Rounding Third - Michelle Lynn Page 0,58
asks. When the table doesn’t wobble, she glances underneath. “Thank you.” She smiles politely.
“I wanted to check up on you. I should have come sooner, but my family moved—”
“To Colorado. I remember,” she finishes my sentence for me. She reaches over and pats my shaking hands. “It’s okay, Crosby. It’s just me.”
Tears sting my eyes.
“It looks like you need some things done to the house.”
She shakes her head.
“I heard Ridgemont got you. Congratulations. You need to concentrate on that.”
My eyes fly up from studying the pulp swirling around in my lemonade. “How did you know?”
“Your mother writes me quite often. She mentioned it in the last letter, stating she thought you’d make a trip down here at some point. Wanted to prepare me, I suppose.”
She nudges the container of oatmeal scotchie cookies my way. “I know they’re your favorite. Please.”
“I’d like to help you.” I stay on course because, if this conversation turns too sentimental, I’ll be sure to bolt like I always do.
“I’m okay, Crosby.”
How could she be?
“I’m sorry,” I say, and one tear drips to the stripped wooden top.
“Oh, sweetie. I never blamed you.” She pats my hand again, squeezing it to hers. “He’d have wanted you to move on.”
I nod, wishing I could have been more of a man and kept my emotions out of this. How pathetic am I? The mother who had to bury her son is consoling me.
I sit up straight in my chair and wipe the tears away.
“I’d like to fix up your house.”
“No, no. I’m good.”
“Please, Mrs. Ford. Noah wouldn’t want you living like this and I don’t either.”
She nods, relenting. “Only when you aren’t supposed to be at practice.”
“Deal. I can run to the store now?”
I move to stand, but she places her hand on mine. Still, I remember that warmth from when she’d have to put a Band-Aid on me after I’d hurt myself. Or the time I got sick at night during a sleepover, and she nursed me until my mom picked me up. She was my second mother.
“Let’s talk, and you can start next week.” She smiles.
I relax back down in the chair. It must be lonely here, on the outskirts of town, the closest neighbors being the Keatons, two miles away.
“Okay.” I bring the glass up to my lips and take a sip.
“Do you like your coach?”
“I do. Coach Lipton is tough but fair.”
“That’s good. You’re making sure you keep that elbow down, right? Because you always were one to look like a chicken out there.”
The fact that she can critique me two years later is humorous. When we were younger, she would get on Noah about his quick reflexes. I forgot how much she loved watching us play baseball.
“Yeah, I am. Brax is up there.”
She nods. “I knew that. His daddy is always bragging about him. The three of you were great ballplayers. Noah would be proud of you.”
My nose tickles, and my throat dries.
“He would always say, you and Brax had the true talent and drive to go long-term.”
“So did he,” I choke out.
She gives me a small smile.
I sit in the kitchen for another half hour, talking about baseball, laughing at memories of Noah with her. The tears threatening to leak eventually subsided. My shoulders started to relax in the chair. For the first time, I didn’t shy away from talking about Noah.
She checks her watch when the conversation slows. “Okay.” She pats the table with both hands and stands up. “I’ll see you next weekend. I’ll grab all the supplies from Creighton’s Hardware this week, and you can start painting the house.”
She takes my lemonade from my hands and dumps it into the sink.
After she shuffles me to the porch, she smiles. “It was wonderful seeing you again, Crosby. Until next week.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ford.” I nod at her standing in the doorway.
Climbing into my truck, I glance up and down the street, praying no one spots me.
I back out, and a dark sedan pulls into her driveway. Not wanting to see anyone from my past, I press on the gas.
I walk into my house, screaming ringing from upstairs.
What the fuck now?
I climb the stairs two at a time. Ella’s standing in front of my door, and Jen’s at Saucey’s door while they’re yelling at one another.
Saucey smirks over at me with a look like a catfight is about to occur and to sit back and watch.
“I’m not living here,” Ella says.
“What did you want me to do? You were gone, and we