car.

Judy links her elbow with mine as we cross the street and step onto the lawn. “I like to push his buttons,” she whispers.

Maura hangs back as we step into the thankfully short line. “I’ll be right here if you all need me.”

I let Crosby help Judy onto the carousel platform as she looks between options. “That one,” she says, pointing at a bronze and blue horse.

I smile because it’s the same one in the photo, and then I smile more because Crosby helps Judy up, mindful of her soft splint, and steps to the side, placing his hands on her shoulders.

Her laughter is that of a child, and there’s something so wholesome and genuine about the two of them together. I find myself flooded with emotion. But it’s Crosby’s smile as he continues to stand behind her as we go round and round that brings tears to my eyes. I pull out my phone, turning to snap a photo. I don’t take it in hopes that tomorrow or the next day it will help Judy remember. I take it so Crosby won’t forget.

I hop off after they decide to ride it again and stand beside Maura.

“You know,” she says quietly beside me. “My daughter would kill me if I didn’t get your autograph.”

I look over at her and nod my head. “Of course.”

“I didn’t know Ms. Judy’s son had a girlfriend. The few times he’s come, it’s always been on his own.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, I respond. “I’m not his girlfriend,” I say and opt for a somewhat believable lie. “My grandmother knew Judy.”

I hate lying, but what I hate more iswhatI’m lying about, how awful it feels to hear my own words in contrast with Crosby’s in the safety of conversation with his mother.

In between small talk with Maura, I try to hide the frown that attempts to seize my brows. And each time Crosby circles us on the carousel, his eyes narrow a little more questioningly, so I grit my teeth and shake the pout off my face. And now I know how he feels watching me play and win—like he can’t really be part of the celebrations except from a distance.

I let Crosby have this one completely. Because I think about Mason, about the times he would be high around me, and how I’d give anything for one sober moment, the chance to create onetruememory where he was only my brother and not just my brother, the heroin addict.

And, leaning against the rail, I realize I’ve been mourning him all these years, not understanding what I need to mourn is everything else—birthdays, jokes, trips, a hug after an incredibly challenging match. We lost the chance tolivebeyond our hearts beating, blood pumping, brains thinking. If I could have one more minute with Mason, I’d tell him I love him. I’d tell him I’m proud to be his sister no matter how much he hurts and struggles. I’d tell him I see him as Mason, the way Crosby sees Judy as his mother right now—more than the disease that plagues him. I’d apologize, too. I’d say I’m sorry for letting his lows turn into my highs and not sharing them with him.

I’d tell Mason I know the mistakes I made—throwing money at problems under the guise of rehab, therapy—while distancing myself physically and, worse, emotionally from him. Taking care of someone is loving them through the darkest, scariest hours, not just about providing what you think might be the solution to the problem for the days ahead.

I want Crosby to know that the risks he took and the laws he broke were worth it in the end. And I want that for me too. Because for me to continue whatever it is we have, I need to believe it.

One day, moments like this—Crosby and his mother on the carousel, the roles reversed over decades and through disease—will become memories he will want to fight tooth and nail to hold on to when in real time, he might live through them without a second thought.

Maxine fell asleep notlong after returning my mother to Rolling Meadows, and I have to gently wake her when I pull through her gate. She stretches, catlike, loosening her muscles after being curled up on the passenger seat for the hour-long drive.

“You needed that.” I state the obvious. It wasn’t only that we went to bed too late after an emotional night, but I feel bad that today was supposed to be a lazy rest day for her and instead was anything but. “Would’ve been a better nap in bed.”

She rotates her neck. “I’m okay.”

I turn off the engine and look down at my hands. “Are we?” The question leaves my mouth without giving much thought to what the answer might be. “Last night, today... it was a lot.”

It was a lot to cram into just a few hours, and part of me knows I should’ve given her space last night, but I couldn’t stand the thought of her driving even the short distance so late, and more selfishly, I wanted us to wake up together in hopes that might calm the storm I fear my admission has swept us in, which quickly turned into a hurricane with addiction at the eye.

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