Page 116 of Dream Chaser
Will I make the thirty days? We’ll see.
Every day, it gets harder to stay away, and we’re only seven days—fucking seven, man. I’m so whipped.
I thought I got why Iz said she was never leaving Blue Valley. It’s beautiful, and her whole life is there. But it hits deeper now. As bad as I wanna go back, I know Grand needs me. Her best friend, Miss Lissette, told me Grand only fully lights up like the old her when I’m around.
I know she loves Mississippi, the Ridge, her friends, which is why I would never ask her to move. But the fucking headtrip I’m on, one I’m looking at my future in a way I never have, I want Grand there, need her there. Maybe not all the time, but fuck, I miss her and Gramps coming to games. I can’t imagine having little Grizzes—oh yeah, I shipped us, fucking hard, too—one day and her not being part of it.
Grand refuses to fly. She told me that every time she visited my parents when we were a family, or at least that’s what I thought family was. The plane had some issue, and she’s just not doing it anymore. Can’t blame her, but have thought about giving her some bennies—Benadryl doesn’t make her drowsy as hell, not that other shit—and dragging her on a plane.
I suspect there’s another reason she doesn’t fly anymore. The last flight she and Gramps took was a long one. They came to be with my mother and flew back with us from Okinawa to bring my sister home.
It’s day eight, and Grand informs me that Tuesday afternoons in Nettle Ridge have not changed because I’m home. What that means is there will be iced tea sweating on the table, something peachy cooling on the stove, and three retired Southern women getting ready to demolish me at cards like it’s their personal mission.
“Miss Lissette,” I greet as she walks in wearing a visor that reads“Queen of Hearts” in rhinestones. “You takin’ it easy on me today, or are we goin’ full-contact?”
“Don’t sass me, Griffon Skinner,” she says, setting her purse down and pulling out a deck like it’s a weapon. “You’re not too pretty to lose.”
Grand cackles from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “He gets that lip from his daddy’s side. Sit your butt down—we’re playin’ Spite and Malice.”
I take the seat between Miss Dottie and Miss Lissette, Grand across from me, the keeper of the discard pile.
“Now, remind me the rules again,” I say, knowing full well that the minute I ask, they smell blood in the water.
Miss Dottie leans in, whispering, “It’s like Solitaire if Solitaire had a mean older sister.”
I barely get my cards sorted before Miss Lissette is already throwing down a wild and beaming like she just scored a touchdown.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Grand scolds, even as she slaps down a queen and robs me of any chance of building my pile.
“You know what this game is?” I say, leaning back, half-laughing. “It’s emotionally rigged Uno.”
“Oh, hush,” Grand says, sipping her tea. “It builds character.”
“Character? Or lifelong trust issues?”
Miss Lissette waves her hand. “You big bad football boys crumble under pressure, but one retired church pianist plays a six, and you get all up in your feelings.”
“I am absolutely up in my feelings, Miss Lissette,” I deadpan. “You cut me deep.”
Grand’s eyes twinkle across the table. “He gets dramatic when he’s losing.”
“I am not—” I look at my pitiful hand. “Okay, I might be losing.”
Miss Dottie pats my forearm. “At least you’re pretty, sweetheart.”
I keep a smile on for the ladies, despite the fact I’m getting my ass handed to me. They deserve the full dose of Skinnercharm. Hell, I even know Grand’s stacking the deck, and I don’t even care.
I post a video in my stories of the “Big Game” and pan in on Grand. Caption:She still cheats.
I check to see if Iz posted, and she hasn’t. But a couple of minutes later, I get a notification because, of course, I set it up so when she posts, I’m alerted.
She posts a picture of her when she was little—like before boobs age—mud-covered with a trophy nearly as big as her. Caption:Still play to win. Still covered in dirt. Still …
Grand asks, “Love note?”
I turn the phone around and show her little Iz. “Look at her, Grand. She was pretty even then.”
