Love Her - Andrea Johnston Page 0,43

I sit. I’d also prefer to have a snack with me instead of depending on breath mints to hold me over until I can grab dinner.

As the “Welcome to Lexington” sign appears, my frustration with the drive turns to excitement. Little flutters of anticipation that I’ll see Connor again appear along with the stupid smile he seems to invoke. I’m not complaining. Feelings, as much as I’ve tried to avoid them, are welcome. Of course, the pessimist in me is waiting for the other shoe to drop. For my life to stop working like that damn printer today.

One of the things I missed most about home when I was married were the sunsets. Tonight, as dusk settles across the plains, I thank my blessings that my children are experiencing this. Until we moved to Lexington, I’m not sure they’d ever seen a sky full of stars. What they believed to be stars in the city were actually jet plane lights. That realization makes me sad. For them and for me. They’ve missed out on so many opportunities. The same opportunities I took for granted. In a town that I thought was beneath me.

Turning into the parking lot of the baseball fields, I creep down the rows for a spot and find one next to a truck I recognize. Maybe my day only sucked in Burlington. Hopping from my car with a little pep in my step, I hit the fob to set the alarm and make my way toward the field. I recognize my mom from behind and step up behind her.

“Hey, Mom.”

Shifting in her seat, she smiles up at me. “Hi, honey. Look at your son out there. He’s having a blast.”

Following her finger, I spot Jacob on the field. His hat looks a little too big and his pants are clearly meant for someone a few inches taller, but the expression on his face is all that matters. Grinning from ear to ear, nodding at whatever it is the coach is saying to him chokes me up a little. Pulling in a breath, I slowly exhale and hope on a prayer I don’t shed a tear.

“These coaches are so patient. I was a little concerned since neither have a child on the team but they’ve both been fantastic.”

“Neither have children on the team?”

Shaking her head, Mom pushes herself from her chair and stands, stretching her back. “Nope. They held a little meeting before the practice started since the head coach wasn’t at that meeting you had last weekend.”

I’m grateful for the darkness surrounding us. Otherwise, she’d see the heat on my cheeks. Just the thought of last weekend sends my heart racing.

“I assumed the head coach was a father.”

Before she can respond, the team gathers in a circle around the coach. I don’t have to be close to know those little boys are hanging on his every word. We stand and talk about my awful day and the dinner waiting for us in the crockpot when we get home. Just the idea has my stomach grumbling its appreciation.

“Mom, you can leave. I’ll grab Jacob and we’ll be home shortly.”

“If you’re sure.”

As I open my mouth to respond chaos erupts around us as the boys are dismissed and come running in our direction. Mom gathers her things and leaves before she is sucked into the mayhem.

Standing awkwardly, I wait for Jacob to spot me. When he does, he turns directions so quickly he slips on the grass. “Mom! Did you see me? I almost caught the ball. It was coming and I put my glove up and then . . . well, it fell on the ground, but I was almost there. It was so cool.”

His excitement is contagious as he relays every moment of his night. Then, as quickly as he wanted to share everything with me, he’s distracted by a group of boys calling him over to them. At least one of my children isn’t struggling with friendships right now. I should probably introduce myself to the coach since I missed the pre-practice meeting.

Scanning the field, I spot him squatting and filling a large duffel bag. Connor is just to his right, talking to a man who I assume is a father. As I approach, he catches my eye and smiles but keeps his attention on the dad.

“Excuse me, Coach?”

Standing, he turns to face me, and the world comes to a standstill.

“You’re the coach?”

I wouldn’t call his expression a scowl, but it’s far from a smile or