Page 15 of Distant Shores
4
IRELAND
Longboarding had always been both bliss and escape, especially with the wind blowing my hair back and German bands blasting in my eardrums loud enough to drown out my thoughts.
It just wasn’t working today.
“Let’s cut to the chase, Miss Sewell. Mr. Sewell’s current program is good, but not great. We’ve determined that he would benefit from a change in his living situation. In short, we believe a roommate would benefit Mr. Sewell greatly.”
Director Links, along with Dad’s entire care team, agreed.
A roommate.
Dad living with a stranger.
Change,danger… and more decisions that were solely on my shoulders.
Like the one I’d been running from when I grabbed my board and pushed off onto the road right outside Zinnia House.
I’d sold Dad’s beloved Vespa.
With my feet planted on my board and sweat that hadnothing to do with the sun rolling down my neck, I flew down the gated streets of Live Oak, and since the music wasn’t helping me zone out, I locked in instead, working through the tangled web of emotions that only ever seemed to get messier.
The sad truth of it was that I only felt the ghost of guilt about selling the Vespa. It was only when the holographic words “Even Broken Crayons Color” became unreadable scraps as I scraped off the faded vinyl bumper sticker that I’d felt the twinge of regret.
But generally, I felt almost nothing. Not even relief at having enough money to continue paying for his care. Desperation had just about hollowed me out. The only times I felt normal were the quiet moments spent with Gil, but those had been infrequent. I had no house-sits on the horizon, and I was getting paranoid enough about being kicked out of Zinnia House for couch crashing that I’d taken to staying up half the night in the dark of the dance studio or dozing in the Cadillac.
Apartment hunting had been a nightmare.
Even the least-expensive ones that were within longboarding distance of Live Oak were way out of budget. I’d considered keeping the Vespa for that reason alone, but Live Oak offered a discount if I paid for three months at a time, and I’d been just under the amount I needed for April to June.
Most nights I stayed up late reading every article and forum I could find on Alzheimer’s disease, so I at least had a new arsenal of techniques to try with Dad, and most of them have been effective. And when Dad lay down for his daily nap, I was usually exhausted enough to fall asleep on the couch the minute my head hit the throw pillow.
Balancing my foot off the board, I pushed harder andharder until the wind whipped my hair wildly, the Gulf Coast air soothing as much of my stress as it could.
A big ask.
Gil’s wife, Arizona, was expecting me in just a few minutes, so this would be my last circuit around campus.
Keeping my balance centered as the houses and palm trees blurred on either side of me, I took my foot off the board again, thigh flexing as I prepared to drag my foot on the asphalt and slow down before the next turn.
But then I just… didn’t.
This felt too good to stop.
I put my foot back on the board and bent my knees, my blood pumping hot and fast as I continued to gain speed. Camellia Lane loomed ahead, and I pressed my weight into my toes and braced to make the turn onto it.
I laughed as I turned sharply, wildly, without busting my ass, but it choked off and turned into a gasp when I saw something—someone—directly in my path.
I was going to plow right into him.
Leaning my weight back onto my heels, I curved hard to the left, my heart falling from my throat to the pit of my stomach as I overcorrected. I had just enough sense and time to dig my heels harder into the board so I could cut a path closer to the grassy median near the sidewalk. The second I could see the individual blades of grass, I faced the inevitable and bailed.
Throwing myself forward, I flew through the air and sent a silent prayer to the wispy clouds above that everyone had cleaned up after their dogs this morning. Then I landed with a grunt and skidded across the grass on my hands and knees.
A harsh exhale escaped me, like a Mack truck releasing its brakes, as I came to a stop under the shade of a waving palm tree.
My head hung forward as adrenaline surged through me in a perfect, beautiful way. Instead of breathing, I soaked it in, smiling as my hair hung down, curtaining my face and hiding it from the world.
