Chapter One

Josh

I don't remember ever seeing a day like it. It was hot for that late in the summer but with that occasional ocean breeze that made things bearable. High tide was cresting as it lapped at my feet. From my vantage point, there wasn’t a cloud visible, just the murky dark blue of the ocean meeting the crisp, lighter blue above the horizon. At that moment, there weren’t even birds peppering the sky, nothing to interfere with all that blue. I could hear the waves crashing at my feet and the chatter of my family behind me, but it felt like I was hearing it through a filter as I stood alone, in my own blue-on-blue world.

A child whizzed past me.

“Vera!” At least three of us screamed: my mom, my oldest brother, Jamie, and me. But I was closest, standing at the edge of the surf, my feet buried deeper in the sand with each successive wave. She ran past me, a boogie board hugged tight to her chest as she fearlessly met the waterline.

I could sense her father behind me, but I didn’t wait, following her as the biggest wave we’d seen in a while devoured her. I dove in, grabbing onto her ankle as the water consumed us.

Gasping and clinging to her skinny leg, I surfaced, grasping with my other hand to try and support more of her body, the boogie board coming between us and slapping me in the face. We tumbled to the shoreline, me desperate to keep hold of her as I swatted at the foam board. As we tumbled, my fingers got caught in the leg rope. Instinctively, I grasped it, hoping it would help keep my niece and me from being separated. It twisted and twisted as Vera and I were pushed around in the waves and knocked to the sand.

At the same time the surf began to calm, I could feel my niece being pulled from me. I panicked as pain fired through the one of my hands not desperately trying to cling to the child. Flat on my stomach in the sand, I could see Jamie as he swooped down and picked up his daughter. The boogie board’s leash was still attached to her tiny ankle, and as he pulled her up, a second surge of pain flowed through me.

I cried out as I rolled over.

Above me, Jamie set his daughter down, holding her waist in his hands to keep her steady and in one place. From my prone position on the sand, I watch him look her over with concern, my mother and my brother AJ standing over his shoulder doing the same before turning their attention to me.

Vera sputtered and hugged her father, but almost immediately, she was grinning like a devious cat.

“Can I try again, Daddy?”

Jamie had no words as he wrapped her in his arms. AJ leaned down to release the Velcro cuff from her ankle and replied, “Not right now, little one.”

Aware that something was off but not yet having fully processed exactly what, I started to right myself by pushing off the sand. While I was in motion, I began to scream in agony as I watched my left arm rise without my permission, my hand still attached to the cord AJ was tugging.

Muttering out the word “shit” before yelling over his shoulder, “Caid,” AJ threw the board down as he and my mom helped me to my feet.

Jamie led Vera away from us to where other members of our family sat in a cluster nearby, a typical if rather large group, sitting on beach chairs, lying on blankets on the ground, some under a large umbrella, others eager to catch some rays, coolers and books and beach bags peppering the sand.

Vaguely, I knew something was wrong as Mom grabbed me by the shoulders, examining my face like it held all my secrets.

“You're hurt.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I think …” I started as the pain emanating from my left hand began to dominate. But AJ was ahead of me, gently grasping my left wrist as the cord dropped to the ground.

“Shit, man, your finger.”

The pain came back in full force as if seeing it made it real. The three of us looked at my hand, held up in my brother’s gentle grasp.

“Ow, fuck!”

I fell to my knees, staring at my hand in amazement, my ring finger twisted, swollen, and bent, my mind now fully aware of the pain.

“Caid!” my mom yelled, echoing AJ and calling for another of my brothers, a medical student. Caid was kneeling in front of Jamie, examining a drenched Vera, who sat in her father’s lap. Caid held her head in his hands as he talked to her. The urgency in Mom’s tone had him to me in a flash, and he took my wrist from AJ, looking at my hand quickly before looking back at AJ, a firefighter who was well-versed in injuries and first aid. The two of them were clearly communicating with their shared looks of concern.

“Free up a plastic baggie and get me some ice from one of the coolers” Caid demanded of AJ. “And something to wrap it in, a towel or a T-shirt. Mom, collect up Josh’s stuff. Mine, too, please.

“This looks broken, bro,” he sympathized as he gently placed my hand on my opposite shoulder. I winced. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.” Hearing the word “hospital” triggered Mom into action.

Caid walked me back to the group, shooing our brother Vance from a beach chair and leading me to it. I went to move my hand, but Caid put a gentle touch to my forearm. “Try not to move it.” Vance took in what was happening and went to help my mom, who shoved a T-shirt in his hands.

