Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Markie
He hasn’t mentioned Nevada.
That sentence has rolled around in my head at least once every-other-hour since Sunday afternoon. For three days, I’ve wondered if today would be the day he brings it up. That he explains what his plan is … and if it includes me in any way.
I’ve tried not to get too optimistic about it because optimism and I have had a very love-hate relationship over the years. If I think too positively about something, it generally spirals out of control. But pessimism is no fun, either. If only finding that middle ground was easier.
Thunder rumbles through the sky, and I wish I could growl along with it.
The endless rain hasn’t helped my mood at all.
Jory and I were supposed to practice every day this week leading up to the tournament on Thursday, but we barely got a run in yesterday.
The rain has come down in waves, accompanied by all sorts of thunder and lightning. It’s been dreary just like my mood.
It’s a good thing that he’s a pro athlete with exceptional skills, and I’m basically a pro pickleballer. Our chemistry is off the charts, so we can get away with less practice than everybody else. I hope.
“I hate math,” Gus sings. His math packet is open on my coffee table, and he does occasionally glance down at it. But mostly his attention is on the sports talk show on the television that his dad turned on about an hour ago. “I really hate math.”
“Have you ever heard that you get more flies with honey than vinegar?” I ask Gus.
“No.”
“Well, it’s true.” I think. “But math kind of works the same way. If you bring a positive attitude, it gets easier.”
And I’m a hypocrite. I’ve tried to bring a positive attitude, which isn’t the same as optimism, to this situation with Jory and it hasn’t fixed a damn thing—or made it easier.
“Have you done any of it?” Jory asks from the couch. He’s dozed off and on all afternoon. “You’re not doing anything else until you finish a lesson.”
“That sucks,” Gus says sarcastically. “I was planning on going outside in the sunshine with my friends today. Guess I won’t do that.”
I tap him on the shoulder. “Don’t.”
He makes a face at me but does turn back to his work.
I pull up the bracket for the hundredth time and map out our path to the championship.
We got a good draw with a bye for day one, so we should have one game on Thursday.
Neither of the two teams playing each other before they get to us is all that great.
I’ve played at least one player on both of them before and it’s not going to be a problem for me and Jory.
We should go into Friday in the winner’s bracket and play two games.
Game one will be a piece of cake. Game two, depending on how things shake out, could get tougher.
And then comes Saturday. The title game is at noon. And, unless they really botch their games, our opponents should be Jasper and Courtney.
I love it when a plan comes together.
Jory’s phone rings. He takes a look at the screen and then answers it. “Hello?” He listens and then sits upright, his face etched with concern. “What’s wrong?”
My stomach tightens as I watch his emotions drift across his features.
“Can you hang on a sec?” His brows pull together as he stands, looking at me. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
He walks through the kitchen and onto the back porch.
Gus groans. “Can we turn on something else now? This is boring.”
“You don’t like sports?” I ask, side-eyeing the door. “I thought you played all kinds of stuff.”
“I do. But that doesn’t mean I want to watch it all the time.”
I blow out a breath, wishing I could eavesdrop on Jory’s conversation. The way his tone changed and his demeanor stiffened, I know that something’s wrong. The shiver snaking down my spine cosigns my intuition.
“You’re not supposed to be watching television, anyway. The festival starts tomorrow and you don’t want to be in here for the rest of the week doing math, do you?”
He spins around, suddenly reengaged with the idea of actually doing his work. “So, what you’re saying is that if I do my work tonight, I can avoid this packet until Monday?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “Why not? Four days won’t hurt you.”
“I love you, Markie.”
Wish your dad did, too, kid.
The thought comes out of nowhere before I can think it through—before I can decide whether I feel that way or if I’m just being dramatic. But it’s so natural, almost a given at this point, that there’s not much to argue.
I think I love him.
The floor tilts beneath my feet as I wrestle with that sentence. It’s terrifying and it makes me want to puke. And it’s so me of me to fall in love with a guy with no interest in staying in Sugar Creek … or with me for the long haul, it seems.
A swell of warmth, accompanied by a sharp pain, rises in my chest. I’ve fought this feeling since lunch at Lolly’s.
It’s an emotional tightrope of wanting an answer—am I just your summer fling?
Of wanting to tell him the truth—I love you, Jory.
And of wanting to do the most Markie thing of all and cut him loose before any real, lasting damage can be done.
