Coast (Kick Push Book 2) (The Road 3) (27 page)

I hold Grams’s hand until she falls asleep, which doesn’t take long. Then, as morbid as it sounds, I grab my camera from upstairs and take pictures of Grams in her peaceful state. There’s so much a lens catches that the eye doesn’t, and I plan on spending the entire night searching for those things. I want to study the expression on her face, the wrinkles that trace the outline of her lips. I want to compare the two of us and find similarities. It’s clear my eyes came from my dad, which means that he most likely got them from his. Grams’s eyes are a dark brown. Almost black. It should be impossible that so much light, so much hope, can come from such darkness.

When I’m done, I take my camera back upstairs, but before I look at the images, I send a text to Josh.

Becca:
How come you didn’t tell me how bad things were with Grams?

Josh:
Because they’re not…?

Becca:
She’s in a hospital bed, Josh. She needs help going to the bathroom. You never mentioned those things.

Josh:
I guess I just didn’t see it as such a big deal because they were progressive. It’s not like it happened overnight. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. She was really excited to see you. Did she recognize you?

Becca:
Yeah.

Josh:
So that’s a good thing, right?

Becca:
I guess, but I feel like I should be doing more. You’re taking on so much of this and it isn’t fair to you. I want to be here with her. I think I’m going to drop out and move in.

I don’t know why I said it, but before I get a chance to rethink it, I’ve already hit send. Truth is, I was toying with the idea even before I saw Grams. Spending that time with Josh was like a slow, sweet form of torture. I know it’s dumb, wrong, stupid, pathetic—all the possible words to describe a girl who’d give up everything just to be closer to the boy she loves… and I’m not going to do it. Like I said, I was just toying with the idea.

Right?

Right.

Josh:
Shut up, idiot.

I smile at his response, half amused and half relieved.

Becca:
What? I could be serious?!

Josh:
Even if you were, I wouldn’t let you.

Becca:
Why not?

Josh:
For a plethora of reasons.

Becca:
Give me two.

Josh:
Reason one… It’s not as if it’s *just* college in St. Louis. You have friends there. You have Say Something. You have the school paper. Internships. And most importantly, you have all your therapy there. You can’t just up and move and forget all that exists.

Wow. Seems like I’m not the only one who’s thought about it.

Josh:
Reason two: I love you and I won’t let you.

Becca:
I love you, too.

Josh:
You won’t be saying that in ten years when I’m retired and have a beer gut and receding hairline and mangled bones and scarred skin and walk with a limp because I’ve snapped my ankle eleventy-three billion times.

Becca:
I’ll be saying it always, Josh, even if you’re not around to hear it.

Josh:
You do insane things to my heart, Becca Owens.

Warming at his response, I lie down on the bed, the lack of sleep from the past few days catching up with me.

Becca:
What am I supposed to do about Grams?

Josh:
You hope for a better tomorrow.

Becca:
And if it doesn’t come?

Josh:
Then you cherish a greater yesterday.

*     *     *

Sadie knocking on
my door jerks me awake the next morning. I rush to answer it, panic pumping through my veins. “Hey,” she says, smiling wide. “Josh is on TV. Thought you might want to watch him.”

Relieved, I shrug on a sweater and make my way downstairs where Grams is sitting up in her bed glued to the television. “There he is,” she says, pointing to the screen. “There’s my Joshua. Isn’t he handsome, Sadie?” she calls out, glancing at me quickly. Her face falls and she looks behind me. “Who are you? Where’s Sadie?”

“I’m here,” Sadie answers, walking into the room with two coffees in hand. She hands me one before sitting on an armchair on the other side of the bed.

Grams is still looking at me, her head cocked, gaze blank. It’s not until Josh’s voice fills the room that she tears her eyes away from me. Josh and his teammates all take up spots on a large couch, a huge screen television behind them showing a highlight clip of them skating. “Sorry,” Josh says, phone in hand.

“You texting?” the male host asks.

“Yeah. I apologize. This is really rude of me.” Josh shoves the phone in his pocket while his team laughs.

“I bet it’s a girl,” the female host says.

“Or twenty,” replies the male one.

The woman on the screen giggles.

The guy adds, “What’s that like for you? Fame and no-doubt fortune, plus that adorable son of yours… Boys want to
be
you, and the girls… well, you must have them hounding at you.”

Reece chuckles.

“Just one girl,” Josh says, shaking his head. “And she
barely
tolerates me. Believe me.”

Grams laughs, a sound that brings back memories of easy summer days. “He’s talking about Becca,” she mumbles. “All he has to do is see the way Becca looks at him. She adores him. Stupid boy.”

Yeah.
Stupid boy.

Sadie matches Grams’s laugh, but her eyes are on me.

I take a chance and hold Grams’s hand. Her eyes snap to mine. “Sweetheart,” she practically squeals. “When did you get here?”

