Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Life has moved on without me.
I rub my shoulder, feeling the tightness of the muscles while wondering where I fit into this world, or even how I fit anymore. Maybe I don’t. But I’m still hoping to figure out why I jumped on a plane the first opportunity I was given instead of booking that ticket to Fiji like I’d planned.
I’m pretty sure I’m not getting the answers on a ten-minute walk. I’ll set that aside in my mind to enjoy being here again.
A few animals are sheltering in the nearby barn when I pass it to head up the front porch. As I tug the screen door open, it squeals like no one found the time to oil it in the past ten years. Probably didn’t.
My dad tended to overlook those kinds of tasks, which annoyed my mom. He could work and run an entire farm and cattle ranch, even manage the small crew working the orchard, but taking two minutes to oil a squeaky screen door always remained on the list at the end of the day.
I’ll take care of it like I did back then. I just won’t have my mom standing nearby praising me like I was Superman who just saved the world. She always valued the little things the most, preferring a horrible finger painting from school to a piece of jewelry. Being home again pulls random memories closer more often. I can still see her holding the necklace I bought when I signed my Major League contract, and the way she admired it around her neck. “This is too much, Griffin. Where would I wear something so fancy?” The words are still so clear. It’s her voice that’s fading.
When I open the freezer, packs of ice line the door compartment like my dad still has athletes at home to nurse back to health. I have a feeling it’s another thing left on a list somewhere. He’s also recovering from knee surgery, so I leave some in there for him. I grab a couple of packs and head to the hall closet. If I’m home, I want to soak in the time I’m here. I drag my finger down the boxes, landing on a puzzle, then tug it free from the others.
Moving into the living room, I pull the coffee table closer to the couch and dump the pieces out. I don’t remember a time when my mom didn’t have a work-in-progress puzzle set out on this table. But when the others went to bed, she would sometimes let me stay up later and scavenge for pieces with her.
The house was quiet, except for the low hum of a late-night TV show in the background. That time meant more to me than she knew because she always made me feel special.
I open the side table drawer and pull out a roll of athlete’s tape. She always made me sit in this very spot on the couch and get taped up when I was injured and heading into a game. If she could see me now . . . Trying to pretend I’m still twenty-five. I wrap the tape around the packs and over my shoulder to secure them in place. The ice doesn’t bother me. I’m used to the numbing sensation.
The first few puzzle pieces come together easily, but the green pasture will be a challenge. I have the time, it seems—a few days at least to knock this out.
But busying my hands doesn’t busy my mind, which is already wandering back to Cricket Dover of all things. Talk about a wrench being thrown into a plan. She may have popped up at the stadium and back into my life, but I know one thing for certain. I don’t believe in coincidences.
Damn. I did not see her coming . . .
CHAPTER 6
Cricket
The soft slumbering sounds on my chest have me tightening my hold around Jacob. Should I have kept him up an extra hour just to spend more time together? Probably not, but I don’t regret it. My father would say I’m spoiling him. If loving him and giving him my undivided attention is spoiling him, he’ll be rotten to the core. Seeing his pure joy from eating french fries and chicken nuggets while watching cartoons together is worth it.
It was important to me to give Jacob what I always wanted as a child, especially since he only has me. Rushed routines or the staleness of eating dinner at a banquet table in the formal dining room weren’t things I valued. And my mom remained oblivious to our misery as we sat ten feet from each other while we were served dinner. Why pretend we’re living like it was the Gilded Age when we could have been a real family? My brother and I just wanted parents we could talk to and hang out with.