Page 83 of Really Truly Yours
A little bored, but that’s all. I desperately need my car back. At least once I have wheels again I can…
What can I do?
Go for ice cream at Dairy Barn?
No, dairy is a risk these days.
Visit a friend?
Ha. Any friend I had left town the first exit they found.
Get in line with the seniors in town and pick up my own prescriptions?
Ugh. My refill. The costliest one ran out this morning. No need for a calculator to add up the numbers and spit out the depressing total. Let’s see, five days until my next paycheck. My doctor would argue, but I’ve found four days without shows few noticeable effects, so five should be workable. Dipping into my meager savings is not on the table.
I stare at the ceiling, the quiet ringing in my ears.
My phone vibrates on the coffee table, interrupting my solitude. Nope. Spam risk.
My feet hit the carpet. Donny must be doing well. He would have called by now otherwise. He sounded like a kid in a candy shop yesterday, telling me about his new place, listing off amenities that make me wonder if he’ll ever want to come home. I’m happy for him, and I understand him not responding to my messages.
An update from Grayson might have been nice.
But two days of nothing is a reminder of who I am in this mix.
Grayson
Legally, I believe Dr. Stanwick, team doc or no, is bound to keep my secret. Ownership never need hear of the great air conditioner caper.
Nonetheless, Stanwick gave me the what-for, inhumanly unsympathetic regarding the plight that caused the setback. Coaxing an agreement out of him took some doing. In the end, he consented to adopt a wait-and-see approach and reexamine after the season, and I promised on all my ancestors’ graves not to lift anything heavier than my wallet during that same time period.
Deal.
He did not say I couldn’t run, bummer. So, here I am, with the sun lazing its way over the horizon, giving my all and still barely meeting Tripp’s pace. I may be the pro athlete, but we have different builds, and the one the gene pool bestowed upon him is ideal for running. I’m strong, but I’m big and clunky, too.
Few others are up and at ’em this early on a Saturday, all in all a good thing, because when our four miles are up, my brother is going to receive news whether he wants it or not.
Not it is.
On the final uphill to the park, to the spot where the trail circles a small lake, eventually turning us back the way we came, I offer silent prayers. Repressed doubt wavered in Avery’s eyes despite her assertions of confidence, when I told her today was the day. Knowing she’s home on her knees gives me a measure of peace.
An older man casts his line in the placid water as Tripp and I complete the circular trail around the lake’s edge. A minute later, huffing and puffing, we slow to a walk. To our left is a grassy field dotted with scrubby mesquite trees. Hidden amongst them are a family of deer, stilled like statues as we pass.
My focus is on the bench a hundred yards ahead.
Tripp reaches behind, placing a hand on his upper back, pressing his elbow down for a solid stretch. “Got something on your mind, bro?”
“What do you mean?”
He switches arms. “I don’t know. Catching some weird vibes over there.”
May not make the bench after all. Okay, Lord. “Been thinking about some stuff, yeah.”
“Donny?”
“Yes.”
He nods as if he knew it all along. Thing is, he doesn’t know that there’s a missile loaded and locked onto him. “How’s the old guy doing?”