Carried Away - P. Dangelico Page 0,75
popular ones I wrote, the ones with the most Likes, Shares, and Rts, were not the ones about my travels abroad. It was the ones I wrote about the people in town.
The Italians have a saying, the whole world is a village. Tutto il mondo e un paese. Hope I got that right ’cause I’m still terrible with languages. And they’re right. Those stories were popular because they hit a common chord. That essentially we are all the same; human, flawed, capable of acts of heroics one minute and ones of great shame the next.
Jake played another two years with the Chicago Blackhawks. And after hoisting one more Stanley Cup above his head, which he dedicated it to Mike Bresler, he announced his retirement. Since then he’s devoted one hundred percent of his time to coaching kids and painting to raise money for the organization.
Kyle lives with us during the summer when he trains exclusively with Jake. If he gets any better, he’s going to need an agent soon.
We were married at home on the Lake. My idea. The honeymoon in Bora Bora was his. Which is why we’re back here celebrating our second anniversary.
“But what?”
Sensing my reluctance, he walks over, and grabbing my hips, pulls me closer. Close enough that our bodies line up perfectly. No fantasies necessary. Sorry, Jackie.
Dipping his head, he plants a string of kisses down my neck. “You wanna cancel and stay in.”
I’d love to. Unfortunately, I married a viciously competitive man and will be branded a coward for all eternity if I do that.
“At laaaast, my true love has come along…” my phone rings, tone courtesy of Etta James.
We both glance at the screen and see Charlie’s number flash.
“Better get that,” Jake says, smiling.
“Jackie’s going into labor!” Charlie howls the moment I hit Accept, frantic as always whenever his wife has a baby. This one counts as number three.
“Calm down, Charlie. The doctor said everything looked good. There’s no need to panic.”
“Zelda’s here and I can’t take her psychoanalyzing me right now.”
“You’ve been mother-in-law free for the first five years of marriage. She’s only trying to make up for lost time.”
We’ve been lucky, last month marked my mother’s second year in remission.
I’m not saying we take mother-daughter vacations, but things with Zelda are much better. Part of me just enjoys watching Jackie force her to change dirty diapers when we all get together for the holidays. Nan’s turning 85 this year and keeps saying she’s willing to live to 100 for no other reason than to keep an eye on Zelda. At least she stopped calling her a hooker. Because fair is fair.
Regardless of how any of us feel about my mother, Dad is happy and as long as he remains that way, we’ve vowed not to interfere.
Elvis proved himself to be the filthy scoundrel I suspected he was. Apparently he did have a few fornications left to give. He managed to escape again. Thankfully, I had nothing to do with it. One day a small white cat showed up on our doorstep, demanding to be let in. Naturally, Nan was not going to turn her away. The joke was on us when she delivered three grey, black, and white long haired monsters two months later.
I glance across the room to find Jake at the door, pointing at his empty wrist.
“I gotta go Charlie. I have a date with some sharks. Tell Jackie we’ll swing by on our way back to New York.”
An hour later, as I’m gazing over the edge of the dive boat into translucent green waters. A school of baby sand sharks waiting to eat me circle below. It doesn’t take much to convince me that my pride isn’t worth the risk.
“Honey…Sunshine…Light of my life?”
Jake stops checking his air gage, expression super intense, and meets my apologetic smile. We don’t agree on everything, but we agree on the most important thing––always listen and respect each other’s choices.
“Remember when we were in New Zealand, bungee jumping, and you said I could never ever get you to say mercy first?”
His brow quirks. Then he places the aluminum scuba tank on the bench and comes over to me. He leans down until we’re practically nose to nose. Close enough that I can count the gentle creases at the edge of his deep blue eyes and the freckles under his coffee-with-cream tan.
Cupping my face, he kisses me. “Never ever ever, Carebear. Turners are not quitters. Now, are you a Turner or are you a Turner?”
His teammates are probably glad he retired. “I’m a Turner.”
“Damn right, you are. Suit up, baby. I checked your tank and you’re good to go. Promise you’re gonna love it.”
“Never ever?”
“Never ever,” my handsome Scrooge of the Adirondacks repeats with a teasing smirk.
“I’m pregnant.”
The smirk drops and his mouth parts. “Mercy.”