Chapter Fifteen
DAVIS
I bent at the knees and lined up my shot.
Swoosh.
Blocking the voice of Charles Lockwood from my mind, I focused on dribbling the basketball between my Nikes. Amazingly, the bounce of rubber against pavement did more to calm my frustration than a punch through drywall ever could.
My gym shirt stuck to the perspiration at my back as I spun left and managed another basket.
If only life were as simple a game.
Line up your plans.
Work out your strategy.
Live in peace with your family members.
As the soft purr of my mother’s old gardening flatbed grew in the distance, I tucked the ball under my arm and waited for her to pull in.
She rolled up the drive cautiously, watching me through keen eyes. Her window lowered.
“Hey there,” she said.
To the average passerby, I was a man enjoying a warm summer evening. Yet my mother knew better. She knew the skills I’d acquired on the court hadn’t stemmed from athletic aspiration but from the hundreds of hours I’d spent shooting my stress into this weathered net.
She scrunched her eyebrows together. “Did everything go okay at the library today?”
I wiped my damp forehead with the cuff of my short sleeve. “Yeah, fine. Penny said to tell you hello.” Through the driver-side window, I watched Brandon reach behind the seat for his bulky backpack. His bicep strained under the weight of the bag as he lifted it over the headrest. “What about you two—have a good day?”
Though my mother detected my attempt at a diversion, she didn’t press me. Not today.
“Yes,” she said on a sigh. “Although poor Nadine had one of her panic episodes, so I’m afraid Brandon was on his own for most of the day. But he looks no worse for wear.” As Brandon tried to escape through the passenger door, she flung an arm out and caught his back jean pocket. “Get back in here and give your grams a kiss.”
Brandon obeyed, leaning across the console to kiss her cheek.
I thumped a hand to the roof of her truck. “Thanks again, Mom. Oh, and if you can use a bleeding heart, I have a fresh one I can donate.”
“No, Davis. I’ll find a spot for it in your backyard.”
“Not sure there’s any room left.”
“There’s always room.” With a sad smile, she waved and pulled out of the driveway. “See you tomorrow.”
Before Brandon could make a break for the house, I chucked the ball at his chest.
He caught it. The boy had my reflexes.
“Let’s play.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’re twelve. You have at least another three hours of energy left to burn. Come on, just one game of P-I-G. You can shoot first.”
“I hate basketball. And I want to see Kosher.”
“More like you hate practicing basketball. But this isn’t practice. It’s just me and you. And Kosher’s fine without you for another few minutes.”
He looked skyward, but I knew he’d give in. Brandon never missed an opportunity to school me on the court. And after a day of old ladies and garden club gossip, he probably had some steam to blow off, too.
“Come on,” I baited. “One game. I promise I’ll go easy on you.”
Just when I was sure he’d shrug me off, he let the strap of his bag slide off his shoulder. But he didn’t let the thing drop onto the pavement. Instead, he set it gently onto the grass. “Fine. One game.”
I eyed his backpack. “What do you have in that thing?”
“Stuff.”
One of his favorite answers. “What kind of stuff?”
“Art stuff. To do while I’m at Grandma’s. Nothing you’d be interested in.” He swiveled and shot the ball from where he stood at the edge of the yard.
He missed.
“That’s a P for you,” I said.
“This is a stupid game.”
“One missed shot does not equal a game.” Rebounded ball in hand, I dribbled several steps to his right, bent my knees, and flicked my wrist.
Swoosh.
Brandon made no move to collect the runaway ball.
“Let’s go, Brandon. It’s your shot.” I pointed to where I stood. “I’ve seen you make it a dozen times from here.”
He scoffed but went after the ball, snatching it up from the curb and coming to stand next to me.
“Loosen your shoulders. They’re too stiff.”
“No, they’re not.”
“Yeah, they are.” I gave his shoulder a hard shake. “The power needs to come from your hamstrings not your—”
“I know how to shoot. I’ve been in basketball since I was six, remember?” He shrugged my hand off. “I don’t need your help.”
I raised my palms in the air. Fine. “Then go for it.”
He lined up again, dropping his shoulders.
He made it.
“Nice shot.”
Like much in his life, Brandon took his natural gift of athleticism for granted. If he spent less time with his sketchbook and more time on his form, he could go far in the sports world. Land a scholarship. And wouldn’t I love nothing more than to tell the Lockwoods that Brandon wouldn’t be needing their college-fund money.
With a cocky jerk of his chin, my son flung his hair off his forehead and retrieved the ball. “You just gonna stand there?”
So he hadn’t lost his competitive drive. “You want to play a little one-on-one?” Maybe some good could be salvaged from this day after all.
Brandon shuffled his feet. “It’s better than P-I-G.”
I was on him then, blocking, my arms out wide.
Brandon spun and maneuvered around me, his focus sharp, his footwork quick. Amazing what a little friendly smack talk could achieve. He ducked and swiveled. I mimicked his every turn, elation pumping through my veins where exasperation had been only an hour earlier.
With a grunt, I slapped the ball from his hands, stealing it away with a grin. “Not bad for an old guy, huh, Son?”
Leaving no time for more gloating, he came at me, hostility like fire in his eyes. I pivoted, but he stayed on me. I faked left. He slapped the ball, nearly knocking it free. When had he grown so tall? I shut out the echo of car doors slamming and the distant voices winding through the cul-de-sac. I blocked him again. Sweat stung my eyes, forcing me to blink.
