West

by Michele G Miller

  “I’m glad my pain brings you such happiness.”

  I walk away with Austin’s low laughter following me as I take a seat with the rest of our family. We spend the day the way so many Americans spend their Saturdays: watching ball, eating, and being lazy.

  Once I have food in my system and rehydrate, my hangover turns into a mild headache and I can enjoy the day. I miss being in the same house as my brothers on a daily basis. I’m looking forward to next year when we’ll all be here together, and as I fall asleep, I resolve to spend Sunday not talking or thinking about Jules.

  So maybe ‘not thinking’ about her was a bit of an overstatement. I’ll think about her less, I tell myself when I wake with her fresh in my mind thanks to my dreams. My family keeps me busy all afternoon—I imagine it’s their attempt at keeping my mind off of her or the tornado and mess back in Tyler. Dad grills with Mindy’s help as my brothers and I play a little touch football in the back yard. Late in the afternoon, when the Texas heat pounds down and we’re all dragging, Mindy pulls out a surprise.

  “No you didn’t,” Carson shouts with laughter.

  Mindy nods and removes a box from within a store bag, waving it in the air at us.

  “What is it?” Austin asks from his place on the ground where he was last tackled. We play a very vigorous game of ‘touch’ football.

  Shoving Carson’s large frame out of my way, I look at what Mindy’s holding. A Slip’N Slide. The old school, twenty-foot-long, blue slide with sprays along the side and a pool at the end.

  “Holy—dude, I want to marry you,” Austin whoops as he jumps up from the ground and rushes Mindy. In his excitement, he grabs the box from her hands and throws is at Carson, hitting him in the gut with a grunt. “Sorry, man,” Austin chuckles as he playfully hoists Mindy into the air.

  Mindy giggles and slaps at Austin’s arms while he spins her around. “Sorry, I think your brother might have something to say about that.”

  “Damn straight I would,” I object before Carson can, plucking her off her feet in a bear hug the moment Austin sets her down. “You’re the best.”

  “Would you two stop pawing my girl and set this sucker up?” Carson orders, pushing us both as he hugs Mindy and kisses her cheek, mumbling something I’m positive neither of us want to hear.

  I fetch the hose while Austin opens the box and removes the slide, then we both get to work scouting for the perfect site.

  “Carson told me about how you guys used to love playing ball in the sprinklers when you were younger,” Mindy explains, watching us as she takes a seat at the patio table next to our dad. “I believe there was a story about a Slip’N Slide in there too. Something about West the Missile plowing into his big, tough brothers. So I thought, why not?” she winks my way as she raises her water bottle in a mock toast.

  “I’m never living that one down, huh?” I ask.

  “Not in my lifetime,” Carson laughs as I roll my eyes. Dad’s laughter joins Mindy’s and Carson’s, and I look his way. He looks relaxed, leaning back in his chair with his legs propped up on the seat of another as he enjoys the youthful antics of his three sons. I wonder if he’s sitting there thinking about Mom and wishing she were here. I know I am.

  “I don’t know what y’all think is so funny. He broke my damn arm,” Austin points out, although beneath his bitter scowl is a grin.

  “I had no idea how adding a drop of dish soap to my chest would change things. When I hit the slide I flew.”

  “Yeah, right into your brothers,” Dad adds. “Your mother was livid.”

  “She was livid because Carson and I were screwing around in the pool and keeping her precious baby from taking his turn,” Austin recalls, although I don’t need the reminder.

  I remember the day clearly.

  “Mom!” I whine, watching Austin and Carson kicking at the water in the landing pool of our slide. “Can’t I go now?”

  “No, baby,” her answer is soft and sweet as always. Then comes the shout. Not angry, but it’s no longer her “West voice” as my brothers call it. “Boys! Move out of the pool so your brother can go.”

  I snuck liquid kitchen soap onto my chest before coming outside because the last time we set up the slide it wasn’t fast enough for me. The yard is flat and I want more speed. Jeff said they put soap on their slide so I figured it’s worth a try, but it’s itchy, and the longer I stand here waiting on my brothers to move, the worse it itches.

