Page 11 of Blitz
“Ahoy mateys! Gary’s Goofy Golf Galley is still open if you’d like some root beer and a platter of barnacle fries after your game!” Gary announced as we pushed through the door leading out of the golf course.
I shot Trick a questioning look.
“I could use a root beer,” he said, his tone reserved.
So, we followed Gary—who had acquired a fake peg leg during our game—to a small café with one long bar. The soundtrack forPirates of Penzancewas now playing as we climbed up onto stools that resembled barrels. Felt like sitting on a barrel too.
Trick threw a glance my way after Gary arrived with our root beers, fries, and yet another thank you for his signed hat. Seemed his son had Downs and loved the Pumas. Since there was no pro team in Harrisburg, Gary explained, it was either root for Pittsburgh or Philadelphia. I jokingly—mostly—said that he had chosen wisely. Gary nearly wept as he shakily wrote hisaddress on a nautical napkin. Then, I told him to look for some season tickets in the mail for him and his boy. When Gary moved away to make a call, I felt Trick’s stare burning a hole in the side of my head.
“You want to say something?” I asked, turning my barrel stool to the left to face him.
He frowned at his bottle of root beer before speaking. “You’re unreal. Do you naturally come by this All-American Goody Two-Shoes shtick, or do you have to work at it?”
“It’s not that hard to be kind, Trick. And as for Gary and his son… my stepmother has a brother who has Downs. It’s one of the charities that I donate to and volunteer for the most because I know just how hard it is for parents and loved ones to find the resources they need. I can afford to be generous now.”
He stared at me as if I were speaking some long-dead language. “Why now?”
“Why can I afford to be generous now?” He nodded, his right index finger moving in circles over the lip of his bottle as he studied me intently. “Because I make a stupid amount of money. I don’t have a wife or kids, just a dog, and so I like to help. I grew up without much. Mom was a clerk at a law office. Then, she died, and I went to live with my father. Four boys in a middle class rowhouse. Dad and his wife both worked hard to keep us fed and clothed, but it was tight at times. So, when I got my first contract, I vowed I’d give back. What charities do you support?”
“I um… I do a lot with dogs.”
“Yeah, you and I are blessed. We make more money than most people can ever dream of making, so handing it to those in need just feels good. You know.”
“Course, yeah, I know.”
But as he lingered in silence over his pop, I had to wonder if he reallydidknow. And if he didn’t, then what kind of upbringing did he have if he was lacking in such a basic thing asempathy and graciousness. He intrigued me. I needed to know more, peel back a few of his layers to see what I could find.
“So, since we tied, no clear victor was determined,” I said and got a curious look from him. “Which is better football players or hockey players. I’m not sure I can go on without knowing, so if you’re feeling it, why not drive out to Philly for a few days? Team practice is open to the public. You can see me be amazing, then we can go do another nine holes.”
He pursed his lips. Fighting back a smile of sorts before he stared me right in the eye.
“Sure, I can do that. Give me your phone.” I did. He filled in his number and then, passed it back. “Thanks for being mediocre.”
He rose and walked off, leaving me laughing so hard I nearly fell off my barrel.
FIVE
Trick
It startedlike it always did—with the sound of a lock sliding into place. Cold metal. My stomach flipped, and I was sweating, though the room was freezing. Flashes came next: white walls, rows of chairs, theclinkof a belt buckle. Words on repeat. Perversion. Broken. Wrong. I didn’t mean to be bad. I just was. That’s what they said. That’s what they made me say. They wanted me to pray harder, cry harder, be better. Fix it. Cleanse it. Scream it out. Someone gripped my shoulders too tightly. My knees hurt. My throat was raw. I said things I didn’t believe and heard voices telling me I was loved. That love would save me. If only I repented hard enough. The Devil is in you. The Devil is in you.
I looked to one side and there was someone there, reaching a hand out… a sister… Rebecca. Why was she in this room with me? I’m her big brother; I won’t let them hurt her.
She looked like Dad, but she was crying, and Dad never cried. She pointed at the mirror. My reflection was all Dad. Lips thin, eyes stormy with religious fervor. A stranger.
You need to leave.
You need to go.
And then, silence. Except for the locked door.
I woke with a start, tangled in the sheets and completely disoriented. My heart thudded as if I’d sprinted a mile, breath shallow as I stared at the ceiling, trying to remember what day it was, what city, what life I was living. The dream was already fading, but my head hurt. My mouth was dry. And all I felt was this itch, this need to do something, say something, fix something. Why was Rebecca in my dreams?
I’d read the file before going to sleep, photos, evidence, a timeline, sworn statements from her mom, proof of a payoff and regular monthly payments. Added to that, the fact that my father was involving lawyers? Yeah, there was no doubt she was my dad’s daughter.
But did that make her my sister in anything but blood.
If I have a sister, maybe I wouldn’t feel so lonely.
