Sail (Wake #2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

around the time I’d met Casey.
    I could handle staying there for a few nights, but I didn’t think I’d be able to move back in with all of them. It’d be too weird, like we were children again. In some ways I still was a child, learning how to be in love—real love—for the first time. I’m sure to Mom and Dad, Shane, Reggie, and I would always be just kids. They were good parents and knowing we could always count on them made us trust that, no matter what, we could always come home.
    I walked up the steps and instantly knew Mom was home. The volume with which she was listening to her favorite album was the tip off. Clearly my dad was still gone because the Grease soundtrack was cranked. As I opened the door and stood in the foyer of their split-level townhouse, I smiled to myself and listened to her croon. That woman knew every single word. To every single song. On both sides of both records. I’d heard her sing them plenty of times, but never when she thought she was alone.
    In her solitude the woman wailed. It wasn’t bad; she sang in key. It was just funny because it was my mom. Overdramatic was not her gig, but she could’ve made a damn fine career as a backup singer for the Pink Ladies.
    “Mom!” I shouted from the door as I pulled off my coat and tucked my scarf and gloves in the sleeve. “I’m here!”
    She popped her head around the staircase wall and smiled at me. She didn’t react as if Dad had mentioned to her I wanted to have a come-to-Jesus meeting about my life, like I’d alluded to on the phone. She was happily bee-bopping around in the kitchen like I wasn’t about to drop a bomb. That suited me just fine, at the moment anyway.
    “Hi, sweetheart. Let me turn this down.” She went back into the kitchen for a towel and walked across the living room to the stereo, turning the music down to an almost normal level. “Did you know that a little theater downtown is redoing Grease? I could be Rizzo.”
    “You totally could, Mom.” When I stopped at the stairs, it was evident she’d been in there whipping up something for dinner. By the looks of it, she was making meatloaf. Yuck. I promptly decided it would be a good idea to stay at the hotel for another night. I’d need to grab some food that didn’t resemble a flesh pile.
    “So how was the wedding? Did you take pictures? Did Grant have a good time?” she asked as she went back to her wad of meat.
    Taking a seat at the island, I absentmindedly opened a cooking magazine and began flipping through it, trying to land on what to say and what to hold back. I’d really hoped I could talk to both of them at the same time, but if my dad didn’t show up, I’d be spilling it to my mom alone.
    “The wedding was beautiful, it was totally Micah. When is Dad supposed to be back?” I asked. My leg was bouncing on the rung of the stool I was perched on. I felt waves of nervousness come and go like an emotional tide in my belly.
    She cracked a few eggs and tossed the shells in the trash, but when she did, the face she gave me indicated she’d caught on to my conversation shift.
    “Anytime now. Is everything okay, Blake?” she questioned, wiping her hand on a dishtowel tucked into her yoga pants.
    “Yeah, I mean, everything is going to be okay. I just sort of wanted to talk to you both. Together.” I flipped through the magazine. There was no way she was going to let it drop and my prayers were answered when I heard the shutting of car doors outside.
    She cocked her head sideways and then returned to the oven to preset the temperature.
    “Just face it, you’re old,” my brother, Shane, told our dad as they came through the door below in the foyer of their split-level house. “And since there isn’t any proof that what you say is true, I’m sticking with my gut and believing your alleged benching stats are nothing more than an old man’s fishing tale.”
    “You’re a shithead. When are you moving out?” my dad swiftly argued back, both of