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It’s a goal of mine, too. Once I retire from the NHL next year after my contract with the Hawkeyes expires, I’ll consider retiring here full-time—or maybe even somewhere a little quieter.
Tourism continues to grow, and resorts are expanding further along the coastline. I still have two more seasons in Seattle to consider my options. There’s no rush.
I’ve got one Stanley Cup win under my belt from years ago, but I’m aiming to win one more before retirement. Last year's loss in overtime was brutal. Especially with Slade getting carried off the ice and sent to the ER. Thankfully, everyone is healthy this year and ready for another shot at it.
“The storm is going to hit near you? I thought it wasn’t supposed to hit the beach?” Reeve asks.
“It’s supposed to miss us, but the weather is too unpredictable to assume it won’t change direction before it does.”
“Why not head back to Seattle early then and get out of there?”
It’s a good question, and several of my neighbors who only live here part of the time, like me, have already left to head back to wherever they call home most of the year.
“I want to be here in case it does come any closer. If any damage is done, I’ll have a couple of weeks to do repairs before I have to come back for practice.”
I also don’t like leaving Rita alone, and I couldn’t convince her to head back to the States for a few days to weather the storm. She has two daughters in Louisiana and a handful of grandchildren she hasn’t seen since Bart’s funeral.
She spread his ashes out to sea and now refuses to leave until her ashes are spread the same way.
“Are you sure that’s smart?” he asks.
“It’ll be fine. Rita has a two-bedroom apartment above the bar. She’s staying there until this blows over. She offered me the other room if I need it. I don’t think the hurricane will be bad enough to require leaving, even if it does get closer to us.”
“Rita is still running the bar?” Reeve asks of my seventy-five-year-old neighbor.
Rita and her husband Bart retired over twenty years ago and moved to Mexico after buying “Scallywag’s. They had always dreamed of retiring down here, and they made it happen.
Two years ago, Bart suffered a heart attack and didn’t recover. Rita wasn’t ready to let go of their dream, so she's been running the bar with the small, established staff herself. I can’t blame her for grieving the loss of her husband in her own way.
We all process loss and closure differently. God knows that I’ve been ridiculed for how I’ve managed my losses in life, which is why I think Rita should do whatever makes her happy.
“She’s doing just fine. Let her do her thing,” I tell him.
“Yeah, but she has kids and grandkids back in Louisiana. Who does she have there?”
“Me,” I almost say, but then decide to keep my mouth shut.
Reeve isn’t wrong for wanting to encourage her to move back home to be with her family, but it’s also not his call.
“Did you really call me to chat about my bullheaded neighbor? Because if you did, I’m hanging up now. I have actual shit to do,” I say, taking another step up on the ladder to give me better leverage once I hang up on my teammate and get back to work.
I still have Rita’s beach house to board up next and a week's worth of backup canned goods to put away just in case things get bad.
The last thing on my to-do list today is to discuss the inner workings of my neighbor's future plans.
I still need to make sure to find the lanterns I have stored in the garage and fill both mine and Rita’s backup generators with gasoline to keep our refrigerators and freezers running in case the power gets knocked out.
I have a few other neighbors that I said I would keep an eye out for their houses, but I won’t be going as far as to board up their windows for them.
Depending on how bad the damage is, they’ll get a call or maybe just a text. Rita, on the other hand, gets different treatment. I promised Bart that I would keep an eye out for her just like he looked out for me when I first bought this house sight unseen fifteen years ago.
The house was rougher in person than the pictures and the realtor led me to believe. It had been abandoned for some time before it went up on the market.
My beach house isn’t the nicest one on the shoreline, but slowly, over the years, I’ve done a couple of things to spruce it up. This is mostly due to Bart griping that my house was the laughingstock of our beach community.
It’s not the luxury beach house accommodations that my teammates are used to with their big bank accounts, but it suits my needs just fine.
Is it due for a fresh coat of paint?
