A Bleu Streak Summer (The Bleu Series Book 3) (15 page)

Gathering all of his scattered emotions, Max stood frozen for the longest time. His thoughts competed in a tug-of-war between Mona and Martin. In the end, the understanding that he had to fix what was broken with his father won out, so he amended with himself to leave her alone until he could be the man she deserved.

Max slipped on some shoes and went to a big fishing supply store to do what his dad couldn’t when they were growing up, replacing something that broke with something better.

Max had to have a delivery truck drop off all the goods he planned on using to add sunshine to both his and his father’s life. The material things weren’t the sunshine, but they’d aid in the memories made. Time was but a vapor, and Max had already wasted enough of it living in a cloud of past sorrow. He had the overwhelming desire to push the clouds away so he and his dad could capture as many rays of life together as possible.

•♫•♫•♫
•

With teeth bared and eyes set in a menacing glare, Mave released a nasty growl.

“No one brought this on you, but you. Fishing boats are for fishing. Not a jungle gym. Now suck it up.” Dr. Carter inspected the gash marring the back of Mave’s head as he meticulously added another staple.

Max and Martin watched on, looking like guilty parties with their sunburnt faces peeking from underneath their lopsided fishing hats.

Mave released another snarling growl. “I just wanted to get a better look at the sharks.”

Max snorted. “They were
dolphins
.”

“They looked like sharks to me. In my story they will be
sharks
.” Mave’s glower had Max hitching his shoulder. “These staples are worth it for sharks, not dolphins.”

“Ain’t we lucky Logan’s uncle is a head doctor?” Max grinned, deepening his brother’s frown.

With Will on fall break, a special trip had been planned. The entire band was in Charleston to accompany Martin to the tattoo parlor, so he could receive his family emblem on his hip. The long weekend was to be rounded out with a deep-sea fishing trip, but of course, Mave added an emergency room visit to the itinerary. The band was all camped out in a private waiting room somewhere in the hospital at the moment.

“I’m not sure I would use the word lucky in the same sentence with this gentleman.” Dr. Carter looked up from Mave’s head before going back to work. “I’ve heard many a tale.”

Snap!

“GRRR!” Mave was sweating profusely, close to reaching his limit with the staple gun and the teases.

“Can’t you give my son something? He’s hurting.” Martin was beyond upset.

Max patted his dad’s shoulder. “He’s a tough punk. He can take pain like a boss.”

Mave responded with another guttural moan, causing Martin to wince.

The twin’s dad had not been back in their lives very long, but he made it somehow feel like he’d always been there. Martin was genuine, wearing every infliction of his heart right there on his sleeve. He cried a lot, tears ranging anywhere from regret to joy. If the family was happy, Martin was happy. If his family was hurting, Martin hurt ten times worse for them. At the moment, he was close to shedding tears of anguish over his son suffering.

“Why not let the doc numb it at least?” Martin began worrying the nail on his trembling thumb.

“This is my consequence, Pop. I’d rather endure the pain than to even think about a relapse.”

The tension sat heavy as the doctor popped in another staple.

“We need to start dressing you in bubble wrap,” Martin declared in all seriousness, squirming in his chair.

“Ha! Dillon gave him a case of that stuff for Christmas one year.” Max laughed.

Martin and Mave did not.

EPILOGUE

“My Story”

-Big Daddy Weave

As Preacher Mike Floyd stands at the podium in our small church, I come close to laughing but hold it in check. He adjusts the silly sun visor on his bald head, clearly uncomfortable about the bet he lost with Dad.

Mave leans around Momma, catching my attention and whispers, “Wonder where Pop even found that getup? I had no idea polo shirts came in polka dots.” He wrinkles his nose while angling his head to check out more of the outfit.

“Shh!” Momma scolds as she pushes him to lean back so we can’t continue our conversation.

I look back to our preacher and blink a few times to adjust to the brightness of his outfit. “He looks like he’s wearing plaid bloomers,” I mumble.

“They’re called golf knickers,” Trace, of all people, interjects from behind me where he sits on the second pew with the rest of the band. Mave and I both whip our heads around to eye him.

“What? It’s true,” Trace whispers.

“Them things are a neon rainbow of craziness. It hurts my eyes. I call them criminal.” Momma nudges me too forcefully with her sharp elbow to hush me. “Oww!”

“How about I go ahead and address my attire so that maybe Mr. King can quieten down,” Preacher Floyd says, rendering me mute. I jerk back around in the pew.

“That’s Maxim, sir,” Mave points out with an irritating smirk, sounding more like a punk kid than a grown man.

Our preacher squints over the top of his bifocals and studies the colorful tattoos covering Mave’s arms. “I’ve gotten pretty good at telling the two of you apart.” He redirected his attention to the rest of us. “On our last fishing trip, Martin made me promise he got to pick out my attire today if he out-fished me. Obviously, he did.”

We join him in a round of laughs. Sounds like my old man. He became one lively somebody close to the end of his life. He donned a stubborn streak like the rest of us, declaring he would outlive the doctors’ predictions so that he wouldn’t miss meeting his next grandchild. He did and then some, spending the last month with us at my cabin so he could get to know Jameson.

