by J J Knight
“Your father loved this about me, this unpredictable wildness.” She shakes her head. “But what works well for a girlfriend,” she looks over at me, “makes a terrible mother.”
We’ve made it to the sand now. A lone palm tree juts from the ground. No one is out. It’s just us on the beach for as far as we can see.
“You didn’t give yourself a chance,” I say. I don’t want to sound bitter. But she’s making her story sound all romantic and full of drama. “You left, plain and simple. You were a coward.”
She lets go of my hand. “I was that, yes.” She stops walking and faces me. “On the first night you were born, you cried and cried. Your father left to pick up some things for us. We hadn’t planned any of this very well, starting with birth control and ending with showing up at the hospital with only an hour until you arrived.”
“What made you leave?”
“You wouldn’t stop crying. I got so angry. I felt such rage toward you.” She looks out to the ocean, the wind whipping the loose strands of her hair. Fine white lines around her eyes stand out in the sun. “I picked you up from the little plastic crib.” She hugs herself and rubs her arms, as if she got a sudden chill. “And I almost shook you. I was going to do it. I know I was.”
I stare at her. I imagine holding a baby during one of my rages. Anything could happen. I can feel her fear gripping me. I can see that baby in my hands, its head snapping back and forth because I can’t stop myself.
“So, you left.”
“I left.” She sinks down into the sand and wraps her arms around her knees.
“You could have gotten help. You could have asked someone what to do.”
She traces circles in the sand. “Yes. I could have.”
“Why did you look for me later?”
This gets her. Her fingers trail to a stop. “How do you know that?”
“Very persistent father-in-law.”
She nods. “I grew up. I figured things out. I didn’t know your father died until I searched for his records. But I couldn’t find you. The trail just stopped.”
“My stepmother made me change my name.”
I still tower over her. I don’t know if I can settle beside her. It feels like accepting her and what she did. And I’m not sure I can.
Her eyes rest on the frog pendant. “I remember that necklace,” she says. “Irene liked me. She thought I was good for your father.” Her hands trail through the sand again. “I’m sure she realized how wrong she was.”
“She never spoke badly of you. She would show me pictures of you and Dad.” Then Retta threw them out. The only images of my mother. But now that the real thing is in front of me, I see a hint of that youthful girl from the photographs.
The wind picks up and tosses the waves, sending them into frothy peaks of white.
“You have a brother,” she says. “He’s three years younger than you.”
My knees give out at that, and I sink into the sand. “What’s his name?”
“Hudson.”
Hudson. I have a brother named Hudson. Seventeen, the same age as when I left home.
I guess she didn’t leave him. “So, you felt better by the time you had him?”
“No. Things were worse. I left him with someone else to raise.”
“You ditched two of us? Didn’t you figure out what the hell birth control was by then?” I stumble to my feet again.
My mother jumps up too. “I had to leave him. I had no way to support myself. No way to keep him. His father was a monster. I just wasn’t willing to let the baby pay for what that man did to me.”
My breathing has sped up. “Where is Hudson now?”
“Here. With me. I got him back. When I figured things out. Then I went looking for you. But I couldn’t find you.”
I walk toward the water. I hope that the peacefulness of the ocean will calm me, but no, the waves are churning even harder than before.
My mother comes up beside me. “I know this is a lot. Tell your father-in-law that I will do the job. I’ll work in the house. Maybe you and I can find some sort of middle place. Not exactly family. But something more than strangers.”
A boat appears on the horizon, just a speck in the distance. I imagine swimming out to it and sailing wherever it takes me. This must be the way of thinking I inherited from my mother.
“I will tell him,” I say. I don’t really want my mother cleaning the house where I live. But I don’t have another suggestion. Maybe this situation is as good as we can do right now.
“Go take care of that boy up there. He looks like a good one.” She turns away from the water and heads back toward the grass.
I stay at the beach a little longer. The wind reaches its zenith, then dies down again. Maybe my father was right. Maybe she is the wind. And when she left me, she spun me into a hurricane.
Chapter Fourteen
My mother returns to the house the next morning to prepare breakfast for Colt’s family and me. The tiny dining room off the kitchen is quiet as she brings in a different dish for each person. Colt and I are given protein smoothies.
I can’t help but imagine all the breakfasts I missed, the food she has cooked all her life.
Eve is the first to speak. “Thank you, Marianna. I know our requirements are tedious.”
My mother just nods and sets a pitcher of orange juice on the table.
Colt reaches over and squeezes my hand. He looks better today than he did in the hospital. If you didn’t know what had happened to him, it wouldn’t be clear that a few weeks ago he almost died.
I have no chance to talk to my mother alone as she bustles about. We load up the rented Mercedes and head to the facility where Colt will go through rehab. He gets progressively paler as we bounce along the roads. There is little city here, no wide smooth roads and very few highways. I can only imagine how much pain he feels as the ride jostles him. I’m not even sure what sort of workout he can do yet or if there is any timetable for his return to the cage. Or if he will be able to at all.
