Page 23 of Nights at Seaside
“Theresa?” Leanna said in a hushed tone. “She’s going to be mortified that she put the wrong address on the order.”
That only made them laugh harder.
“Shh.” Bella pointed across the gravel road, where Theresa stood in front of her house in a polo shirt and pleated shorts, her short hair layered in a 1980s style. They couldn’t make out what she was saying, but her face was beet red, and she was shaking her head like she was arguing with Carl.
Carl left the box with her, and all the girls turned around so he wouldn’t see that they were watching him.
“Bella, did you—”
“Shh.” Bella hushed Sky. “Another summer of scheming.”
“Bella!” Amy covered her mouth. “She is going to find out and get you back.”
“On that note, I think I’m going to run,” Sky said.
“Aren’t you going to text Sawyer back before you leave?” Leanna asked as Sky stepped off the deck.
“You girls have had enough entertainment for one morning. Besides, I need to think of a worthy response. I don’t think,Let me show you my dark and wild side, cuts it.”Although it’s exactly what I want to do.
Chapter Seven
SAWYER WIPED THE sweat from his brow and set the hammer down on the deck. He’d been trying to beat away his frustrations by working on the wheelchair ramp that would eventually run from the deck on the back of the house to the patio below, so his father could enjoy the views of the bay. But the more he pounded, the more he thought about Roach’s comment about his mother. He sank back on his heels and shielded his eyes from the blazing sun, battling the unanswerable questions.
Was he doing the right thing?
Would he be lucky enough not to get knocked out?
Normally, Sawyer had unwavering confidence. He felt as invincible as he had his whole life—except now, when he looked at his father, he couldn’t deny the what-ifs. Heck, look at Muhammad Ali. He was the best, and even the best couldn’t escape the very real possibility that Sawyer denied existed every day of his life.
He pulled his knees up and crossed his arms over them. Sweat dripped down his sides as he ran through a few boxing nightmares he kept locked away for his own sanity. He’d memorized them, because even though he’d never allowed himself to lose confidence over them, hehadto know what he was up against. In order to win, he had to be aware of the risks.Duk-Koo Kim, died four days after a nineteen-round fight with Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini. Frankie Campbell died at the hands of Max Baer. Benny “Kid” Paret, welterweight champ, went into a coma after a twelve-round fight and died ten days later. Billy Collins Jr. lost his vision because of a cheating opponent who had removed padding from his gloves.
Tragedies happened, but it wasn’t going to happen to him.
He picked up his tools and headed inside to shower.
Half an hour later Sawyer drove to his parents’ house in Hyannis with the radio blaring and the windows down. Anything to block out his thoughts. The workout, the renovation work, the cold shower…Nothing pushed him past what Roach had said, which was why he needed to go see his parents—to remind himself of exactly why he needed to train harder and remain focused.
He gritted his teeth against the stupid word.Focus.Not only was he trying to erase what Roach had said, but he’d had a heck of a time keeping thoughts of Sky from permeating his mind when he was in the ring—and that was dangerous.
He glanced at his cell on the passenger seat. The text from Sky about waking up together tomorrow had him thrumming with the anticipation of seeing her again. He’d never met anyone like her. She was a bright, welcome light to his intense days and as ethereal as she was real, but he couldn’t shake the worry about getting close to her with the fight looming over his head. He couldn’t afford to be sidetracked during training or during the fight. It was all dangerous territory—but no way had he been able to stop thinking about her.
He tried again to push away thoughts of Sky as he pulled up in front of his childhood home. When Sawyer was growing up, the cedar-sided Cape-style home had been the most welcoming place on earth. With scents of his mother’s cooking lingering and his father’s books lining the walls, there was no place he’d rather be. Now, each time he pulled up to the house, his gut tightened, and he wondered how much his father’s health had declined in the days since he’d last seen him. Returning after traveling for fights was the worst. While Sawyer was away, he could pretend his father was the resilient man he remembered from his youth. And it wasn’t until he’d drive down the street, bracing himself for the truth after being away, that reality would puncture the bubble he’d lived in in order to keep his focus. Each time he saw his father, the pain of his declining health hit him anew.
After this many years, he should be used to the fact that his father could no longer smile, that his voice—once so filled with life he could read a passage of the most boring book and make it come alive—was now monotone, cold and emotionless.
He parked in the driveway and waved to Mrs. Petzhold, the same neighbor he’d been caught mouthing off to as a kid. She smiled and waved. Her hair had turned snow-white over the years, and her waist had thickened. After spending time with Roach and learning more about respecting others than he’d ever thought possible, he’d sought out Mrs. Petzhold and apologized—profusely.
Sawyer had been thankful for her forgiveness, and now he was glad that the neighbors his parents knew and trusted had remained on the street. His mother, Lisa Bass, was not the type to complain, but Sawyer knew that watching the man she’d loved since she was eighteen stricken with a disease that would one day render him unable to so much as embrace her was taking a toll on her. His father was a solemn man, who’d preferred his privacy to the camaraderie of friends and neighbors even when he’d been healthy, but he knew that his mother needed their emotional support.
He was happy to find his parents on the back patio, enjoying the beautiful, sunny day. Although his father was still able to handle most of his daily functions on his own, Sawyer had noticed that his gait had not only slowed but had become even more unsteady. He walked with a cane now but refused to use a walker no matter how many times Sawyer and his mother pleaded with him. Tad Bass was a stubborn man. Sawyer knew from talking with his father’s doctor and researching the illness online that the progression of the disease could happen quickly and the risk of falls would increase twofold. As his father’s automatic reflexes continued to slow, his ability to perform simple daily tasks would one day diminish altogether, and he’d need full-time care.
He bent to kiss his mother’s cheek, and she reached up and embraced him.
“Hi, honey,” she said. “What a lovely surprise.” Lisa was in her late fifties, almost ten years younger than his father, although with his father’s deteriorating health, they looked even further apart in age.
“Hi, Mom.” He turned to hug his father, and the familiar pang of longing for the smiles his father had once shared so readily stabbed through him. Facial masking was what his father’s doctor had called his father’s inability to control his facial muscles. An infliction brought on by Parkinson’s. His father’s expression didn’t change when he opened his arms to his son, but when Sawyer embraced the man who had raised him, who had preached about the importance of loyalty and keeping strong morals and ethics, the man who had taught him to throw a baseball, he felt love radiating around him. His father had responded fairly well to the medications. The tremors that had been exacerbated while his father was resting were now favorably controlled and barely noticeable, but when he embraced his father, he often felt the underlying, minimized movements.
“How’s it going, Dad?”