Sniffing back the emotions, I lean over and kiss my infant son’s soft head where it’s resting in the crook of my wife’s arm. She’s right there so there’s no denying a kiss to her damp cheek. Mona’s eyes are rimmed red, missing my dad already, too. She offers me a smile before focusing back to our preacher.

“Today I’m here to tell you the story of Martin King. He was worried I’d get up here and sugarcoat his life. His words, not mine. Went as far as writing it down the way he wanted it told.” Preacher Floyd holds up several sheets of paper and eyes each of us who are crowded on the front pew. Izzy and the twins beside Mave, Momma in the midst of us, Me, Mona and Jameson.

The preacher clears his throat and begins reading.

“Pretty sorry of me to completely destroy my life before knowing how to properly appreciate it. I lost out on a lot and it’s all my fault. God gave me the world and all I did was make a mess of it. I wish this was being read to say that I was an upright man, devoted husband and father, but I was none of those things. I was a selfish alcoholic that chose my addition over supporting my family and it cost me everything. I can tell you that by some generous miracle from God, I got a second chance with my family. I didn’t deserve it, but they gave it to me.

Even though I ran away from my family, abandoning them to fend for themselves, my wife Judith prayed for me. Thirty years of praying and God heard her. Again, I didn’t deserve her love and devotion, but she gave it. Judith, I love you, and thank you for praying for me.

Proud isn’t a strong enough word to describe how I feel about my two sons. The talent them two have is pure magic. I’d like to say they got that from me, but I assure you I get no credit for their story. That came from them overcoming incredible odds and pure determination. They’re both Godly men who don’t claim to be perfect. They claim to be real and flawed like the rest of us and are humbled by their blessings. I look up to them and not because I’m shorter. No, those two have taught me a lot about life these last few years. Maxim and Maverick, I love you and want to thank you for forgiving me.

I’m a sinner. A sinner who ruined his gift of life. A sinner who got a second chance. We all sin and fall short, but I want to share with you how God forgave me anyway. And all I had to do was ask. None of us deserve it, but He loves us so much. In the small church where you sit today, God got ahold of me and I finally listened. My biggest regret was waiting so long to ask. Don’t you let the demons of your life stop you from the gift it was meant to be. Ask God in. I did and was given peace in my last years of life. I got to love my family the way God intended for me to love them. My story is a mess, but God never gave up on me. My redemption is His story.”

I wipe away my tears, thankful that God gave us all a second chance so many times. I have memories with my old man to hold on to. As Dillon plays one of my dad’s favorite songs softly on the piano, I drift back several months to the concert we put on at the Shimmer Lakes Spring Festival. Pop snuck in the audience with Momma, thinking we wouldn’t see them, but for some reason I’ve always been able to sense when he’s around.

As soon as I caught sight of him, I set off in a new riff and threw the entire concert out of order. Ben tossed his clipboard in the trash and let us have our way with the rest of the show. We jammed out to a list of all of my dad’s favorites, dedicating the show in his honor. Our old man beamed with pride that night.

Dillon handed over the mic to Mave near the end of the show, and we brought the place down with a cover of Creedence Clearwater’s “Down on The Corner” which was always one of our old man’s favorites. Then we all crooned out a cappella “Stand By Me” after our bodyguards helped our parents to the stage, so they could share a dance to
their
song. It would end up being their last dance together.

Several shouts of praise draw me back to the piano where Dillon is laying claim to the keys while singing. My dad would have loved this.

This is my story.

This is my song.

Praising my Savior all the day long.

Dillon sings softly as the pallbearers do their thing, but I don’t focus on them or how short my time has been with my dad. I focus on the second chance I had with him, and all of the memories we made count.

With all this dancing through my head, I pull Mona and my son close, knowing how important it is to appreciate the gifts before us and abandon the hurts holding us captive.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A special thank you to my fabulous readers for appreciating my imperfect Bleu Family. You get what I’m trying to do with them and that just makes my day!

Thank you to Renee Kinlaw, author of God Has a Scrub Brush. This book helped me to wrap my heart and mind around past hurt and how important it is to forgive it and let it go. Still struggling as Max did, but I’ll get there.

Thank you to Bernie and Nate for suggesting we send Will on a wild goose chase for his initiation. Sorry, but I couldn’t let him get away with having to do it buck-naked.

Lydia, thank you for always being present and encouraging your momma!

My beta readers, Sally Anderson, Trina Cooke, Lynn Edge, and Jennifer Strickland. You girls help me keep the story on track. Y’all rock!

To Jan Carol, my editing lady! Thanks for cleaning up my sloppy typos and for guiding a sentence into making better sense.

Lastly, but always firstly, my Heavenly Father. You are a good, good father. Thank you for loving me and accepting my flaws. And also for allowing me the epic opportunity of sharing your incredible love with the world.

All Scriptures taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

If T.I. isn’t writing a book, she’s reading one. She’s proud to be a part of a tiny town in South Carolina where she is surrounded by loved ones and country fields.

For a complete list of Lowe’s published books, biography, upcoming events, and other information, visit
http://www.tilowe.com/
and be sure to check out her blog, COFFEE CUP, while you’re there!

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