E-Book, Englisch, 266 Seiten
ISBN: 978-1-66783-355-2
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz
Autoren/Hrsg.
Weitere Infos & Material
CHAPTER FIVE:
Bobby Bobby awoke in the tacky motel room on the outskirts of Toronto, still steaming over his meeting at the bank the day before. His hand hurt. Had he really punched the wall in the middle of the night? The proof was in his throbbing knuckles, and imprinted in the cheap wall’s plaster beside the bed with its springs sticking-out. Feeling all puffy and rough, he mulled over the phone call he’d made before going to sleep the night before. Yeah, he’d really done that, too, had invited former teammate and all-star Jerry Dunmore to come visit the camp. And ‘the JD’ accepted. Only now Bobby wasn’t so sure he’d done the right thing. After a quick shower he dressed. That’s when the pain in his right knee sparked up again. He hobbled around the small room, gathered his things, and left to check out at the front office. “The room was okay?” the bald elderly clerk asked from behind the counter. “Sure,” Bobby replied. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. “Listen, there’s a bit of damage on the wall above the bed.” He wondered how much more this was going to cost him. “Really?” the clerk said mildly. “Must have been that young buck from the night before. I didn’t notice it when I was cleaning up yesterday, but then I miss a lot of things these days.” “Yeah,” Bobby sighed, grateful for this little escape. “Me, too.” As he turned onto the ramp leading to the highway, Bobby set the radio to his favourite station. It was Sarah who’d introduced him to classical music, and it only took him a few listens to actually like it. He still couldn’t tell the difference between Bach and Beethoven, but it soothed him and he owed her everything. Bobby kept making changes in himself for the better. For her. Through the years, a step at a time, he had made progress and wanted to improve even more. Losing Sarah would be the worst loss. He’d once come very close to losing the love of his life, and living without her wouldn’t be living at all. Besides classical music, Sarah had dragged Bobby to join her yoga classes where he learned how to meditate. She insisted he cut back on foods like steak and pancakes and add more avocados, broccoli, blueberries, and salads topped with olive-oil to his diet. It took his tastebuds a little while to get used to the changes, but now he liked these healthy foods. She shared with him books about positive thinking and visualizing, being present in the moment. In his playing days, Bobby found he healed faster from his hockey injuries by doing the stretching exercises she’d shown him. With Sarah’s help, those nagging aches and pains had been mostly kept at bay, and that extra bulge around his middle had gone down noticeably. The open road charged him with a sense of total freedom. As the stinking city vanished behind Bobby, he let each of the Tim Hortons pass by along the way—he triumphed over temptation. To hell with it, he’d make his own coffee once he got back to camp. Having settled into this peaceful groove, he didn’t need any distractions. He drove smoothly and put his troubles aside. Halfway along his journey, he pressed a button to open the Jeep’s windows and welcomed in the bursting sunshine which made him feel better than any energy drink. He got off the main highway and chose the scenic route. Long, curving country roads became little therapy sessions. Rural life always rescued him from the madness of urban life. Cruising through small town after small town, every sturdy stone and wood house stood out. When he turned onto the winding driveway, Bobby smelled the trees. Home at last. After parking on the worn stones in front of the cottage, he strained his neck to see through the windows of the dining hall about fifteen feet away. Squinting, he could make out the figures of Sarah and Rosaline inside, one sweeping the floor, the other cleaning windows. Not wanting to bother them, Bobby lumbered inside the cottage. Entering the eat-in kitchen, he stood scanning the feature of his open-concept masterpiece. Wooden walls rose from the edges of the stone floor and stopped at waist level. Large windows with screens and a pine panelled ceiling took over. The fish-scented air from the lake outside, down the hill, seeped in through the back screen door at the far end where the living room area boasted two armchairs facing each other, a small sofa, and a stone fireplace in the corner. In the middle was the camp office with a computer, desk and shelves. Beyond it an inner door opened to a hallway which led to a bathroom and three bedrooms. Once he took in this proud sight for the umpteenth time, Bobby went to