The Best I Could (44 page)

“Deena is going to be okay, Nana. She’s tough
as nails, and you’re going to be what she needs.” I smiled sadly.
“Despite what I’ve said in the past … I don’t blame you for the
time you took to heal after Mom’s death. You didn’t know Dad would
do what he did, and we would have been better off … more
responsible, if we hadn’t tried to deal with it alone. At the time,
we just weren’t thinking, you know? I wish I had you then.”

She blanched.

“That wasn’t me blaming you,” I rushed to
say. I’d put my foot in my mouth enough for one day. “That was me
saying I should have reached out. Kids or no, we knew we had you,
and we didn’t try.”

My grandmother frowned.
“Thank you, Tansy. You have a big heart, a
forgiving
heart. Sometimes so
forgiving that it hurts you.” Her gaze fell to my wrist. “As much
as I want to hide from it, it
was
my fault. Grief is a strange thing, and losing a
child is hard—harder than you could ever know—but I shouldn’t have
gone three years without checking in. I’m going to have to live
with that for the rest of my life. I started something new here,
got caught up in it, and I walked away.”

She was right, and yet … “Well, I don’t hate
you for it.”

“Good.” She smiled. “I blame myself enough as
it is.”

Nodding, I moved past her, pausing just long
enough to say, “We’re all getting there.”

We
were
getting there.

Pausing in front of Deena’s door, I lifted my
fist, and knocked.

“Go away!” she yelled.

I opened the door.

“What the hell!” she cried, whirling.

A white punching bag hung from the ceiling, a
gift from Eli delivered and installed the day after her class, and
Deena stood in front of it, a red marker in her hand.

“Total invasion of personal space,” she
accused, sneering at me.

I leaned against the door. “You should write
hate on that bag.”

Deena froze, her face contorted, her braces
flashing when she asked, “Why?”

“Because that’s where it all comes from. The
anger, the things people do that don’t make sense to us, and the
way we feel at the injustice of it all.”

Deena started to say
something, and then stopped. Twisting the marker lid off, she wrote
it. Big and red.
Hate.

My gaze locked on the crimson script. “Now
beat the shit out of it.”

Deena, rather than throwing a sarcastic
retort at me, simply said, “Okay.”

That was it.

Okay.

My sister was going to be okay.

We were
all
going to be just fine.

Eli

The next week passed quickly, my community
service hours dwindling. One more week, and my time would be up. I
wasn’t looking forward to it.

There were too many things I
didn’t want to see end, one of those being the troubled youth class
I was responsible for. Mentoring the students had taken on a whole
new meaning because they needed the class,
really
needed it, and me. They needed
me, too. Outside of the gym, the majority of them didn’t have
guidance.

Fuck that. They didn’t have anything at all,
nothing except fear, hate, and a society they thought gave up on
them.

I listened to them, to their conversations,
to the way they talked to each other. How one kid—Cade
Connors—cursed the baby mama drama in his life. Sixteen, and he was
a father. His words were big, but despite them, he cared. You could
see it. At the last class when Deena asked him if he had a picture
of his son, he pulled a wallet-sized photograph out of his gym bag,
his heart in his eyes.

He cared.

They all did. Whatever hurts they shouldered,
they cared.

“You ready for the fight this weekend?” Ray
asked me on Monday.

“I’m good,” I promised. Slinging my bag
higher on my shoulder, I gazed at the ring. “I want to keep working
with the troubled youth class when my time is up. Until I leave for
school.”

Ray’s chin rose. “They got to you, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Winking, he ran his fingers over the brim of
his fedora. “You got to them, too. Don’t doubt that, capo. Speaking
of, the Roger kid is going to be absent from the next class. He’s
wanted in court. Looks like he’s switching homes again.”

“What happened?”

Ray shrugged. “They don’t tell me that stuff,
but the family got reported, so I’m guessing it’s not good.”

Jaw tensing, I clenched my fists. “He’ll
survive it,” I said confidently, anger riding me. Roger didn’t
deserve the hurt in his life. “That boy has some serious
potential.” Shaking my head, I added, “Sometimes I wish we could
choose who we put in the ring with us, trained to fight or
not.”

