The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(47)

After The Price Is Right ended, I stopped in the ladies’ room in the hallway and cleaned up, knowing I’d have to head straight to work or risk being late. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and brushed on a little mascara and lip gloss. When I returned to Grams’ room to say goodbye, a man was sitting in the chair next to her. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place why at first. “Hello.”

The man stood and nodded. “I was just doing my daily visit with Marlene. I didn’t realize she had company.”

My jacket was draped over another chair, so I lifted it and began to pull it on. “Stay. Please. I was just about to leave. I have to get to work anyway.” I smiled. “I’m Willow. Marlene’s granddaughter.”

“I didn’t realize Marlene had a granddaughter. It’s nice to meet you, Willow. I’m Grouper. Your grandmother likes to whip me at checkers a few times a week.”

“Ah. Yes, game shark. She looks innocent, but she’s a closet swindler.”

Grouper looked to Marlene and shook his head. “You sound just like Brody.”

“You know Brody?”

“Of course. Comes here every week like clockwork. Good man. Just don’t ever let him know I said that.” He winked.

“Does he ever bring his girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend? Oh, you mean the reporter. No. He comes alone. Tuesdays. Usually about ten.”

I walked over to Grams and gave her a hug. Her shoulders were so much thinner than I remembered. My larger-than-life grandmother felt tiny, almost fragile. “I have to get going to work, or I’ll be late.”

“Okay, dear. Will you come back with Brody?”

“You know what? I will. I’ll be back on Tuesday. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Grouper.”

“Nope, no mister. Just Grouper. Like the fish.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, it was nice to meet you, Grouper. And thank you for visiting with Grams.”

“My pleasure. Let’s hope the Steel win this Sunday, so we get a happy Brody here on Tuesday.”

I smiled, refraining from saying what I was thinking. I wouldn’t count on Brody being happy on Tuesday, even if he wins.

***

Monday was my only day off. Restaurant hours were hard on keeping up with any TV programs, so I had stopped bothering recording most things a long time ago. On the rare occasion that I remembered to set up something to record, it was even rarer that I actually watched whatever it was that I’d recorded. Except today. I sat on the edge of the couch during the last two minutes of the Steel versus Eagles game as Brody and the offensive line moved down the field. They were down by six and sitting on the thirty-yard line on fourth down.

Mindlessly, I tapped my foot on the floor as Brody drew back, and the ball went sailing in the air. Come on, Brody. Come on. I held my breath until the spiraling ball fell into the wide receiver’s hands. Being on edge, anxious for the win as Brody stood on the field, reminded me of sitting on the old metal bleachers in high school, so many years ago. My best friend, Anna, used to steady my leg. Quit playing the snare drum with your foot, you’re shaking the whole bleacher. God, those days really were a lifetime ago.

After the game, I decided to make cupcakes. I used to love to bake, although it had been a really long time since I’d had anyone to bake for. My apartment was small, with a galley kitchen that was tinier than most closets and a crappy stove, so baking wasn’t something I’d thought to do since I moved in. But today I made Gram and Brody’s favorite. The same red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting that I used to bake after Brody won a game back in high school.

On my way to my afternoon appointment with Dr. Kaplan, I knocked on my neighbor’s door across the hall, two cupcakes in hand. Waiting as I listened for the triple set of locks to clank open, I looked around the dim third floor of my building. This place was really seedy, and that was saying something coming from the places I’d spent time in over the years. But New York City was expensive, and it was the only place I was able to afford at the moment.

Eventually, the door cracked open a tiny bit, the flimsy top lock chain still securely attached. I kneeled down to the little girl’s eye level. “Hi, Abby. I made cupcakes. I thought maybe you and your mom would like some.”

She nodded quickly with wide eyes. The door shut and then reopened without the chain. Abby reached for the plate. Shit. I know that look.

“Is your mom home?” The poor little thing was starving. She didn’t even bother to lick the icing off the top or taste it before shoveling half the cupcake into her mouth with one bite.

Abby nodded her head while chewing. She was probably five or six, but she was tiny for even that. I’d gotten to know her and her mom over the last few months. Her mother was in recovery, like me. But I had a bad feeling that something might have changed over the weekend. The two guys I’d seen coming out of their place definitely screamed that the wagon had tipped, and Mom had fallen off.

I didn’t want to scare Abby by prying too hard. “How about Mom? Can I give her the other cupcake?”

“She’s sleeping.”

It was four in the afternoon. “Is anyone else home?”

Abby shook her head.

“Can I come inside for a second, Abby?”

She nodded.

Who else would this sweet little thing let in?

I walked through their apartment and found Lena sprawled across her bed. I checked that she was breathing. A few beer cans were littered around the sparse room, but there were no signs of drug paraphernalia, at least.