The Best I Could (39 page)

“Strong?” I scoffed.

Rosa reached for me, laying her hand over my
shaking fingers. “Don’t let being here make you think you’re weak.
Strong people know when they need help. Strength isn’t always how
we deal with things. For you, the cutting. Strength is what you
manage to accomplish despite that.”

My gaze met hers. “I know you’re getting paid
for this, but thank you.”

She laughed. “I’d do it for free if I could,
but there are these things called bills. Mean little devils.”

I could see she loved what she did, and I was
thankful Pops knew someone like her. It made it easier to look past
her shrink-dom.

“Same time next week,” she chirped. “But if
you need to see me before then, don’t hesitate to call.”

We stood.

Leaving the shrink was more awkward than
arriving because my emotions were sitting on the floor of her
office, all trampled over. Spilled out like the contents of a
cracked egg.

Snapping the band on my wrist, I climbed into
my Buick, glanced in the rearview mirror, and left. Driving toward
my ever-changing life. Pondering weird things. Like why did some
people call therapists shrinks? After my appointment, I felt raw,
but I certainly didn’t feel small.

Eli

Ray met me at the door of the boxing club, a
huge smile plastered on his face. “So, I hear my capo will be doing
extra time now.”

I grimaced. “Temporarily living here has
proved detrimental to my personal life. There’s no secrecy.”

“Small town issues.”

“I feel the sudden need to hashtag those
words, Boss.”

He grinned, the prolonged smile becomingly
increasingly creepy.

“You’re in a good mood,” I noted.

He rubbed his hands together, still grinning,
and I knew I’d said the right thing.

“I called in a few favors, and got a quick
drop from a place in Atlanta,” he spouted.

“Meaning?”

“I’ve got your punching bags, but you owe me
extra. A fast delivery like that costs more.”

Excitement surged through me. “You’ve got a
deal! I’ll get that to you by the next class.”

I’d already given him the money for the
initial order, and I didn’t mind the extra. It paid to have a rich
grandfather who supported the cause. One day I was going to make it
up to Pops.

“Also,” Ray added, eyeing me expectantly,
“I’ve got you lined up for a fight. An amateur match to raise money
for the troubled youth program.”

“You didn’t say anything about a fight.”

“I am now.” He clapped me on the back. “It’s
for charity, capo. Now, enjoy your classes.”

Making a mental note to confront Ray about
his sudden news later, I sauntered into the gym, found the punching
bags laid out against the back wall, and grinned. The bags weren’t
hanging up, which was good because these kids were going to take
them home. Even if I had to deliver them myself.

The door to the gym burst open, and I glanced
up to find Deena slinking in.

“You’re early,” I called.

Catching sight of me, she grinned. “Don’t get
too excited. I’m not turning into an overachiever or anything.
Tansy had an appointment, so she dropped me off early.”

Approaching me, she eyed the bags on the
floor. “That’s taking up a lot of space. What are those for?”

“Your class.”

“All of us?”

“That’s right. You’ll find out why soon
enough. Want to do some exercises with me? Get a jump start on
warm-up.”

Dropping the duffel bag hanging from her
shoulder, she nodded. “Sure.”

I took her through a few stretching
techniques, noting the way her cheeks glowed, rosy and excited.

“You like this whole boxing thing, don’t
you?” I asked.

She shrugged, all noncommittal. “Whatever.
It’s growing on me.

I snorted. “You’re going to be good at this
sport, kid.”

She froze, sobering instantly. “You mean
that? Like really mean that?”

I chose my words carefully because the look
in her eyes told me these were going to be weighted words, the kind
that stuck with her during defining moments.

“If you put everything you’ve got into this
sport, all of that fiery personality, you’re not just going to be
great, Deena. You’re going to walk away from this changed.”

Inhaling, she let her gaze roam the gym,
taking in everything. “Tansy and Jet … even during the rough times
they’ve always had their niche, you know? Tansy’s always been a
regular eco-friendly plant whisperer. Jet and basketball … he flew.
Like his name. I want a niche.”