*     *     *

Sadie tells me
that Tommy will be around later that evening so I have the day to spend with Grams if I want to. She also tells me that today is a good day. Grams woke up somewhat alert and with more energy than she normally does, which means she’ll want to go for a walk through the park—the same park the police found her in the night all this started for her. It’s only two blocks away, but Grams needs a lot of help and can’t be out long because of her deteriorating immune system. Normally, Sadie drives there and pushes Grams’s wheelchair from one end of the park to the other and back again.

We go the
park with Grams huddled under layers of blankets. I push her chair while Sadie follows a few steps behind with a paper bag full of groceries. Apparently, Grams has been doing this most of her life since she moved into her house—going to the park and handing out food to the few homeless. Strange I wasn’t made aware of it during the almost eight or so months I spent with her, but then again, she’d disappear for hours at a time, telling me she had errands to run and I chose not to tag along, finding it more important to dwell on my past or, later, spend time with Tommy. It dawns on me that I know very little about my grandmother. Besides the fact she goes to church and had my father at sixteen, I don’t really know her at all. And now, it might be too late to ask.

“Stop, Sadie,” Grams says. I don’t correct her. She points over at a couple of people sitting in front of a bush, their few possessions in a garbage bag settled next to them. Grams waves and shouts, “Good morning, Johnny!”

I wheel her over to them while Johnny smiles at her. “Our angel of hope,” he sings.

Sadie hands them a loaf of bread, a large bottle of water, and jars of peanut butter and jelly. Grams spends a good fifteen minutes with them, talking about anything and everything. She asks the same questions a couple of times, but the couple continues to smile, repeating the same words already spoken. They seem to understand Grams’s illness. Heck, they probably understand it more than I do. And if what Sadie said is right—that Grams has been doing this a while—they probably see her decline as “progressive” just like Josh said. The couple pushes aside the worn-out blanket covering their legs so they can stand and hug Grams goodbye, and when they do I notice the plastic bags surrounding their feet. Grams must see it, too, because she gasps. “What happened to your shoes?” she says, her voice laced with sympathy.

Johnny shrugs. “No big deal, angel,” he says, waving a hand in front of him. “Someone obviously needed them more than we do.”

My heart tightens at his words.

The lady with Johnny must see my reaction because she smiles and pats my arm. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she coos.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, type out a message and have Cordy say,
“Grams… you know who has a garage full of shoes?”

—Becca—

G
rams goes back
to sleep after our outing, and I go back to my room. I’m in the middle of editing the photographs I’d taken last night and earlier today when I hear a knock on my door that has my breath halting and my stomach flipping. The knocking sounds again, fast and light, letting me know exactly who it is even before I answer it.

Tommy’s grin is all consuming. I fall to my knees, my arms wide and ready for him. He barrels into me, holding my neck tight to his chest as he sways from side to side. “I missed you,” he whispers, and I swear, my heart physically expands, escapes from my chest and falls right into his little hands.

He pulls back, his eyes on mine. “Nanni’s at Dad’s making dinner. You want to come over and play with me?”

I nod, standing slowly and taking his hand.

“We have to be really quiet. Ma’am’s sleeping.”

“Okay,” I mouth.

“Follow me.” Tommy releases my hand so he can tiptoe down the stairs, using the rail to help him. As soon as he’s off the steps, he lays flat on his stomach and looks up at me, holding a finger to his mouth. After I nod, he waves for me to join him on the floor, and I do, because who the hell can say no to a Warden boy?

As silently as possible, we army crawl past the kitchen, into the living room, and toward the front door. Tommy points to the doorknob above us, and I reach up and turn it as slowly as possible. Once outside Tommy says, his voice back to normal, “Ma’am sleeps a lot now. She doesn’t play like she used to.” He picks up a skateboard leaning against the house, flies down the porch steps, jumps on the board and kicks, then pushes, off the ground. He rolls the ten feet toward the bottom of the apartment stairs before jumping off and turning back to me. “You coming?” he asks.

I realize I’m still standing on the porch, too fascinated with watching him that I haven’t even began to move. I put one foot in front of the other, my movements slow, my fascination increasing. Tommy waits at the bottom of the stairs, holding the skateboard under his arm. He’s wearing a backwards cap, a gray Globe shirt, dark skinny jeans and a pair of Globe shoes that look way too big for his feet.

He looks so much like Josh it’s scary.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

I shake my head, and he starts to move again.

He even climbs the stairs like Josh.

Opens the front door like Josh.

Slips off his shoes like Josh.

Throws his skateboard on the couch like Josh.

“He’s changed a lot the last couple of months,” Ella says, catching me staring at her grandson. “He thinks he’s all grown up.” She wipes her hands on a dishtowel as she walks toward me. As soon as she’s close enough, she hugs me gently.

There’s something safe, yet completely unfamiliar about being in her arms. My stomach flips as she looks down at me, her eyes seeming to hold a secret only she knows. “It’s so good to see you,” she says, pulling back and settling her hand on my cheek. “Did you have a good time with Josh?”

I nod, afraid to make eye contact in case she can somehow see
my
secrets.

“And you liked Portland?”

Another nod.

“Are you hungry?”

I chew my lip and glance at her quickly. Then offer another nod.

“Becs and I are going to play in my room,” Tommy says, taking my hand and dragging me away.