Page 54 of Play of Love
I spoke with Amy for a long time last night. Then there was all the stuff with the police. Corey came by, furious with me for putting me through hell because he thought that he’d been with the police for the sole purpose of identifying my body if they found me at the bottom of Dead Man’s Gorge.
I had never seen Corey look so mad, and so worried. When he first came in he shoved me hard in my shoulder and looked like he’d knock me out. Then he ranted on about the way I was living and said that no later than this week he’d arrange for me to see a therapist. It was only when I agreed quickly that Corey calmed down.
When Corey and Hilda left, I asked Amy to stay because the real test for me was resisting any form of drink. Amy had gotten rid of everything in the house, but around these parts alcohol was always available somewhere, and there were always people eager to please the Mancini Machine.
I was grateful when she agreed, and even more grateful when she managed to talk to me as if nothing had happened. She got me talking about football and that distracted me from my routine of drowning myself in my toxic mixture of drinks and concourse of women.
I was determined to change now. Now more than ever.
I wanted to play football again, and I wanted to be the best. I wanted to be the man my family was proud of when they came to watch my games.
I wanted to be Joshua Mancini again.
To do that there was one thing I had to make myself do first. That was to go to the cemetery.
I woke up early. Amy was still downstairs asleep on the sofa. I’d felt bad that she didn’t go home last night and I should have at the least taken her up to the guest room. But she’d fallen asleep there and I didn’t want to wake her. I felt she’d been through enough for the day so I got her a blanket and covered her up.
I wouldn’t wake her now, either. She’d woken up early enough for me over the last few weeks. So, I left her a note then packed a few things to make the long journey to San Francisco. Corey had arranged to get my Range Rover back for me. I was grateful for that.
I made it there in good time, despite the back up of traffic on the road.
There was a morning funeral being conducted when I entered the grounds and the grief-stricken faces of the family reminded me of the mourners at Mom and Clarissa’s funeral.
I looked away and continued along the path to where they were.
I hated anything like this. I hated the morbid setting, the feeling. Everything. There were no good feelings here. Only what used to be.
People who used to be.
I had always hated cemeteries as a child and thought they were a sure place to be haunted. Not much could scare me, but ghost stories always did the job. My first funeral, at age ten, was my grandmother’s. My mother’s mother. That had been terrible. It was also a wakeup call to me, letting me see that people I knew could die. But nothing was as devastating as when my mother and sister were killed.
Nothing.
As I approached the site, I stopped and looked at their headstones. Clarissa’s grave had two beautiful bouquets of oriental lilies. They would be from Dad and Pete. I placed mine down next to theirs, and on my mother’s grave I rested the long-stemmed yellow roses I brought for her.
I then sat on the bench nearby and gazed ahead at their graves.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been since the last time,” I told them. Then I started talking about everything that had happened since.
I spent the whole day there and left just before it turned dark. It occurred to me to visit Dad but I felt I’d take one step at a time. I desperately wanted to see him, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it today.
That would be my next big thing, and I promised myself I’d do it soon.
My drinking problem was the demon I wanted to focus on taking down. I didn’t know how long these things took, but I wanted to get myself together and ready for training.
It was late when I got back. Amy would have already left and so would Hilda. I did notice one person, though, who was well overdue my attention.
The boy who constantly watched my house sat on the pavement across the street in front of the Spencer’s house. He wore the same football t-shirt with my player number and name like he did every time I saw him. In the past I had driven by, completely ignoring him. I wouldn’t today.
“Hey kid,” I called out.
The boy lifted his head and instant excitement brightened his face.
“Come here,” I beckoned him over. The boy ran over with his football tucked under his arm.
“What are you doing out here so late?” It was just after seven.
“Trying to get my chance to see you, sir.”