  “Yes, ma’am,” my brothers singsong to my mother’s back as she tends to the weeds in her flower garden.

  Austin turns to me, waiting at the starting line of our orange slide, and sticks out his tongue and laughs as he toys with me by taking one step out, then back into the shallow water.

  I glance at my mother’s back and make my decision. I take three steps back, hold my breath, and run. Throwing myself onto my stomach, I fly down the slide, the soap removing all friction between my skin and the plastic, and scream as I plow into two sets of legs at the end. Carson topples over my back, landing with a splash on his backside, but Austin? Austin takes flight, falling forward with a face plant into the wet grass. I end up with a mouth, face, and nose full of water, choking as Mom comes running toward us.

  “Ha, Mom was so worried about West she didn’t even notice you until you sat up with your jacked up arm,” Carson laughs at Austin as my face goes red. Oh, the joys of being the baby.

  “That break ruined my football skills,” Austin complains, inciting a groan from us all. We’ve heard this sob story a million times. “For real, Dad, you know I had a stronger arm before I broke it. I could have been a QB.”

  “Except you’ve never had the brain,” I murmur under my breath.

  “Screw you.” Austin glares at me as he pounds the stakes into the ground along the slide and shakes his head. “Whatever, I was obviously blessed with all the speed in the family, so I guess it was a good thing.”

  Does he believe what he’s saying or is he trying to make himself feel better? I’m not sure. He’s a damn good tight end, NFL prospect good, but I remember him before the break. He did have a strong arm. Maybe he would have been a quarterback if not for me. Guilt sneaks up on me. I was a QB and I quit. As if he reads my mind, Austin hits me in the face with a shot of water from the hose.

  “Dude, don’t sulk. It wasn’t your fault.”

  I’d like to tell him I disagree, but I don’t. I know he’ll tell me to shut up or he’ll get Carson and Dad into the mix. Instead I pull off my shirt—the master of the subject change.

  “Hook this sucker up and let’s take it for a spin.”

  Nineteen

  “Can I give you a word of advice?”

  I’m sitting on the front porch, randomly scrolling through the apps on my phone, when Mindy sneaks up behind me. She scoops up her blonde hair, piling it onto her head as she takes a seat on the step in front of me.

  “It’s hotter than I expected it would be today.”

  “And . . . you have advice on the heat?” I ask, knowing her random comment is her way of putting off something uncomfortable. Mindy shakes her head with a grin and an eye roll.

  “How am I ever going to put up with you Rutledge boys for the rest of my life?” she huffs.

  I give her a wink; she loves us and she knows it. We love her, too. She’s the first woman to come into our family since Mom’s death. She’s the whole ‘sugar and spice and everything nice’ package we’ve been missing for five years.

  I wait anxiously for the advice she mentioned.

  “I know I’ve only heard bits and pieces of the story, but I gather you like this Jules girl?” she asks, and I nod. “Then tell her.”

  Tell her. Ha! She says that as though it’s a simple thing to do.

  “Tell her? That’s your big advice? And what is telling her supposed to do for me, huh? Let’s say I go home and I tell her all the things I want to. I tell her I like her, and how I can’t stop thinking about her, and how I want to hold her hand every day f
or as long as she’ll let me and maybe even longer. Then what?” I ask as I lean back against the column flanking the front steps.

  Mindy’s jaw drops. Maybe I opened the door to my inner conflict a tad too wide this time?

  “What are you afraid of?”

  I shrug because I really don’t know. I don’t know what it is about being with Jules that makes me so crazy irrational. I keep asking myself why I’m scared. I ask myself why I ran away from her when she was standing in front of me telling me she was interested.

  I’m an idiot.

  That’s one answer.

  I’m a coward, a jackass, a boy instead of a man. Those are all possible answers, too.

  I look over my shoulder and into the house; I’m looking for my subject change. I find it through the front windows. Dad is carrying his overnight bag as he stops and hugs Carson. That’s my cue. I stand, offering a hand to Mindy.