“Wouldn’t we all,” Ray murmured.

The door opened, and a mom walked in, her
young son clinging to her side, a smile on her face. “Mr.
Clark?”

Ray left me. “The one and only. You must be
here for our young beginner’s class.”

Their voices turned into a run-on drone
behind me.

This is what I wanted to do with my life.
Naval architecture may be my first passion, but training troubled
kids on the side was going to happen.

This summer had turned into one big
opportunity, and I didn’t intend to blow it.

***

Between training, work, and Tansy’s insane
schedule, we didn’t to see much of each other. I rarely ran into
her, even at the orchard, but I knew she’d been there.

We talked every night, some conversations
longer than others. Sometimes, we just listened to each other
breathe, realized we were too tired to talk, and then hung up. The
breathing was enough, just knowing we’d made it through another
day.

Breathing had a new
definition. Love was breathing. Love was knowing someone thought
about you enough to call, to let them hear you inhale and exhale
before hanging up.
I’m still
here
, the breathing said.

What I didn’t see of Tansy in person, I saw
in spirit in the garden she was creating. I ended most of my
afternoons in her garden. Every day there was something new in it,
a new piece of Tansy.

Wednesday found me lighting a cigarette,
blowing smoke over the path she’d laid out, the curved trail a
passageway through newly planted, colorful flowers.

Footsteps sounded in the grass. “She’s doing
a good job.”

Turning, I found my grandfather studying
me.

“She has a way with plants,” I replied.

He turned thoughtful. “She sat with me on the
porch the last time she was here. Said life was like a plot of soil
each of us owns. We plant things in our piece of soil. Sometimes
they die, other times they live. Weeds choke everything. To find
the good plants, the strong ones, we have to pull the weeds.”

Smiling, I placed the cigarette against my
lips, and inhaled. “That sounds like Tansy.”

Pops blinked, his eyes bright. “This space
reminds me of your grandmother. The way she nurtured us.” He
glanced at me. “We make unusual friendships and fall in love at the
oddest times. I’m convinced people come into our lives when we need
them.” He paused, nodding to himself. “I’d returned from an
especially hard tour overseas when I met your grandmother. God, I
was such an angry young man back then.”

His hands slid into his pockets, his head
lifting, his eyes on the sky. “She was nineteen and beautiful. The
first time I saw her she was digging up potatoes in a garden, her
hair tied up in a kerchief, a smear of dirt on her cheek. She was
too skinny. Those were hard times.”

He laughed. “Which is why I let her keep the
potatoes.”

“What?”

Pops grinned, his gaze finding mine. “When I
came home, it was without warning. We’d been pulled from the
mission we were on, told we’d been put on leave, and off we went. I
was still in uniform. I’d walked in the door expecting to surprise
my mother. Instead, I found a note telling my father she’d gone to
mail a post and a petite, young woman stealing food. Your
grandmother was stealing from the garden behind my parents’
house.”

I laughed. “You’ve never told me this
before.”

“Some stories should wait until they’re ready
to be heard.”

“Did you fall in love with her then?” I
asked.

“Hell no. She saw me, panicked, and walloped
me upside the noggin with the bag of potatoes she’d collected.”
Pops rubbed his head, remembering. “The goose egg that formed
didn’t let me forget her though. That’s for sure.”

Our laughter mingled, floating over the
garden.

My gaze rose, catching a shadow in the
window. “How’s Mom?” I asked suddenly.

Pops frowned. “I don’t know. She finally
talked to the therapist. Her panic and anxiety attacks have gotten
worse. When she’s good, she’s great. When she’s low, she’s
bad.”

My lips pressed together, my chest
tightening.

“This isn’t your fight, Eli,” Pops assured
me, catching my expression. “Your’s or Jonathan’s. You said some
really honest things to her, and she needed to hear them. I
shouldn’t have forced you to stay quiet for as long as you did.
You, Heather, and Jonathan need to live without that constant
shadow over your heads.”

“I’m here … if you need me.” The words
slipped out, heavy and real, between us.