Reaching out, I gripped her shoulder, nodded,
and said, “This could be it. Anything you do is like investing in
the right stock. Invest enough money in the things you want, you
make bank.”

She stared at me. “Just because I know what
the word niche means, doesn’t mean I understood a lick of what you
just said.”

I laughed, knowing she got it more than she
wanted to admit. “One day, kid.”

Her classmates started arriving, each of them
pausing when they reached us, their gazes on the white punching
bags resting against the back wall.

“Dude—” Carrot began.

I shook my head. “Nope. Warm up first.”

Leaving them to stretch, I entered Ray’s
office to fetch the permanent markers I’d picked up the day I asked
him to order the bags.

Ray was on the phone.

Grinning, he flicked his chin at me, and
winked.

True crime boss style, he covered the
receiver, his fingers spread wide, leaned forward in his seat, and
hissed, “Where do we need to hide the body?”

“What?” a female screeched from the other end
of the line.

“I love doing that to her,” Ray mouthed,
chuckling quietly.

“Wife?”

“Twenty-five years strong.”

I blinked. “God, you’re old.”

“Watch it, capo. I have people.”

Lips twitching, I returned to the class.

They were murmuring amongst themselves,
half-assing their stretches because they were too busy passing
around theories about the white bags.

“All right, stop,” I ordered, pausing near
the wall. “You want to know what these are for? They’re yours.”

They froze.

“Ours?” one of the boys asked.

“What?” Roger added.

I handed them each a black and red permanent
marker. “These bags and these markers are going home with you. Like
a pet. Only you don’t have to keep them alive, thank goodness.”

I found that funny. They didn’t.

Clearing my throat, I pointed at them and
then at the wall. “These punching bags are your friends. They are
also your enemies. You will learn to respect the bag, and you will
learn to hate it.”

Holding an extra set of markers, I stepped in
front of one of the bags and tapped the unopened black one against
it. “This marker represents your strengths, the things about
yourself you feel comfortable with. The parts about yourself you
like. It also represents what you want in life, what you want to
save, and what you don’t want to lose. Use it to write those things
on the bag. Not all at once. Little by little as you discover them.
Every time you throw a punch, you’re going to see those words, and
you’re going to remember why you put them there. Beat them into
your memory.”

Tapping the unopened red marker against the
bag, I told them, “This marker represents the things about yourself
you want to change. What you consider weaknesses. The things in
your life you can’t control but wish you could. It represents the
things that make you angry, bitter, and disappointed. Each time you
throw a punch at these, you’re not only going to remember why you
wrote them, you’re going to be inspired to change them. To beat
them out of your system while letting them teach you why it’s
important to remember your past—the good and the bad—but not let it
define you if it’s going to hurt you.”

Saying that, I paused,
staring at my hands and the empty bag.
Remember your past—the good and the bad—but don’t let it
define you if it’s going to hurt you.

Funny how I could say those words aloud to
these kids and suddenly, out of nowhere, understand them
myself.

Looking up, I saw Ray standing in his open
office door, arms crossed, a smile on his lips. He nodded at
me.

“So, we can take these home?” Roger
asked.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I turned
to him. “You can, and if you can’t get the bag to your house, we’ll
find a way to get them there for you. Same with setting them up
once we get them there. If you need to leave them here until you
talk to your parents—”

“I can’t take one,” Roger interrupted, his
face reddening.

“You don’t like the idea or you just refuse
to take it? It’s not charity. This is part of your program.”

He shrugged. “I’m in the foster care system.
I’m not in one place long enough to take it.”

Words failed me.

“We’ll put yours in the storage room, Roger,”
Ray called from across the gym. “We’ll cover it when you’re not
back there, and when you find a more permanent place to put it,
we’ll get it there.”

Roger shifted, his discomfort obvious, and I
changed the subject fast, taking the spotlight off of him.