But the gym is bright, and a whole staff of people wait for us, not inside, but out on a railed porch. Killjoy is with them, and the two rehab specialists. Then a half-dozen others who look exactly the way I might have pictured as living in Hawaii. Dark hair, beautiful bronzed skin.
Colt manages to hide any discomfort as he gets out of the car. We’re both in our blue fight suits, the way The Cure wanted us to look. A photographer snaps pictures as we approach the new team. Publicity. Colt is barely walking again, but we have to put on a show anyway.
One of the men steps forward, a huge smile across his broad face. He extends a hand and greets each of us. “I am Akoni,” he says. “I am very pleased to have both Gunner and the Hurricane here at my gym.”
We follow him inside. The setup is basic, nicer than Buster’s but certainly not at the level of Colt’s private gym. I realize Colt was right. We are here in Hawaii for me to be near my mother, not to take advantage of the best facilities in the world. I glance over at The Cure, who stands near the door, his hands clasped behind his back.
He did this for me.
Colt strips down to his fight clothes, although he keeps a T-shirt on over the bandages. The two rehab trainers fit him with some stretchy compression-belt thing, I guess to keep him safe as he works.
Killjoy comes over to me. “They’re going to be handling Colt for a while,” he says. “I’ll take over your training. How’s the range of motion on that shoulder?”
I roll my arm in big circles. I still feel a twinge when my arm is up and slightly back, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m not terribly enthusiastic about resuming my own training. I already turned my hurricane over to Colt.
But we work out like we once did, in the easy days, before the world crashed in. Squats across the mat. Kettlebell lifts. Bag punches. My strength and speed are a little less, but they will be regained.
It’s the fighter’s heart that I know I’ve lost.
Colt is on a pa
dded bench, hanging on to a loop of rope. One of the trainers has the other end, and they’ve started him on assisted sit-ups. I can see in Colt’s face how much pain he’s in. Once again I remind the universe, my strength belongs to him.
At the end of that first day, Colt doesn’t even try to look smooth or unaffected by the workout. He lies down in the back of the car, his head in my lap. I run my fingers through his hair, now thicker and longer than I’ve ever seen it. I can see the little boy in him, the way he wants to quit. And me not crying when I recognize it is pretty much the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
The Cure and Eve drop us off at the house. They have some dinner to attend. Colt’s father doesn’t look at him as we struggle to get out of the car.
I hold on to Colt as we negotiate the broken sidewalk. I don’t know how we’ll get him up to the second floor. I’m crazy with anger that they’ve put him up there.
My mother is inside, cooking something with garlic. When she sees me struggling with Colt, she hurries forward. “Let me help,” she says.
Beads of sweat are running down his face, and his hands are clammy and cold. We take each step one at a time. Finally, we make it to the landing and into our room. Colt seems to want to fall on the bed, but I don’t let him, easing him down carefully. When he is settled, I turn to my mother. “Thank you,” I tell her.
“I’ll bring up some dinner in a while, after he’s rested,” she says.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
Her hair is swept back again, another pair of earrings dangling down. Looking at her makes me feel as though I’ve passed through a time portal and seen my future self.
“The first day was hard, I guess,” she says.
“Yes, it was.”
She heads back downstairs.
I step into the bathroom and wet a cloth with cool water. Inside is a basin, a bottle of antiseptic, and a sponge much like at the hospital. No showers for Colt yet. It makes sense. I will have to help him.
Colt isn’t asleep, but isn’t really awake either. He barely stirs when I wipe his forehead and neck and take off his shoes.
I’m weary too, but it’s a good tired. The end of a hard day’s work. I know Colt needs to heal, to sleep, to be restored.
I curl up next to him, my hand on his chest. As always, I find his breathing to be a miracle. No heartbeat. No respiration. I will never stop hearing those words in my head.
When I’m sure he is sleeping, I slip into the shower. I wonder, if Colt doesn’t fight, what will he do? He doesn’t fit the mold for a playboy millionaire, living off his father’s money. I suppose he could train other fighters. That is a common career direction for retired athletes.
I don’t know what he wants.
I lean against the tiled wall of the shower, letting the water cascade down. There is no second choice. Colt will have to get through this. There is no other option.
Chapter Fifteen
Colt is still sleeping when I get out of the shower. I put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and head downstairs, my stomach rumbling. I think back to when I first worked at Buster’s Gym, barely a loaf of bread to my name, and how hungry I would get. I’m glad those days are past.
My mother is downstairs. I don’t know what to call her. I am not ready for Mom or Mother. I’ve never called anyone that name in my life. But Marianna seems wrong too. Once I do that, I can’t see ever going back to something more familiar.
I’ll just have to avoid calling her anything.
She stands at the sink in the kitchen, wiping down a cutting board. Since I don’t know what to call her, I just watch her work for a minute.
She hums this little tune I start to recognize. It’s a song my grandmother would sing to me. The words are long lost to my memory, but the melody remains. I’m comforted despite my resistance to acknowledging this woman as anyone related to me.
She turns and sees me. “I have another smoothie prepared for Colt,” she says. She picks up a clipboard. “Tonight you get a kale salad and a grilled strip of sirloin.”
“When does Colt get to eat real food?”