  “Honestly? I don’t know,” I confess as we hug goodbye.

  Her light blue eyes hold mine as she takes a step back. “In the three years I’ve known you, West Rutledge, you’ve never been afraid of anything. Don’t be afraid of falling in love. Stop waiting. Tell her what you just said to me and I guarantee she’ll fall into your arms. Any girl would,” she finishes in a whisper as the front door opens behind us.

  It’s not the falling in love part I’m worried about, it’s the her ‘falling into my arms’ part that scares the shit out of me.

  What are you afraid of? Stop waiting.

  Mindy’s words loop through my mind, causing my mind to work a mile a minute all the way back to Tyler. Why am I so afraid I’ll screw up? What made me this way? I go back to five summers ago, the memory so vivid it’s as though I’m still there. Trapped in the past, destined to relive those days over and over . . .

  Sweat trickles down my temple as I pull my helmet off and jog off the field to the bench. We’re working through drills at practice today and I’m running on empty. The late nights I’ve been spending with Mom have taken their toll. I’m exhausted physically, mentally, and spiritually. She had to force me to leave the house this morning. She’s become so weak, none of us like to leave her side for much more than a shower anymore, but she hates for us to change our daily lives. As though her cancer isn’t going to change the way we live.

  In the end it’s Carson and Austin who convince me to leave the house.

  “We should give Mom and Dad some privacy,” Carson suggests, offering to bring me to practice and forcing Austin to come with. “We’ve been huddled around her so much lately, I’m sure they could use time to talk without us in earshot.”

  It was nearly impossible to walk away from her, but we did because Carson was right. Our parents could use some time alone. Dad looks as though he’s dying, too. His normally tanned skin is pale from being indoors so much, his eyes are dull, and his shoulders are slumped. There are lines around his mouth and eyes that weren’t there only weeks ago. In the six weeks since school let out and summer began, we’ve all become shadows of our former selves.

  I squeeze water into my mouth, pouring some over my head to relieve the heat, as one of my coaches makes his way to the bench.

  “Nice moves out there, West,” he offers as he grabs a drink of his own. “Your mobility rolling out of the pocket has become one of your true strengths. Duel threat quarterbacks are in high demand these days, especially when they have a cannon for an arm like you do. Your future’s bright, kid.” He slaps my shoulder as he turns to bark out orders to other players, and I nod, remaining cool as I guzzle my water, but inside I’m smiling.

  His praise refills my empty energy tank like gasoline for a car, and I hustle back onto the field, ready to show them all just how good I can be. How good I will be. Being on the football field is my life. I live and breathe it. The cracking of pads as hits are made, the feel of my cleats tearing through the turf as I move, the smell of sweat, and a pigskin ball in my hands - this is my heaven, my home.

  Then it became my hell.

  There is something ominous about our house when we pull up after my practice. Carson insisted we pick up burgers for lunch since it’s doubtful Dad bothered to eat, and as the three of us gather up the food sacks and my gear, a sinking feeling nags the pit of my stomach. Chalking it up to returning home after spending the morning smiling and laughing, I carry the drink tray to the back door and balance it against my chest as I push my way inside, my brothers following behind me.

  Dad enters the kitchen the moment the back door closes behind us, as though he’s been waiting, and one look at his red-rimmed eyes is all it takes. The drink tray tumbles from my grasp, four large cups descend to the hardwood floors in a storm of dark liquid and carbonated fizz. The impact soaks my legs and sends cola flying across the kitchen as ice scatters before me, but I feel nothing.

  “Mom?” I ask, but my body knows the answer. My eyes burn with tears and my chest is hollow, as though someone has punched in and ripped my heart straight out.

  I rush from the kitchen, my sticky, soaked-through shoes slipping as I bolt for the stairs, taking them two at a time as I haul ass to the game room where, against all hope, I expect to see my mother taking a nap in her—our—chaise. She’s there! My heart leaps in my chest.

