Page 61 of Stuck-Up Big Shot
I stare at one of the framed pictures of Mel and me on my high school graduation day. I’m a foot and a half taller than her, so I’m bent over her like a tree, casting a shadow over her small form, my bright blue tassel from my cap dangling in her face. Her smile is big and bright. And she looked so happy.
What went wrong, Mel? Why didn’t I see it?
Another picture grabs my attention. This one is Mel and a younger Sutton. They’re both in swimsuits, their gangly teen arms flung around each other’s shoulders in proud celebration, with medals hanging from their necks. It must’ve been from one of their middle school swim meets where they’d finished in first and second place. Their smiles tell it all.
Sutton’s smile hasn’t changed in the least, even though her appearance is so vastly different from her pre-pubescent days. At that age, she was a tall, skinny girl with toothpicks for legs. Short cropped hair that never seemed to lay flat and teeth that bucked out in the front with a bit of a gap in the middle. There’s hardly any resemblance to the woman she is now.
“I remember that day like it was yesterday.”
Sutton’s voice startles me as she steps into my peripheral view, reaching for the photo and picking it up in her grasp. Her smile is wan, but filled with a tender sadness, as she replaces it on the shelf.
“She was such a natural swimmer. Competitive to a fault, but she was always striving to achieve perfection. God, Miles. She would’ve gone so far in whatever career or field she chose. I just wish...”
I close my arms around her and hold her, clinging to our connection and the spirit of Mel.
“I know, Button. I know. I wish, too.”
34
Sutton
Miles droppedBlackie and me off at the apartment so I could shower and change before rushing back over to the store. Lucy indicated no visitors were allowed just yet for Antonio at the hospital, but I was getting regular updates from her via text as she learned more from the doctor on the status of his condition.
She said they’d diagnosed him with pediatric Crohn’s disease, an inflammatory bowel disease that may require surgery to remove an inflamed part of his intestine. My heart sank as I read her texts.
Lucy: Dr says they won’t know the extent of the damage until they have a CT scan and ultrasound. Then they might have to perform surgery.
Lucy: My baby boy might have to have a portion of his colon removed.
Lucy: I am not okay.
I racked my brain trying to think of something—anything—that I could do to alleviate her pain and worry, but it’s impossible to do. She has her family and husband, Juan, by her side, and all I can do is let her know I’ll take care of things at the store, so she doesn’t have to worry.
Me: I’m so sorry, Lucy. Please don’t worry about the shop, I’ll take care of things for you. Just stay strong and know I’ll be here if you need me. Praying for you and Antonio. Xoxo
The words rang true, but hollow, as I could only console in her time of need. No mother should have to go through that with their children, and it broke my heart for this woman, who through insurmountable odds, raised three children and built a business that flourished through her tireless pursuit of perfection.
The weight of despair weighs heavily on my mind and heart as I finally get to the store to relieve the other part-time employee, Camilla, who is assisting with a customer at the moment.
Traipsing into the back storeroom, I lock my purse away in the small footlocker Lucy has for each of us and pin my nametag on my shirt. I check the clipboard hanging on the wall to see there’s a delivery scheduled for today, which means I’ll be handling inventory late into the evening tonight.
Which is just as well, it’ll help me keep my mind off of everything going on—with both Lucy and Miles.
What a crazy, wild, and emotional trip it was back to Mystic. While Miles didn’t become overly defensive when I mentioned grief counseling to him, he didn’t exactly seem thrilled by the prospect, either.
As a student of psychology, it seems clearly obvious to me that Miles has suppressed his grief over the years, and it’s eating away at him, just as Antonio’s gut disease is doing to him. The two things may be unlike in how they manifest in a person, but each equally, and without compassion, will tear at the fabric of their internal systems and destroy them if not handled properly.
For Antonio, it may mean surgery and a lifetime of medications and treatments.
For Miles, it could be managed by seeing a therapist and unloading all that grief he’s been holding onto for years.
The remainder of the day passes by relatively quickly, the shop being busy on a weekend day. Miles texted me once, earlier on in the day, and I responded with a quick, “talk later” reply because we’d been slammed.
When I did finally get a chance to text him a real reply, I mentioned I’d be working late after the shop closed to handle the inventory and restocking.
Miles: Can I bring you something to eat?
Me: You are so sweet. You don’t have to, but I’d love it.
