Playing Wright

Chapter 8: Meet The Youngs

Kyle...

I watched the buildings and trees as we passed by, taking in the new environment. Even though this was where my mother grew up, it was my first time being in Maine. There were some similarities to DC, but it was definitely a different feel from New York, where I grew up.

Anthony had picked me up from the airport after some important meeting he had and he was now showing me around the area. Falmouth seemed to be one of the wealthiest places in Maine. How did my grandmother afford to live here as a single parent?

"And that's the high school we went to," he said, pointing to a building as we drove by it. "Had a lot of good times there."

In front of the school was a sign that said "Home of the Crimson Bears!", with a red Bear in costume on it.

"That's your team right?" I asked, remembering that he told me he used to play football for his high school.

"It is," he confirmed, "And I was a damn good player too."

"How good?" I asked, my interest had peaked. I've heard him mention it before, but he never went in depth.

"I had scouts calling my coach because they heard of me. I had sooo many scholarship offers from colleges I didn't know what to do with them," he said, seemingly lost in a happy memory.

"So you played in college too?" I asked, hoping it would be another thing we shared in common.

He sighed and seemed uncomfortable. Was this a hard topic to talk about?

"No, I didn't," he answered. "I was a Young, and our calling is politics and serving our country, not football," he said last bit annoyed. Looks like someone wasn't as happy with that life choice.

I didn't inquire any more, and the limo stayed silent for a good bit. But then his face lit up again when we drove past a park.

"Your mom and I used to sneak out here to be together all the time," he smiled, "We had this special tree that we used to sit under with our initials carved into it."

The few times my mother spoke of Anthony, there was always obvious pain in her face and voice. Thinking of him did not bring her any joy and she often spoke as if she wished she could forget.

But here was Anthony, talking about my mother, and there was a certain glow to his face. I have only been in contact with him for a few weeks, but I've never seen him react to anything or anyone like this.

I watched the glow fade into guilt. He was probably remembering that he ditched her to raise her kid without a dad.

He continued to point out significant places, a lot of which involved my mom. I had no idea that they were this close. Yeah, they had a whole child together, but the fact that he walked away gave me the impression that they weren't really in love. The stories he was telling me said otherwise.

After our little tour was done, we headed to his parents' house, which is where his family lived. I took note that the house wasn't too far from the park. It made sense why it was an easy place to sneak off to.

We arrived at a large black gate and within seconds it opened up to let us in. What I saw was not what I expected. The brick driveway was well-kept, and the house looked amazing, but it was small compared to what I was used to at my parents' house. It was probably best that I kept that to myself.

Once the limo was parked, I stepped out with my backpack, taking a look around.

"Welcome back Mr. Young," the large balding older white man that was at the gate came walking up the driveway, "I hope the conference was great."