Mr. Fogarty gave him a wink, and that was when Azura knew it was over. She had received the answer she thought she was going to be gifted, and there was nothing more to it.
Except that she was stuck, once again, dancing around that irritating circle.
They both made their way back to the car, and Martin spoke up with his hands in his pockets.
“Maybe he’s right,” Martin said. “Maybe I can make it in the pros, and we won’t have to worry about money anymore.”
Azura let out a long sigh as she unlocked her car.
“Do you think you’ll be able to stay out of jail that long?”
They planted themselves in the car, and Azura immediately regretted her retort. She squeezed the steering wheel, scolding herself internally.
“Look, Martin,” she said, starting the engine. “That is almost six years away. I understand if that is your dream, then I agree. Go for it. But don’t forget that you won’t get a scholarship if you have a criminal record. Plus, scholarships aren’t always guaranteed for athletes.”
Martin did not give her a reply. He simply clicked on his seat belt and stared out the window.
Azura knew frustration, and she knew it well. It had helped her grow a thicker skin, along with the striking blow of her grief. While she responded to their devastating loss with practical, proactive measures, Martin was a teenager. He imploded.
The implosion only made their bad situation worse, as Martin had the ego of an athlete, and he partied just like one. He got away with a lot when it came to drugs, underage drinking, and vandalism because of his status as a linebacker on his high school football team.
Azura knew well that high school stars faded fast. In fact, he would plummet to the Earth at a mortal speed if he didn’t get his shit together.
Normally, Azura could ignore his rebelliousness and focus on her career in hospitality. But he didn’t have anyone else. And that meant that she, as an adult and as a woman, had to treat him as both her brother and her son.
It was a burden she sometimes resented, but she would never tell him that.
They pulled into the driveway of their massive home. It was certainly beautiful if you were able to see past the vines growing along the windowsills, the grass that was nearly as high as her lanky brother, and the glass itself coated in neglectful dust.
Azura knew what it looked like when it sparkled. It had been passed down on her mother’s side and was considered a family heirloom in their Southern California neighborhood.
She wanted to bring it back from that state. To lift it from the dirt of its own grief.
When they settled in the driveway, Martin was still sporting his sullen look. Azura had adjusted to it, so she chose to ignore it as always.
“Did you want some takeout tonight?”
Before he could answer, a large black car pulled up behind them. Martin barely gave it a glance, nodded, then retreated inside. Azura turned and watched as the driver’s side window rolled down.
Behind it was an older, elegant-looking woman with long, silver hair. Her eyes shone in the California sun, and something about it made Azura curious.
She put on her sunglasses and walked over to the car, ready to spout any defensive language that was required of her.
Azura approached with curiosity and realized the woman’s slate gray eyes wandered the landscape of her home. She had an admiring look about her, and it made Azura want to turn around and check out whatever it was she was missing.
“Can I help you?” Azura asked.
Their eyes connected.
“You have a beautiful home,” the woman said.
Azura turned back to look at it. It looked like something out of an Edgar Allen Poe poem to her. She turned back to the car, smirking.
“Are you sure we’re looking at the same place?” Azura quipped.
The woman held her hand out the window, and Azura gripped it. It was a meaningful, whole-hearted handshake Azura could not resist.
“My name is Gerri Wilder,” she said. “I was just admiring your wonderful home, and it's serendipitous that we should arrive here at the same time.”