Mom then showed up in front of Caid and me waving two sets of flip-flops. We nodded in answer to the unspoken question, confirming they were ours. AJ was right behind her, makeshift ice pack in hand. Caid slid into his shoes and took the pack from AJ, placing it in my good hand and slowly guiding it to the deformity resting on my shoulder while my mother bent down and put on my shoes. It was very awkward, being fussed over while I sat there in pain.

From the corner of my eye, I could see my brother AJ getting dressed as well. “Dad, keys,” he barked.

“Shirts, Vance,” he ordered. Then to me, said, “Do you have your wallet?”

I nodded, trying to focus on what was going on around me and not on my pain. AJ kept staring at me, and I realized that wasn’t answer enough. “Black backpack.” I jutted my head, and even that small movement caused a pulsing surge through my hand and up my arm.

Vance shoved shirts in AJ’s face, and as Caid put his on, he asked our mother, “Can you gently help him into his?” His head popped out of his collar, and he looked at me. “Place it right back on your shoulder and get the ice right back on it, okay?” He mimicked the move, tapping his own shoulder with the opposite hand as he nodded at me.

Mom tried, but my finger throbbed no matter how slowly or gently we proceeded. Eventually, we succeeded, and I was back with my hand on my shoulder, a towel padding it, holding the ice pack in place.

“Uncle Joshy?” Vera asked from her father’s lap, concern clouding her high-pitched, about-to-be-seven-year-old voice.

“No worries, little one, it’s just a boo-boo. Uncle AJ and Uncle Caid will take care of me until the doctors can fix me up, okay?”

She wiggled until Jamie put her down, but he took her by the hand as they approached me.

Vance followed behind them. “No hugs, little one, just a gentle kiss on the cheek.” He advised.

“Okay, Uncle Vance.” She slowly came to my good side and did just that. “Feel better, Uncle Joshy. I’m sorry our surfing got you hurt.”

“I’ll drive,” AJ said. Caid just nodded as the two of them helped me stand. Mom was scurrying to throw on her beach cover-up while simultaneously stepping into her sandals.

“I’m coming,” she insisted. Leave it to the Marchetti-Gordon family to show up at the emergency room with a carful of people.

The small emergency department in the little beach town was not busy, so I was seen right away. I tried to focus, but the pain was so intense I was glad I had three other people there to pay attention to everything the staff said and did. The word “broken” was bandied about as well as the phrase “multiple places.” I may have heard “surgery” and “physical therapy” as well, and I looked at Mom to confirm that she was paying attention and taking it all in in a way I couldn’t.

As it turned out, my finger was broken in three places, and I found myself, a few days later, with pins in my finger, a pill bottle full of the good stuff in hand, and instructions to find an orthopedic surgeon and a physical therapist as soon as we got home from our beach vacation and back to our hometown of Hampstead Valley, New York.

Mom didn’t wait, calling the campus health center at Hampstead University, where I was a student and where both of my parents were employed, that very day. “Good thing I did. With school gearing up and all the athletes already on campus, they said slots for physical therapy are filling up fast. She’s got you scheduled, though, twice a week around your class schedule, so you’re good to go!”

“Thanks, Ma.” We packed up that same evening, or rather, my family did, not allowing me to help. The next morning, we said goodbye to our beach home in Delaware, to AJ, Jamie, and Vera, who all lived in New York City, and to Caid and our sister Hillary, who were off to their respective colleges in Maryland and Illinois.

The rest of us headed back to Hampstead Valley, where my brother Vance and I, as well as my parents, would be starting the school year shortly. I was set to begin my senior year, Vance was working on an advanced degree, my dad taught literature, and my mother was dean of the Literature Department.

We drove the seven or so hours it took to get from the beach house to Hampstead Valley, and the very next day, I found myself in a section of the sports complex I’d never been to before: a roomful of athletes all sitting around, most of whom had some part of their body wrapped in a brace or bandage, waiting, just like me, for a turn with the physical therapist.

Struggling with my one good hand, I texted with my best friend, Devon, about his travel plans for returning to school for our senior year. Devon and I had roomed together throughout our college careers, and I was looking forward to one more year in the dorms with my best friend.

The waiting-room door opened, and another muscle-clad student walked in, sporting a T-shirt and a pair of sports shorts with the HU Hockey logo on them. He was obviously taller than me, but then most men were. This one also had broad shoulders and muscular legs. His chestnut brown hair was cropped in the back but long in the front and flopping in his face. He ran his fingers through it as he walked in, a slight limp barely perceptible as he approached me.

He waved at the receptionist, then dropped down in the seat next to me, and our entire row of connected chairs jolted.

“What are you in for?” He smiled.