I usually have no problem doing that. See ya later, alligator. But I can’t justify having him in town for three or four more weeks and passing him in Miller’s and saying hi like I do with everyone else, because even I can’t act casually around a unicorn.
I just have to figure out how to enjoy these weeks and know it’s going to be over. Just try to minimize the destruction.
The door creaks open and Jory pokes his head around the corner. His eyes are wary and that sends a shot of bile up my throat.
“Markie? Can you come here for a minute?” he asks.
“Sure.” My voice is much calmer than I feel. “I’ll be right back, Gus. Remember, you have strategies to help you break this down and solve it. And once you’re done up to”—I peer over his shoulder—“exercise eighteen, you won’t have to look at it or think about it again until Monday.”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
I try not to jog to the door.
The air outside is thick and humid, making it hard to breathe. Rain splatters the ground and pounds on the roof. Water droplets splash onto the porch, making everything damp.
It feels an awful lot like foreshadowing to me.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“That was Deidre,” he says, running a hand down his face. “Her dad had a massive heart attack this morning and they don’t think he’s going to make it.”
“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry.”
My thoughts go to Gus and what this will do to him. I don’t know much about his relationship with his grandparents, so whether this will crush him or be manageable, I don’t know. Either way, it’s not going to be fun.
“I have to tell Gus.” He drops his hand and sighs. “Deidre said she isn’t steady enough to do it right now, and I should handle it however I think is best.”
“Yeah. I can imagine that she has a lot on her plate.”
“I don’t know what is best,” Jory says, eyes wide. “I don’t know how to tell a kid that his grandpa is dying.”
I force a swallow. “I don’t think there’s an easy way to do it, Jory. It sucks from every angle.”
He licks his lips, and I can tell he’s struggling with something.
“Jory?”
He looks at the ceiling before looking at me again. “They gave Ernie twenty-four to forty-eight hours to live.”
Oh. Our eyes lock as my heart sinks because I realize what he’s saying. “I see.”
“Ernie lives in Ohio, which is about an eight-hour drive from here. And if Gus wants to tell him goodbye …”
“Then you’ll need to leave now.”
He nods carefully, watching my reaction.
I turn away from him and rub my forehead.
This will be the first time I’ve ever had to forfeit the tournament—and that sucks.
In a vacuum, it would be devastating, but strangely, it’s not.
The pain in my heart has nothing to do with pickleball.
It has everything to do with Jory’s little boy and giving him the opportunity that Mira and I never had. He can say goodbye to his grandfather.
I blow out a breath that seems to start in my toes. “You probably need to tell Gus and then get on the road. If you can get out of town by seven, you’ll make it around three or four in the morning depending on how many times you stop.”
“And you know what that means, right?”
I nod, forcing a swallow. “Yeah. That means you won’t be here tomorrow.”
He reaches for me, pulling me into a hug that feels a lot like a man who loves me.
I cling to him, breathing him in, and absorbing as much of his warmth as I can. Because despite the heat of the evening, I’m afraid that when he leaves, I’ll be very, very cold.
“I’m so sorry, babe,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “I’m letting you down and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“You can’t. This is just what it is, Jory.” I kiss his sternum and then pull away. “But you need to tell Gus and then head north. You can’t waste time.”
He sighs.
If I could kiss the pain off his face, I would. If I could make it easier, I’d do it in a second. Because I love this man. And that’s what you do for those you love.
We lace our fingers together and make our way into the living room. I sit on the sofa where Jory had been, and he takes my spot beside Gus.
“Hey, buddy. I need to talk to you for a second,” Jory says.
I grab the remote and turn the television off.
“I wasn’t watching it,” Gus says, pretending to do his packet. “I’ve been working.”
Jory touches his shoulder. “I mean it, Gus. Stop and look at me.”
Gus drops his pencil and scoots around, facing his dad.
“Your mom just called,” Jory says. “And your papa Ernie had a heart attack this morning and he’s not doing well. They don’t think he’ll live for much longer.”
Gus pulls away, staring off into space as if he’s processing the words are too difficult. My chest tightens and my breathing halts. I watch this little boy try to cope with the idea of losing his grandpa … and it’s heartbreaking.
His head begins to shake back and forth. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?” Jory asks.
“That can’t be right,” Gus says.