Page 9 of Dream Chaser
I swallow the lump in my throat. “And that fool spent the rest of his life making sure you never had to wonder if he loved you.”
“Until his last breath.”
The way she says that—with a smile in her voice—eases some of the worry that she’s in Mississippi alone. I asked her to move here after he passed, and she informed me that she would never live anywhere but Nettle Ridge, Mississippi.
When I signed, I bought them a house. I wanted to buy one that was on the beach, but they didn’t want that. Too expensive, they’d said. I bought one on the ridge with an ocean view. They fought like crazy about it, too; made me put it in my name. Not gonna lie, it pissed me off a bit, because I wanted to do that for them. Hell, they raised their child, then raised me.
Gramps confessed later he didn’t want my mother and me butting heads over it when they weren’t here anymore. Wanted to make sure it was mine. I told him that was fine as long as they sold their place and made sure they spent it on themselves. They never spent a dime frivolously, but he did use a big chunk of it to buy Grand a new engagement ring. I also bought a fishing boatand slip at the marina. Neither of them complained about that since they both love to fish.
Gramps last day on earth, we went fishing. Came home so he could take a nap, and then we were all going to golf after. He didn’t wake up.
Glad I was there for Gran. Glad he looked peaceful, too. But fuck, that day sucked.
“You comin’ to the Philly game?” I ask, knowing damn well she won’t fly.
There’s a beat of silence on her end. “No, baby. I’m saving my energy for thebig one.I plan on being front row when you knock some poor fool into next week.”
My chest tightens. “You sure? I’ll send a car with a driver and?—”
“I’m not some delicate bird,” she says. “Just conserving fuel. But I’ll be there for the last game, and you better make it count.”
“I will.”
Another pause. Then she says softly, “Your granddad would be so proud of you, Griffon. He was already proud. But this—where you are now?—you did that on your own.”
“Because of the two of you.”
She sighs. “Because of you. I just reminded you you’re worth the trouble.”
We’re both quiet for a second, and then she asks, “Heard from your parents?”
I glance at the photo on my mantle—me at five, arms around my baby sister in a pink hat. She’s beaming. I look like I understand something I shouldn’t.
“No,” I say. “Not since Christmas.”
She clicks her tongue. “They’ll call on your birthday, like always. August eleventh, right on schedule. Probably while your daddy’s standing in some decorated mess hall, making a speech about honor and sacrifice.”
I hold back the anger that Mom hasn’t visited once since Grandpa passed last summer.
She laughs, low and wry. “They’re doing what needs to be done for our country.”
I don’t remind her Grandad and her used to always say God, Family, Country, in that order. Why would I? It would just hurt her.
I close my eyes. “It still sucks.”
“I know it does.”
We sit in that quiet a little while longer, and then she says, “Well, my boy, I am going to head to bed. The ladies and I are going golfing early in the morning to beat the heat.”
“PGA tour in your future?” I ask.
“I’ll leave the pros to you.” She yawns. “Get some rest. I want you playing your best when the girls and I watch you beat those birds on Sunday.”
“For you, I will.”
“And that girl of yours?”
I smile. “She’s not mine, and even if she were, you know you’ll always be my number one.”