work at killing his hunger. From the fridge he pulled out a bowl of preboiled potatoes. He cut them into wedges and soaked them in lemon juice, adding some chopped-up garlic cloves. He wrestled a pan out of the packed-tight cupboard and began frying, adding a few strips of bacon until everything turned crispy brown. He cooked two eggs over easy—it used to be four in his playing days—and dropped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster. Sitting at the kitchen table, Bobby wolfed down the meal and downed a glass of orange juice to boot. Then he pulled himself up to make a cup of coffee. Sat again, put his feet up on another chair. Rested a few minutes. Through the back screen door, below the rocky pine-treed hill, the lake beckoned him, pulled him like a magnet. Bobby stood on the dock, coffee mug in hand. He inhaled the wilderness he treasured. The smooth blue water, the bulrushes near the shore, and the white-birch sticking out and clashing with the rest of the greenery, this was nature as it should be—lightly landscaped. His fifty-acre property became a reality for him thanks to his hockey playing career. A few former teammates had helped him put together the camp buildings above the hill, bit by bit. He’d lost touch with all of them over the years. Many ex-players just couldn’t handle retirement. They became restless and even unhinged, not sure what to do with themselves. Before long, they drifted off into the depths of depression, and were defeated by drink or drugs, or both. But Bobby had always believed in making plans. While still playing, he set goals for himself, saving his money to buy property where he could once day relish a slower pace. From the hilltop where his cottage was planted, Bobby heard a car door open and shut. He turned his head and looked up, but of course couldn’t see a thing through the thick trees and shrubs. Then he heard faint voices, Sarah and Rosaline greeting his son, Sterling. He looked down and nodded at the ground. The kid should have been home yesterday. Better late than never, he supposed. His right knee again. Arthritis had set in during his final years of playing and had grown much worse lately. But Bobby was no quitter and rarely complained about his body pains. He grabbed hold of the handrail and began his tortoise-like steps up the sturdy wooden staircase he’d built a few summers before. Scaling the stairs, Bobby readied himself as best he could to welcome his son. The two hadn’t seen each other for close to a year. He and Sarah agreed last year, after Sterling turned eighteen, that they should allow him “all the freedom of an independent adult” as she put it. Maybe he would achieve better success in his first year of university if he didn’t have the two of them to fall back on the whole time. The boy had trouble enough getting into university, since his high school marks were on the low side, and he’d always had trouble keeping himself focused. Bobby wanted this little reunion to go well because he thought deep down Sterling was a good kid. Nothing in life goes just like you want, after all, and with this reminder stamped on his brain Bobby opened the back screen door to face his family. “Hi Dad,” said Sterling standing quickly. The famous red hair he got from his mother was uncombed as usual, and he might have been mistaken for a skinny scarecrow with that plaid shirt and baggy blue jeans. Bobby sensed something in the air. His boy’s jitteriness made it easy for him to detect, no matter how hard he might try to hide it. Add to this Sarah and Rosaline stood huddled nearby, clearly in the know. Sarah’s curly hair and gentle face never failed to draw Bobby like a bee to honey. She remained an attractive fit woman even now in her early fifties. Bobby’s full-figured brown-haired daughter gave him a forced smile. The way the three of them eyed one another; oh yeah, they’d been talking over something while he’d been climbing up from the lake. Deciding to go along with whatever game was being played, Bobby walked right over to Sterling and gave him a buddy-slap on the upper arm. “There he is.” He even returned his son’s smile. “So, what’s your grade-point average for first year?” “Bobby,” said Sarah cheerfully while rushing over to take his empty coffee mug. He didn’t let it show, but her quick kiss on his cheek thrilled him as always. “Guess what?” she said. “I dunno. What?” He was pretty sure the subject would be changed for the boy’s sake, and soon she proved him right. “Sterling says he’s going to paint the fence down by the dock today. Isn’t that nice?” Not biting like some fish in the lake, Bobby remained a rock. “How’s that nice?” “Well, it will save your back a lot of pain.” “Sure, if you say so.” He snapped his fingers....
