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Yeah, it's about twenty years past due and starting to flake off in some spots.
Could the windows be upgraded to windows of this century?
Sure, that would help with the draft on windy tropical days.
I upgraded the roof a few years ago to metal, which Bart hated but it’s practical with the storms we get, and the kitchen appliances are all less than five years old.
Unlike mine, Rita and Bart’s place is updated and in great shape. Bart took a lot of pride in ownership, and Rita has always kept the inside of the place immaculate.
“Alright, well… take care of yourself, and don’t be a damn hero. The house can always be repaired. You’re a little harder to replace, and we need you in one piece this season. We have a Stanley Cup to win.”
“Yeah. I get it,” I say.
I hear what sounds like a heavy metal door close. Reeve must have just walked into the Hawkeyes' gym. The familiar sound makes my muscles ache with the need to be pushed to their limits again.
When I'm away, the one thing I miss the most is the regular daily routine in the gym with the guys.
I run on the beach every morning while I'm here and meet Silas at a local gym twice weekly to lift weights, as long as his schedule allows. It's nothing like the strict regimen I follow during the hockey season in Seattle, but it keeps me in shape.
“Hey, Brent just showed up to lift weights. I’ll let you get back to whatever apocalypse preparations you still have to do. We’ll see you when you get home.”
“See you in a couple of weeks,” I say back.
I end the call quickly, knowing that the conversation is over. Reeve isn’t one for long-out goodbyes, and neither am I. We both have things to do today.
He’s a good teammate and an even better friend. I appreciate that he thought of checking in.
I start to push my phone into my pants pocket and return to work.
These windows won’t board up themselves, and I still have a lot to do before nightfall when we’re supposed to start getting some heavy rain.
Just as I’m about to put away my phone, I hear a text message come through.
I pull the phone up to quickly see who it is. Whoever it is, they’ll get a response later when I have time, but I can at least check to make sure it isn’t Rita.
Josslin
The name reads.
What the fuck does she want now?
I let out a groan at seeing her name on my phone.
I read the beginning of the text without opening the entire thing.
Josslin: I’m worried about you and that storm...
That’s all I can read for now, but I don’t need to read anymore.
For the last six months, I’ve ignored Josslin’s texts, phone calls, and emails unless they pertain to my niece Cammy.
Cammy moved to Seattle last year during her freshman year at Washington University, and we've become close as she's the only family member I tolerate. She comes to all of my home games and sits in my seats or joins the girls in the owner's box. We no longer need Josslin to play the middleman between us, and the loss of control over Cammy's relationship with me is probably killing her.
I always thought I'd be married with kids by now but at thirty-eight years old, being Cammy's uncle might be the closest I get.
Unlike Cammy's dad and my brother, who I haven't talked to in eighteen years.
But that’s a memory lane I do not intend to travel down today.
