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“Enjoy,” I holler as she throws me a wave over her shoulder and exits my classroom.
The girl is crazy, but I love the hell out of her. We’ve become good friends over the last six years, and she definitely makes my time at school a little more entertaining.
Chuckling, I shake my head and get back to my color coded labels, but it doesn’t hold my attention. Instead, I find myself booting up my computer and bringing up the Google search engine.
Sawyer Randall.
Enter.
It takes only a second to start bringing up stories and articles and pictures. I stare, awestruck, at the headline of the first article. With shaky fingers, I click on the link and start to read. My eyes devour the feature, my mind spinning as I try to process this shocking new data.
This can’t be right.
Can it?
“Holy shit.”
* * *
“Do you follow baseball?” I ask as I approach the counter at my sister’s floral shop.
“Grandpa stole third base earlier this afternoon, if you know what I mean,” my grandma says, a dirty smirk crossing her face.
“I think I just threw up in my mouth,” I grumble, turning to find a mirrored disgusted look on my oldest sister Payton’s face.
“Oh, there was nothing gross about it,” Grandma adds. “He does this thing with his tongue and it–”
“Stop talking!” I proclaim before sticking my fingers in my ears.
I stopped in after school to see how Payton was doing at the shop, needing maybe a little advice from my oldest sister. Just my luck that she has a shop full of people. Linkin’s mom, Karen, is here, making up a small bouquet of yellow and white daisies for the display case. She started working here full time earlier in the summer and seems to be enjoying it.
And of course, Grandma is here. It’s like the woman can sniff out the potential for gossip and latches on to even the smallest thread like a pit bull to a bone.
My grandparents, Orval and Emma, are, well, different. Okay, fine. They’re batshit crazy, but I mean that lovingly. At almost eighty-two, they bring new meaning to the phrase public displays of affection. They’re constantly groping each other, are caught in compromising positions, and are the givers of the world’s most inappropriate gifts.
But even with their own brand of sexually charged crazy, I love them to death.
They were there for us when our mother died.
I was just about to turn thirteen when our mom lost her fight with ovarian cancer. She left behind her husband and their six daughters, ranging from ten to eighteen. Dad is a pilot and used to fly commercial jets back then. When Mom passed, he took a step back from the large airlines that took him to all corners of the world, and started flying small charter planes for the rich and fancy out of a smaller airstrip not too far away.
His trips were shorter and he was home most nights, but it was still hard.
Enter Grandma and Grandpa.
They moved in with the seven of us and quickly became a strong tie that kept the family together. It wasn’t easy, especially with six hormonal girls, but we managed because we had each other. I honestly believe we’re a closer family because of that bond we formed, which started with our Mom. Trish Summer was an amazing woman.
I miss her so much.
“Why do you ask about baseball, Alison Jane?” Grandma asks, not even bothering to hide the fact that she’s nosing around at the papers on the counter.
I contemplate on how much to tell them, but it’s not like it’s not going to get out sooner or later. I mean it’s not every day a former professional baseball player starts teaching physical education in Jupiter Bay. Once school is back in session, everyone and their brother will know, even those who don’t follow baseball.
“The new teacher is a former ball player,” I decide to tell, casually.
“I once dated a professional baseball player, you know,” Grandma says, a far-off look on her face.
After several seconds, Payton finally speaks. “You did?”