“Go,” Pops prompted. “Go talk to that girl of
yours.”

I walked away picturing Grams hitting Pops
with a sack of potatoes, a smile on my lips.

***

Friday afternoon, Tansy walked into the gym,
surprising me.

“Hey, you!” I called from the ring, the words
mangled by a mouthpiece.

Darren—the guy I was sparring with—got a hit
in, and my back fell against the ropes.

“Concentrate on what you’re doing,” Tansy
called back, laughing. “I just came to watch.”

Pulling my hands up, I bounced on the balls
of my feet opposite my opponent, ignoring the way his mouthpiece
flashed as he laughed, his gaze flicking to Tansy and back
again.

Punches flew, feet danced, the round ending
with Darren on the floor tapping out, his eyes laughing at me.

Spitting his mouthpiece out, he said, “I
couldn’t let you lose in front of your girl.”

“You wish,” I replied, tugging off my gloves
to offer him a hand up.

He took it. “You’ve got this fight tomorrow,
Lockston. I’ll be betting on you. Win or lose, it’s a good
cause.”

Tansy approached the ring, and I went to the
ropes, sweat dripping. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” I said,
breathing hard.

“You’re a sweaty mess.”

“Sexy, isn’t it?” I winked.

She flashed me a smile. “Maybe … just a
little.”

Leaning down, I caressed her cheek, my
fingers cupping her face. It was still warm from the sun. “Where
are you coming from?”

“Work. My third day with Sunny’s Landscaping.
I have one more yard I have to go to, but it brought me by here, so
…” She shrugged.

“I’m glad you stopped.” Jumping down from the
ring, I pulled her into a hug, releasing her quicker than I wanted
to because of the sweat.

“I brought something for you,” she said,
shoving her fingers into her pocket.

Drawing them out, she took my hand, dropped
pea-like seeds into my palm, and closed my fist around them.

“They’re sweet pea seeds,” she informed me.
“Not good for growing here because the flowers like cooler regions,
but,” she gave me a sheepish smile, “one of the homeowners gave
them to us and Lila, the lady I’m working with, told me they’re
considered good luck. Supposedly, they give you courage and promote
physical strength. With your fight tomorrow, I thought it wouldn’t
hurt for you to have them. For anytime really. Not just
tomorrow.”

She babbled until I stopped her, my finger—on
the hand not holding the seeds—pressing against her lips.

“I have to admit this is the first time a
girl has ever given me seeds.”

“I’ll take that to mean I make a lasting
impression.”

I kissed her, drawing her close again despite
the workout, my free hand sliding into her hair. “Thank you,” I
murmured, releasing her.

Hooking her thumbs in her belt loops, she
brought her shoulders up. “It made me think of you.” Her gaze slid
to the clock on the gym wall. “I better go.”

She was at the door when I called out to her.
“You don’t ever work with potatoes, do you?”

“Um … not really.”

I grinned. “Just wondering.”

That night, I put the sweet pea seeds in a
Ziploc bag and tucked them into my gym bag.

Tansy

The gym was full when Deena and I arrived
Saturday night, and we skirted the yelling crowd. Sweat and body
odor mingled with deodorant and new mat smell.

Two women fought in the ring, and Deena
stared at them, her face full of awe. “This is awesome!” she
cried.

“Wonderful,” I muttered under my breath, my
nose scrunching.

I tugged on Deena, urging her forward,
apologizing each time we rammed into someone.

Jonathan found us first, his red hair weaving
through the crowd toward us. “Looking for Eli?” he yelled.

I nodded. Taking my arm gently, he led us
toward a locker room at the back of the gym. A man stood outside of
it, arms folded, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Ray really was
leading some kind of boxing mafia ring right under everyone’s
noses.

The man was tall and broad, and he stared
down at me, unsmiling.

“This is Eli’s girlfriend!” Jonathan
shouted.

His words struck me hard, blindsiding me. It
was weird hearing him call me that, weird knowing Eli and I had
somehow slid into those roles without realizing it.

The man shifted, still unsmiling, and let us
pass.