Page 92 of Really Truly Yours
The crew heartily join in.
Alright then. Here it is.
Sydnee
Coming from behind, Houston pulls out the win. Cheers erupt.
“If you’d been on the mound, son, it wouldn’t have been such a nailbiter.”
The nuclear smile on Donny’s face hasn’t dimmed a single wattage since we arrived. I’m happy he’s happy. That’s what counts.
Gray ordered pizza at the start of the game. Shortly after, it struck me that pizza is not on Donny’s post-heart attack diet, not that he could be told otherwise, and certainly not by me. Turns out pizza wasn’t on the diet of several of Donny’s fan club, either. Not only that, some of the pack didn’t have quite the stamina of the rest, filtering off for bed long about the fifth inning.
My legs ache as I gather trash and stack a handful of red plastic cups left from the festivities.
Worse, a pain low in my abdomen doesn’t bode well for my goal of four days without medication. No, five. Great. Half of the people here tonight seem to be faring better than me at a third their age.
A hand lands on my shoulder, stirring my hair. Its warmth quickly seeps through the sweater I can’t seem to go without and curled myself into before Houston’s first at-bat. “Let me get this, Sydnee. It’s my mess.”
Gray towers at my side. He’s hardly solely responsible for the chaos left behind. “Tell you what, you find a trash can for those giant pizza boxes and I’ll take care of the small stuff.”
Strong fingers squeeze. “Sounds like a plan. And then we’ll get you home.”
Don’t cry, Syd. I hate that my frailty shows. I’m young. I’m not supposed to relate so acutely to the residents of Arbor Crest. Most of all, tonight at least, I hate that Gray sees.
On the other hand, if it distracts him from his own troubles, the ones that drove him to my house in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, then I guess I’m okay with it.
I feel my lips edge up into a smile as I reach for a wad of tomatoey napkins. Donny, even at the late hour, beams with pure pride. Gray has risen to the occasion and made an old man’s wishes come true. My prayer now is that the moody Tripp will come around. Until then, the victory is incomplete.
When the tables are trash-free and wiped down, the three of us amble to Donny’s unit. He pushes his walker along, his giant boot clunking with every step.
The fresh, neat-as-a-pin apartment settles every last worry I’ve fretted. This place is heaven for a guy like him.
Did I say neat as a pin? An exaggeration, I realize, once I get a good look at the electric recliner that’s become his new place to be. Much like at home, the adjacent end table is littered with old tissues, pill bottles, and water glasses.
I start with the trash items until the same hand from earlier lands on me again, at my waist this time, tingling where they touch. “I’ll get that junk, Syd.” Gray puts intent behind the words, nudging me out of the way. He pinches a particularly nasty looking tissue and holds it up. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“I don’t mind.” I’ve been doing it for a long time now.
“I know you don’t. But I’m here now.”
The simple words kick up sand around my heart. Donny has this new place, new people.
Who do I have?
It’s well past ten o’clock, and Donny is fading. “What meds do you need before bed, Donny?” I return to the table where the prescription bottles are now gathered neatly near the base of a lamp.
“Tuff can get them for me.”
The knife sinks deeper. “Okay.”
At the kitchen sink, Gray scrubs his hands with soap and water. “Sydnee knows more about your stuff than I do. Let her help, Dad.”
As if the legendary Mother of All Bombs has detonated, oxygen is sucked from the room.
Gray freezes. “That is, Donny.”
“Son…”