Brandon swooped in. He stole the ball, made his shot, and chucked the rebound at my chest before storming toward the grass.
“What—you giving up already? We just started.”
“I told you. I hate basketball.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“Yeah, well.” With a shrug he moved to reach for his bag when his whole body snapped to attention. “Collin?”
“Hey, dude!” Collin, dressed in dry swim trunks and a T-shirt, gave a slight lift of his chin before turning to face me. “Hi, Mr. Carter. Thanks for inviting us to come over to see the dog tonight.”
Brandon side-eyed me. “You invited them to come over tonight?”
Yet I could do nothing but stare at the approaching entourage.
Two steps behind Collin’s younger sister—who was wrapped in a palm tree beach towel and wore a pair of goggles as a headband—was a beautiful but frazzled-looking Callie.
Her imploring gaze held both a plea and an apology. “I’m pretty sure my I-Owe-You tab is through the roof by now, but—” She stopped and took in my attire. “Did we interrupt your workout?”
I slid my gaze to Brandon, who was already chuckling at something Collin said.
“We just finished out here, actually.”
“Oh, okay, great. That’s great.” Distractedly, she clamped an arm around her niece’s shoulders. Though her words paused for all of five seconds, her mind showed no signs of slowing down. Whatever her plan, I doubted it had much to do with Kosher. Her eyes ticked to Brandon and then back to me. “Are you guys hungry? Because these two are famished. You know how kids are after a long day of swimming?” She pressed Corrianna closer. “You’d think their little bellies were about to turn inside out. Anyway, if you were hungry, I brought some snacks for sharing . . .”
Her niece stretched tall on tiptoes and loudly whispered, “Don’t forget to tell him about the movie you rented, Aunt Callie.”
“Right.” Sheepishly, Callie chuckled. “Thanks for the spoiler alert, kiddo. I was just getting to that part.”
I fixed my gaze on her ever-fidgeting hands and addressed my son. “Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you take your friends out back to play with Kosher, okay?”
“So they really do get to stay for dinner and a movie tonight?” Brandon asked, not bothering to downplay his excitement. Or his shock.
“That should be fine, but I need a minute out here with Callie first.”
The two boys shot up the walkway to the front door while the girl glanced back at her aunt.
“I’ll be in soon, sweetie,” Callie said. “Promise.”
I waited to hear the door latch before I quieted my voice and stepped closer, unwilling to ignore the way her eyes had dimmed since this afternoon. “Is everything all right, Callie?”
She gestured to the street behind her. “I guess a simple ‘we were in the neighborhood’ excuse isn’t going to cut it.”
“Were you actually in my neighborhood?”
“No.” The flicker of emotion that crossed her face brought an earlier conversation to memory.
“Did something happen between you and your sister? Did the two of you talk?”
“Well, yes, but . . .”
“What?”
Her eyes steadied on mine. “My brother-in-law showed up tonight.”
Confused at why this would cause her grief, I tried to sort through my limited understanding. “He still lives there, right?”
“Yes, but Davis . . . he was supposed to be in China for another three weeks. He took a red-eye home because of . . . well, because of whatever’s going on between them. And when they saw each other—” She shook her head. “It was like they suddenly forgot who they were together.” She stopped again, her voice nearly breaking. “Because I think maybe they have actually forgotten.”
She wasn’t making much sense. I could almost hear the synapses firing in her brain. Obviously, she needed to talk this out with somebody who would listen.
I could be that somebody for her.
“When I picked up the kids from the neighbor’s pool, I just wanted to take them somewhere that felt peaceful and drama-free. At least for a little while.”
And she’d chosen to come here? “Sure, okay.”
She turned her face into the warm breeze, her hair distracting me as it slid behind her back. “It’s just, they aren’t like other couples, ya know? They’re right for each other. The kind of right that all those for-the-long-haul country songs are written about. They’re meant to be together. To be married. I can’t even imagine if . . . if . . .”
I set the basketball between my feet and took hold of her shoulders. She winced as her gaze locked with mine. “Callie—hey, take a breath. It’s okay.” It’d been a long time since I’d offered comfort to someone who received it so willingly.
She blinked back the moisture in her eyes. “I’m just so worried.”
I’d spoken to Clementine and Chris Taylor several times in the last few years. Though we went to different services, we attended the same church and seemed to share similar views on parenting and community life. Callie wasn’t wrong—they were definitely a nice couple. But even the nicest couples in the world weren’t without issues. “No marriage is perfect.”
Even my own marriage, short as it was. We’d experienced rough patches just like other couples, as well as two overly involved in-laws.
“Theirs was.”
A faint hint of citrus wafted from her hair, and I was suddenly aware of how close we stood—of how easy it would be to pull her even closer, of how the heat of her skin felt ten times warmer than my own.
And then, like earlier today on the sidewalk, her gaze seemed to trace the outline of my face, as if she were . . . drawing me with her eyes.
I touched a loose curl draped over her shoulder. “To answer your earlier question, no, we haven’t eaten yet.”
Her entire face lightened. “Really?”
“I also think a movie for the kids sounds like a good idea. Only thing I can’t promise is a drama-free house.” I chuckled at the irony. “I live with a preteen boy, remember?”
Her mouth twisted into a grin that socked me in the gut. “Thank you, Davis.”
I bent to grab the basketball pinched between my shoes.
“May I?” she asked, her hands outstretched.
I tossed it to her.
She faced the hoop, mumbled something under her breath, and sprang forward with the absolute worst form I’d ever seen.
Swoosh.