“So when I said I wanted a puppy, I think something kind of broke in her. She just couldn't take care of anyone else. So we compromised. Cats are low maintenance, you know? There's cat food and a litter box in the garage. Most the time Fern is the one who feeds Dan Gable and changes his litter. I think she made a deal with my mom when we got the kittens, though I can't pin either one of them down on it.”
“Shit.” Ambrose ran his hands over his bald head, agitated and distraught. He didn't know what to say.
“When are you going to start wrestling again, Brosey?” Bailey used the name the guys had called him. Ambrose had a feeling he did it on purpose. “I want to see you wrestle again. Having a cat named Dan Gable just doesn't cut it.” Dan Gable meowed and hopped off Bailey's lap as if he didn’t appreciate Bailey’s comments.
“And just like that, he abandons the cripple.” Bailey sighed tragically.
“I can't hear or see on my right side, Bailey. I can't see anyone coming! Hell, my legs would be tied up so fast I wouldn't know what hit me. Add to that, my balance sucks. The hearing loss has thrown it all out of whack, and I would really rather not have an entire arena of people looking at me.”
“So you're just going to make cupcakes?”
Ambrose glared at Bailey, and Bailey grinned back.
“How much can you bench, Brosey?”
“Will you quit calling me that?”
Bailey looked genuinely confused. “Why?”
“Because it . . . it . . . just . . . call me Ambrose.”
“So 400, 500 pounds? How much?”
Ambrose was glaring again.
“You can't tell me you haven't been lifting,” Bailey said. “I can tell. You may have a naturally good physique, but you're shredded. You've got serious size and you're hardened down.”
This coming from a kid who'd never lifted a weight in his life, Ambrose thought, shaking his head and pushing another tray of cupcakes into the oven. Yeah, cupcakes.
“So what's the point? I mean, you've got this amazing body–big, strong. You just going to keep it to yourself? You gotta share it with the world, man.”
“If I didn't know better, I would think you were hitting on me,” Ambrose said.
“Do you stand naked in front of the mirror and flex every night? I mean, really, at least go into the adult film industry. At least it won't go completely to waste.”
“There you go again . . . talking about things you know nothing about,” Ambrose said. “Fern reads romance novels and you are suddenly Hugh Hefner. I don't think either of you has room to lecture me about anything.”
“Fern's been lecturing?” Bailey sounded surprised and not at all offended that Ambrose had basically told him he didn't know jack crap because he was in a wheelchair.
“Fern's been leaving inspirational quotes,” Ambrose said.
“Ahhh. That sounds more like Fern. Like what? Just Believe? Dream big? Marry me?”
Ambrose choked and then found himself laughing, in spite of everything.
“Come on, Bros–Ambrose,” Bailey amended, his tone conciliatory, his face serious. “Don't you even think about it? Coming back? My dad unlocks the wrestling room for open use in the summer. He would work with you. Hell, he'd wet himself if you told him you wanted to drill some shots. You think all this hasn't been hard on him? He loved you guys! When he heard the news . . . Jesse, Beans, Grant . . . Paulie. They were his too. They weren't just yours, man. They were his boys. He loved them too! I loved them too,” Bailey said, vehemence making his voice shake. “Did you ever think about that? You aren't the only one who lost them.”
“Don't you think I know that? I get it!” Ambrose said, incredulous. “That's the problem, Sheen. If I was the only one who had lost . . . if I was the only one in pain, it would be easier. . . “
“But we didn't just lose them!” Bailey interrupted. “We lost you! Don't you think this whole damn town mourns for you?”
“They mourn for the superstar. Hercules. I'm not him. I don't think I can wrestle anymore, Bailey. They want the guy that wins every match and has Olympic prospects. They don't want the bald freak that can't hear the damn whistle being blown if it's on his bad side.”
“I just explained to you how I can't go to bathroom by myself. I have to depend on my mother to pull down my pants, blow my freakin' nose, put deodorant on my armpits. And to make matters worse, when I went to school, I had to rely on someone to help me there too, with almost every damn thing. It was embarrassing. It was frustrating. But it was necessary!
“I have no pride left, Ambrose!” Bailey said. “No pride. But it was my pride or my life. I had to choose. So do you. You can have your pride and sit here and make cupcakes and get old and fat and nobody will give a damn after a while. Or you can trade that pride in for a little humility and take your life back.”
Bailey said he'd never been to the memorial for Paulie, Jesse, Beans and Grant. Ambrose could see why. It involved a bit of a climb up a little dirt road that was far too steep going both up and down for a wheelchair to traverse. Elliott told Ambrose the city was working on having the road paved, but it hadn't happened yet.
When Bailey told him about the spot, Ambrose could see how much Bailey wanted to go, and Ambrose told himself he would take him. But not yet. This time, this first time, Ambrose needed to go by himself. He had avoided it since coming home to Hannah Lake almost six months before. But talk of cupcakes and humility and Bailey's lack of pride had convinced Ambrose that maybe it was time for small steps. And so he put one foot in front of the other and climbed the hill that led to the pretty overlook where his four friends were buried.