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Going home to Singletree wasn’t high on the list of things I was dying to do. Life was good in Virginia. My hockey career was on fire, my teammates were my best friends, and the contract I was about to be offered was going to cement my future with the Wilcox Wombats for the foreseeable future.
“It’s an All-Star game,” my teammate Sly reminded me as I grumbled about the trip in the locker room after a scrimmage.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And if it was an all star hockey game, that’d be one thing. But it’s not.”
“True.”
“I mean...” I shook my head. “Pickle ball?”
Sly grinned. “I love pickle ball.”
“Well, I don’t even know how to play. And what the hell is the deal with this craze anyway? I swear to you, my dentist’s grandma plays pickle ball. Isn’t it an old people thing?”
“Is it dark in there?” Sly asked, pulling my confused gaze from the bag I was packing.
“What? In where?”
“Just wondering if it’s dark up in your ass where your head has clearly been for the past year. Pickle ball is sweeping the nation. I’ll have you know, it’s the fastest growing sport in the country. Especially among the twenty-five to forty crowd.”
I frowned at him. “Have you been reading Wikipedia? Or has some Pickle ball organization offered you a sponsorship?”
He shrugged. “It’s possible a paddle will soon be coming out emblazoned with my name.”
I sighed and went back to shoving things into my bag. Somehow I ended up with more of my personal belongings in the Wombat locker room than in my condo. “Congrats.”
“Pickle ball is huge. You know LeBron James plays.”
“I did not know this,” I assured my friend.
“You need some tips?” He leaned in and whispered this as if I might be ashamed to admit I had no idea how to play a game that had been named after a phallic picnic condiment.
“I think I’m good.”
“I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Sly. I better head out. I guess we have pickle ball practice tomorrow morning.”
“You’ll wanna be fresh.” He gave me a knowing wink.
“Right.” I wasn’t particularly concerned with being fresh for pickle ball practice. I was more concerned with sneaking in and out of Singletree without too many people from my past noticing I was there. The town was nuts, and the last thing I needed was any sort of kerfuffle. Because Singletree, Maryland, was the one place in the country where a grown man should worry about things like kerfuffles and shenanigans, and even tomfoolery.
As I slung my duffle over my shoulder and gave Sly a salute, he called after me, “You make the Wombats proud, Rock Stevens!”
“Rock it!” Another of my teammates called from between the lockers a few rows back.
There were a few other hoots and hollers from my teammates, and some more calls to “Rock it” - the standard chant the crowd liked to use whenever I played. It wasn’t clever, but I liked it anyway. At least one good thing came from my ridiculous moniker. If you had to be named Rock, you’d better be a hockey player, I figured. Or work in construction, or be part of a motorcycle club. Mom had doomed me with that one, but I’d done the best I could with it.
* * *
The drive to Singletree shouldn’t have been long, but as I finally crossed the bridge into Maryland, I remembered that it always was. It was partly thanks to Maryland’s unique geography, and partly because the town seemed to exist in a vortex of small-town strange that just couldn’t be achieved anywhere else, and it took some effort to navigate into that vortex.
It was dark when I pulled up to the duplex I’d once called home. It was a nice-looking, side-by-side double unit owned by my Aunt Nattie, but I’d stayed here most of my adult life. The rent was cheap, and the place was nice. It faced the Patuxent River on one side, and looked out into the woods across the little road on which it sat on the other.
The place was quiet and remote, and perfect for a little winding down.
I parked out front, grabbed my duffle, and put my key into the lock, gratified to step into the place I’d once called home.
I flipped on the lights in the entry, and a jolt of surprise shot through me. Aunt Nattie had evidently decided to redecorate. There were some feminine touches added here and there--a framed picture on the wall of some seaside scene, a couple candles scattered around. It wasn’t a lot, and I guessed it added a nice touch.