  From the entryway I can see the top of her head barely peeking over back of the chaise. Behind me I hear my father’s deep, earth-shattering whispers. I hear my brother’s murmurs and their footsteps as they follow after me. But they’re all a blur, a cricket chirping in a forest. They barely penetrate my thoughts as I tiptoe numbly around the chaise to see my mother.

  She’s napping, my desperate brain thinks as I spy her tiny frame covered and surrounded by fluffy blankets and a mountain of pillows. Her hands rest at her waist. Her face is turned my way, the dark bruises under her eyes so at odds with the pale skin of her cheeks. She looks so at ease, so peaceful and beautiful, and my knees meet the floor because I know—

  She’s gone.

  My mother is gone and I wasn’t here to say goodbye because I was playing football.

  Back in my Dad’s truck I rub my fingertips over my eye, pretending there’s something in it as I focus out the car window and concentrate on breathing evenly. All of the pain I felt as a thirteen-year-old works its way into my soul once more, and the need to curl into a ball and cry like a baby is nearly uncontrollable. Just as it was that day . . .

  Carson and Austin drop to their knees beside me and we cry together. There’s no way to describe the emptiness inside. For a moment, Dad stands back as though he’s letting us say our own goodbyes before he joins us on the floor.

  “It was peaceful,” he promises, his hand covering hers as he looks at the three of us. “She wanted you boys to know how very much she loved you. She would have given anything she had to spend another minute with you, but she was at peace. You know that, right?” He touches the top of my head and I raise my eyes to his. “She wasn’t ready to go, but she had faith and she’s healed now.” His voice breaks as his gaze skims over each of us. Carson leans into our father, hugging him as I jump to my feet, run into the nearest bathroom, and throw up.

  Later in the evening, after the funeral home has carried my mother’s body from her home, and after the select friends and family members we called leave, my father finds me on the hammock in the back yard. I’m staring at the clear sky that is littered with stars and memories.

  “West?” He approaches me as though I’m a skittish dog who will run at the first opportunity I get. Or a huge mutt who might bite him at the slightest provocation. Neither are far from the truth.

  I cursed him earlier when the funeral home came to take Mom away. When I returned from being sick in the bathroom, I sat on the floor next to the chaise, touching my mom’s arm and resting my cheek on her blankets. They smelled like her, like flowers and lemons.

  I didn’t leave her side until Dad dragged me out of the room so her body could be removed. He didn’t want us to watch them move her, but I didn�
��t want to leave her side. I was frantic; the small cut on his lip where I head-butted him while thrashing about is proof.

  “You made me leave,” I accuse when his shadowed face comes into view in the dark backyard.

  His sigh is audible. “I didn’t want you to see her like that.”

  “No.” I sit, my mother’s blanket falling to my side. “You made me go to practice today. I didn’t want to go.”

  In truth it was Carson who dragged me out of the house, and Austin who helped, but I know it was my dad who put the idea in their heads. He wouldn’t let up about my practicing—I blame him for my not being home.

  “Champ, if it wasn’t today, it would have been another. I’m sorry—”

  “Stop.” I jump from the hammock. “I knew she was going to die, Dad. I knew that! But she didn’t have to die while I was at football. I was out playing a game, having fun, laughing. All while she died.” A burning pain rips through my throat as I speak. “I wanted to be here to say goodbye to her. I promised.” The torrent of tears I’ve been holding back find their way down my face and my father grabs me.

  “West—” I jerk in his arms and he puts his football muscles to work, wrapping me in a strong embrace. “Champ, your mother knew how much you love her. Don’t do this to yourself. You couldn’t promise her you’d be there when she passed away.”

  “But I did.”

  “You couldn’t guarantee something like that and she knew it. She knew,” he whispers near my ear as my body continues to shake with emotion.

  He made perfect sense and yet I struggled with it. I was thirteen and in pain. I’d lost my mother and all I could think about was how I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there because I’d gone to practice. I hated football for taking me away from her when she was saying goodbye. It was irrational, but I quit anyway. I was angry.