"This is fine."He takes a sip and leans against the breakfastbar."So, how have you been? Yourseasonis going well. What are you, 7 and 1 now?"
"I'm impressed you're keeping up,"I say."8 and 1, now. We won our last roadgame."
He clinks the neck of mybottlewith his."Kudos."
"I think the kids say 'bet' now,"I say with a chuckle.
"I'm thirty-four, so I don't think I can be confused for being a kid,"Boonesays.
I put mybottledown."Shut up. I didn't think you were more thantwenty-five,twenty-six."
He shrugs."I have a baby face."
"Huh."I take a seat."So what have you been up to,Boone?"
"Oh, up to my armpits in blueprints, permits, and design details. We've changed the scope of the project somewhat."
"How so?"
Boonesets hisbeerdown and takes his phone out."Here's an artist rendering of the planned community. See here,"he points to a drawing of a maze of interconnected streets lined by large, McMansion-style properties,"this is the original vision. A gated, exclusive community. Fewer houses, but with larger footprints.Startingin the high six-figures to low-seven."
I whistle."Fancy."
He scrolls to a different rendering. This one shows the same network of streets, but with more houses occupying smaller individual footprints."After doing some research into the area and talking to my father and the other investors, I've convinced them the smarter approach would be a planned mixed-income community. There will still be a few larger homes with bigger yards for sale, but most of the single-family homes will occupy about a quarter-acre of land and be affordable for those making around the median wage in the county. We won't earn as much profit right out of the gate, but we will qualify for some state grants to lower construction expenses. Plus, it's the right thing to do. The last thing this county needs is more housing only people working in DC can afford."
He turns off his phone and puts it away with a self-deprecatinglaugh."Sorry. I'm boring you. This cannot be interesting to you in the least."
I put my hand on his arm."I know a lot of people who had to move further north and west and commute into Frederick for jobs. It will mean so much for people to be able to actually live where they work."
"That's theplan. So when is your next homegame?"
"We have two this week. Thursday and again on Saturday."
"Yourseasonmust be almost over. Don't the playoffs begin in July?"
"We have about six more regular-seasongames,"I confirm.
"Once webreakground, I won't have a whole lot of time,"he says."Think I can comewatchyou play this week?"
"I'd love it. Want me to leave you tickets? Thursday or Saturday, or both?"
"How about Thursday?"
My smile wavers a bit at the familiar bite ofhurt, but I cover it with an even biggergrin."Absolutely. I can't wait."
Twenty-One
Palmer
I can't rememberthe last time I willingly stayed at my parents' later than planned. But the barbecue was a blast, and I attribute it all to the Wainwrights. After enjoying steaks and veggie kabobs on the grill, the six of us played several spirited rounds of cards. Helen, who'd spent the day with her son, returned in time to serve the cheesecake she'd baked earlier in the day and joined us on the patio with a freshbottleof wine for her, my mother, and Patsy, while my father, Ned, andBoonedrank more of my dad's craftbeerand debated the virtues of European imports over other varieties. I stuck to Clearly Canadian, since eventually I'd have to drive back home.Practicewas too early in the morning to consider staying over; I'd have to leave at the asscrack of dawn to make it in time, and even then, the heavy traffic flowing towardBaltimorefrom Frederick is too unpredictable. I ended up shooting off aquicktext toCharlieapologizing for not being able to make it, and stayed until the Wainwrights left, not getting back to my apartment untilcloseto midnight.
Now, myassis dragging. I finish strength and conditioning and move to speed and agility drills, sucking wind like a French Bulldog running uphill in a windstorm. The rest of the day improves little, and I'm grateful whenCoachDonovan blows his whistle. I drag myself to the showers andstandunder the hot stream until the sound of myteammatesfades away.
By the time I towel off and re-enter the locker room, everyone is gone exceptTisha. She's rolling up the resistance bands she uses as part of her physical therapy exercises. I dress quickly in my sports bra, running shorts, and oversized sleeveless tee.
"You looked like hell out there today."
Istickmytongueout at her and she snickers.
