Not Pregnant.
The words on that little piece of white plastic haunted me. I wanted to cry but then a little golden-haired bundle of cuteness tugged on my leg.
“Beach, mommy!”
I’m instantly smiling.
I was supposed to be working on an article for one of the nationals about wounded service men and women learning to surf. But the sun was shining, and my walking, talking, loving son wanted to go to the beach. I shut down my laptop, and was a willing accomplice to his desire to sit on sun-warmed sand and paddle in the ocean.
Besides, my deadline was still several days away. And over the past three years since Sebastian and I had met again, I’d learned not to take these precious moments for granted. Work could wait; even work I greatly enjoyed.
I picked up my beach bag that was waiting by the front door, ready for action. It was a sort of mommy’s version of my journalist’s grab bag for emergency evac. But instead of passport, solar-powered phone charger, first aid supplies, dried food, water, flashlight, and pocket knife, I now carried baby wipes, mints, sun screen, cell phone, swim diapers, pail and shovel, a towel, some water and a snack, wallet and three baseball caps. Today we’d only need two because Sebastian was in the city working at the gym, although only for the morning. He didn’t usually work on a Sunday, but he was doing it as a favor for one of his clients.
Over the last two years, he’d really started to build his business as a personal fitness trainer, specializing in people who’d suffered traumatic injury, including loss of limbs. Not all of his clients were ex-military. One 19-year-old he worked with had lost a leg in a motorcycle accident, and another was born without the lower portion of his left arm.
Sebastian had lost 17% of the muscle from his right thigh, and was left with femoral nerve dysfunction, which could be very painful at times. He’d also been shot in his shoulder and had diminished motor skills in his left hand. You’d hardly know it to look at him, although when he wore his running shorts, the ugly scar covering the upper portion of his right leg was hard to miss.
He’d been very self conscious of it at one time, but now it didn’t bother him when people openly stared. I was more likely to be annoyed by their curiosity than he was.
A couple of months ago he’d starting volunteering as one of the instructors for the Wave Warriors Surf Camp at Virginia Beach. So every other weekend throughout the summer, we were making the seven hour drive south and joining in with the other ex-services families. I’d gotten to know some really amazing people, some of whom were the focus of my article.
And Marco loved it. He was turning into a little surf rat, taking after his father in so many ways. They even shared the same crazy mop of blond hair, although Sebastian was threatening to shave his off again, saying it was getting too long. I’d begged him to keep it, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d win that battle.
As far as the surfing went, the long-term plan was for Sebastian to start a similar surf camp for veterans nearer to home.
But right now, we were waiting on even more exciting news. His work with disabled people had been noticed, and the gym manager had put Sebastian’s name forward to be a personal trainer for the 2016 Rio Paralympics US team. Essentially, he’d be helping athletes to use the on-site equipment, although it was a job that was more about kudos than pay. He’d been learning Portuguese via an interactive online program in the hope that this would help his application, even though it wasn’t a requirement. He was picking it up easily, which was very annoying, as my own language skills were severely limited, but damn, I was proud of him, too.
If he got the job, I was planning to join him for at least one of the three weeks he’d be there. At first, I’d been reluctant to agree to go, not wanting to be a distraction while he was focusing on something so important. But then he said he’d been away from me long enough during the ten years we were apart—a comment that filled me with guilt, almost as much as it made me swoon. We were undecided on whether Marco would come with us. If not, Ches and Amy had offered to take him. But Sebastian wanted his son with him, and I suspected he’d get his way. I found it hard to say no to him, a fact which he exploited shamelessly at times.
Once a year, we made a point of traveling out to San Diego to spend time with Sebastian’s best friend, Ches, and his family. Not only that, but Ches’s parents now lived on the west coast and I thought it was good for Marco to have a chance to experience what it was like to have grandparents. Sebastian was estranged from both his mother and father, and I hadn’t heard a word from my mom in 13 years. We’d never got along, and my divorce from David gave her the excuse she’d wanted to cut me out of her life. I knew she was still alive, but that was all.