“We’re going to pick up the pace over the
next few classes. You need to work at home as much as you do here.
Get on a schedule. Start by running every day. Push yourself.”

“Kill ourselves you mean,” Carrot
groused.

“You’re an idiot,” Deena spouted abruptly.
She tensed. “That’s a terrible way of looking at it.”

Even though, technically, Deena’s father
hadn’t committed suicide, he’d given up on life. By the look in her
eyes, Carrot’s words didn’t sit right with her.

Carrot stiffened. “What did you call me?”

“Lay off of her, beanpole,” Roger warned, his
gaze flicking from the bags to the storage room.

I clapped. “Come on, let’s get in the ring. I
want to show you guys—”

“And girls,” Deena inserted.

I smiled.
“
And girls
something.”

Watching them walk to the ring was a profound
experience for me. Working with them was opening up a whole new
world beyond mine.

I’d lived in a box up until now, figuratively
speaking. Shoving the lid off of my box, I realized the world was
full of boxes, all of them resting on the earth’s surface, people
climbing out of them, staring at each other. All of them trying to
figure out the person standing next to them.

My box needed to burn. I liked being free of
it, seeing things in a much larger scope.

Tansy

Everything seemed brighter after my
appointment. Not completely better, but brighter.

I’d always been the kind of person, even as a
child, who looked at the world in terms of connections. Kind of
like that game my mom and dad used to play, the one where they
connected celebrities to each other by linking them all to Kevin
Bacon.

The world was a giant connect-the-dots. A
plant needed water and good soil to grow. Animals needed plants and
other animals to survive. Everything depended on the weather, the
bugs, and timing. People depended on all of it.

That was how I looked at the garden I was
working on at the orchard. The stuff I was doing at the clinic was
basic, but the garden here … it was going to connect people.

After finishing the flower beds, I started
clearing out spaces at the back of the house. A back door opened
onto a mowed lawn full of sunshine and nothing else. It was the
perfect place for a garden.

Things were about to change.

With Pops’ blessing, and lots of phone calls
to the gardening center, I started by laying a path with stepping
stones.

This garden was going to focus on a curved
path which twisted and then vanished into a cluster of flowers so
that it looked like it never truly ended.

All day, I worked, my skin slathered in
sunscreen, a headband pushing my hair off of my forehead.

Here and there, Pops came out to watch, often
offering me a glass of iced tea or a sandwich, which I
accepted.

From a second story window, I caught glimpses
of Eli’s mother. She stared down at me, silent and imposing. Her
eyes were darker than usual. It sent chills down my spine.

Ignoring her, I laid my path.

The sun had trekked across the sky, the
buzzing bees having calmed, by the time I called it quits.

A car sped down the drive, Jonathan’s red
Porsche slinging gravel.

Gathering my supplies, I stacked them neatly
against the back door and made my way to the front.

Eli was there, leaning against his brother’s
car. Seeing him made my heart feel funny. Bigger.

He smiled. “Today, you really do look like a
garden fairy.” He indicated my hair. “I like the colors.”

I’d recently redone my highlights in an ombrè
purple fading to pink.

The last time I saw Eli, we’d made love. My
thighs felt heavy with the memory, my cheeks flushing.

“I’ve got an idea for a garden,” I told
him.

He glanced behind me. “At the back of the
house? Wouldn’t it be better out here in the front where everyone
can see it?”

“It wouldn’t mean the same.”

Intrigued, he asked, “Why?”

“Because this garden is going to grow up
strong. Out of the spotlight. To enjoy it, you’re going to have to
find it. Then, when you do, it’s going to change you.”

Pushing himself away from the car, Eli took a
step toward me. “You talking about a garden or yourself?”

“What do you think?”

Closing the distance between us, he pulled me
close, his arm circling my waist. “You always smell like the earth
… the sun. Did you know that?”

Pressing my face against his chest, I
inhaled. Eli smelled like the gym, but I wasn’t pulling away. Not
yet.