Page 111 of Really Truly Yours

Sounds like his brother isn’t the only save-the-world member of the family. “What do your parents do?”

“Mom stayed home with us kids when we were young. She’s a high school English teacher now. Dad is a university professor. Economics.”

“They sound smart.” And educated. Probably sophisticated.

“They are. The whole lot of them.”

The quick and concise statement ripples the air at the table. I pick up a pita chip, hovering it over the plate. If I pry, that opens the door for him to do the same.

After consuming twice what I have, he pushes the plate away and leans onto his arms. He’s already shoved up the sleeves of his sweater, revealing muscled forearms. The sparkly gold ring with lots of embedded diamonds flashes. “All my siblings received at least partial academic scholarships.” His gaze dips, rising quickly. “I struggled in school. Always. Sports were my thing. I’m pretty sure I’d never have had the wherewithal to make it through college without help.”

“Help?”

He looks apologetic. “Athletes do get special treatment. In my case, I got loads of free tutoring. What about you? What kind of student were you, Sydnee Lou?”

The hurry-along of conversation is transparent, so I appreciate his vulnerability for what it is. “School was good for me. It was my refuge.” When I could stay late at the library or lock myself in my room and bury my mind in reading and learning, I was happiest. I think that side of me made Dad and Max resent me all the more. “Did your parents support you playing baseball?”

I can tell my answer leaves him dissatisfied, but he moves along. “Academics were the priority, and they did what they could to help in that arena. Once it became obvious baseball was the real deal for me, they jumped on board there, too.” He chuckles. “My dad used to be the most un-sports-minded person ever. Mom, too. Now, they never miss a game. Every so often, Dad has to restrain her from tackling the umpire.”

“That’s too funny.” What must that kind of love and familial support have been like?

The conversation lightens, moving along to emotionally neutral subjects, like the skyline’s lights and other downtown amenities.

The entrées arrive. The meat is tender and practically melts in my mouth. My medicine is slowly kicking back in, so I think I’m good on that front.

Later, Gray talks me into splitting a slice of cheesecake. As the waiter pours a cup of coffee for Gray, I notice for at least the third time the middle-aged man at the table beside us stealing looks.

Gray scoots the dessert plate toward me and waits for me to take the tip of the slice. Same as the meal, it dissolves on my tongue.

The lady next to us gathers her purse into her lap, and her balding husband scoots his chair from the table and swings his legs around. “Excuse me. I noticed your ring. May I ask about it?”

Gray grabs his napkin, covering his mouth, trying to chew and swallow the ill-timed bite, or rather, to accommodate the ill-timed question. His smile is polite. “Yes, sir.” His chin dips a little, almost as if embarrassed. “World championship.”

The man wags his finger. “I thought your face was familiar. Gray Smith, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Awesome!” He leans across the aisle. “May I?” He nods toward Gray’s hand, which Gray moves to the edge of the tablecloth.

“Of course.”

The man takes a thorough look at the crop of diamonds and other colorful stones set into the hunk of gold. He shakes his head. “Man, that’s something. But you do know you’re in the wrong part of the state, right?”

Gray grins. “I know. Be kind.”

The man chuckles. “Of course. Cheering your team on now. Think your guys will take it?”

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

“How’s the shoulder?”

“It’s coming along.”

They shake hands, the wife smiles at us both, and they leave.

Gray swallows a sip of coffee. “Sorry for the interruption. I hate it when that happens. The ring draws attention though.”

I lock my fingers together on the table’s edge. “And yet you choose to wear it when you go out.”

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