My mother consults the printed pages. “At dinner tomorrow we add a poached egg and a bit of fruit.”
“Sounds like a lot of trouble, making all these different things.”
She sets the clipboard down. “It’s actually sort of fun. I’ve never worked for athletes before.” She opens the refrigerator and removes a bowl and a bit of marinated meat. “Sit down. I’ll get you the salad. Is he sleeping?”
I nod and slide into one of the chairs at the small breakfast table to one side of the kitchen. Even though the dining room is small and informal, I’m glad she doesn’t expect me to eat alone in there.
My mother sets the bowl in front of me. “I tried to cut the bitterness of the kale with a touch of honey in the dressing. Can’t hurt you, but a bit of sweet will make the leaves go down more easily.”
I stab at the salad. I have learned to separate the taste of food from the nutrition of it. But it’s nice that she thinks of it. “Thank you,” I say.
She busies herself cooking the strip of meat on a grill inset onto the stovetop. It sizzles and fills the room with the scent of garlic.
I don’t know what else to say to her. Maybe it’s a mistake to think we can ever have any sort of real relationship. I’m no good at these things anyway. I’ve been alone most of my life. It’s a miracle that Colt managed to somehow get to me.
Suddenly I miss Zero something fierce. He would have such a good time here. I can totally see him in a lei and grass skirt.
“This says to keep it rare,” my mother says. “But I’d rather just ask you what you prefer. Too much red in my meat makes me feel ill.”
I am the same, but I don’t want to admit it. “Rare is fine.”
She spears the strip of steak and transfers it to a plate. “All right, then.”
I’m hungry enough that it really doesn’t matter all that much, although when I cut into the still-bloody meat, my stomach turns. I maintain a poker face as I take a bite.
“Would you like me to take the smoothie up to Colt?” she asks.
“No, I will do it in a little bit. I’ll wake him.”
She turns away and tidies up the grill and counter. I’m pretty sure she’s stalling, not wanting to go. I’m not sure what to do. Finally I say, “I could use company.”
My mother wipes her hands on a dish towel and sits in a chair opposite me. Her expression is both sorrowful and grateful. I remember Colt telling me I was an “open book.” I see that I got this trait from her.
“So, is Hudson in high school?” I ask.
“Yes. He is a senior. He will graduate in a few months.” Her expression turns to pride. “He works on one of the docks.”
“How long — when did you get him back?”
“Well, I never really lost him. He was raised by my brother and his wife.”
I jump up from my chair. “I have an uncle?”
She stands up too. “Three, actually. And four cousins.”
I sink back down. Family. So much family. “I have had no one,” I say.
She walks around to me and places her hands carefully on my shoulders. I want to flinch, to twist away. My whole life I have had no one. And I could have had so much.
“I’m so sorry, Joanna. When I was with your father, I was trying to escape all this family. These overbearing brothers. Parents who wanted to tell me what to do. I didn’t realize they were watching out for me. That they acted the way they did because they cared.”
“Are your brothers here?”
“Two of them, yes. One brother is in Maine.” She laughs a little. “He got as far from Hawaii as he could.”
“Are your parents here?”
“Yes,” she says. “Although they live on one of the other islands.”
Grandparents, I think. Another grandma.
Her hands are still on my shoulders, kneading the muscles. It’s
such a familiar thing to do, but she’s a stranger.
“Do you want to meet them?” she asks.
I don’t know. It’s so overwhelming. So much family. So many new people.
She pats my arm. “Perhaps in time.”
She collects her quilted bag from a counter by the back door. “I’ll get the dishes tomorrow. Goodnight, Joanna.”
Then she’s gone.
I force myself to eat a few more bites of the steak. Despite what she said, I scrape the plates and wash everything. Inside the refrigerator is Colt’s smoothie. I’ll take it up to him.
As I head up the stairs, I still feel dumbfounded.
Grandparents. Uncles. Aunts. Cousins. A brother. A mother.
I feel like I’ve flown into another life.
Chapter Sixteen
The door to our room squeaks when I open it. Colt startles awake, and his hands move instantly to his belly.
I push it wide so the light comes through, just enough to see by.
“I brought dinner,” I say.
He shifts backward on the bed, using his hands to prop himself up. “Thanks.” He accepts the container. “I’m starving.”
“I was too.”
I crawl up onto the bed, mesmerized by the movement of Colt’s Adam’s apple as he drinks a swig. “Oh, that’s foul,” he says.
“I can spirit you away for a cheeseburger if you like.”
Colt smiles at that. “I’m all for messing up the trainer’s plan to make me wish I was dead after all.”
I punch his arm. “Not funny, Colt.”
“I know, I know.” He sets the smoothie on a table by the bed and draws me against him. “Sometimes the only thing you can do is laugh about your predicament.”
“You’ll get there.”
“I suppose showering is still not on my agenda.” He pulls up the bottom of his shirt and surveys the bandages.
“There’s a basin in the bathroom with one of those hospital sponges,” I say.
“Sexy,” he says.
I shift around until I’m on my knees. “Could be.” I tug at his shirt and pull it up over his head.