I laughed, patting his arm before rising to my feet. “Thank you for sharing your memories with me. I needed to smile today.”
“Anytime.” He stood too. “I’m sad you’re leaving, Blair. I’ve really enjoyed your company, and we’ve talked all about me the entire time.” He shook his head. “Betty would be in fits!”
“That’s all right. I don’t really have a story to tell yet anyway. I’m sort of . . . a thirty-year-old work in progress.” I smiled and felt my throat catch. “But I hope I find a happily ever after as wonderful as yours.”
He smiled. “You will.”
“You think so?”
“I know it. Now you might have to be a little patient,” he said as he walked me down the porch steps toward my car. “As my wife would attest if she could, sometimes it takes boys more time than it takes girls to work up the kind of courage you need for a love story. I mean, even two people who are meant to be together are going to have their trying times and misunderstandings. You’re going to say things and hear things that sting. But you don’t give up.”
I turned to face him. “I won’t.”
“Thank you for coming to see me today. I don’t get many visitors.”
Something occurred to me. “Mr. Frankel, do you know Doris Applebee?”
“Sure, I know Doris. She grew up over on Elizabeth Street. I knew her husband Roy too. He passed a few years back.”
“Well, Mrs. Applebee was in the garage the other day, and she happened to mention how much she loves chatting about local history. In fact, she mentioned some interest in putting together a walking tour of the historic district.”
“Did she? That’s a good idea.”
“I think so too, and with your knowledge of the homes on this street and your family’s heritage, I think you’d be a real asset to her. Maybe you could invite her for tea sometime.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Mr. Frankel looked distressed. “People might talk.”
“So let them!”
“And she might not want a partner on the project.”
“Well, you can find out, can’t you?”
“And I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was trying to replace Betty.”
“I don’t think a single soul would imagine that.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll consider it.” Lost in thought a moment, he gathered himself and focused on me. “Now don’t be a stranger, okay? You come back and see me. Turn off the highway when you see the sign for the pie.”
Laughing, I rose up and kissed his cheek. “I will. But they should probably take that sign down, don’t you think?”
His cheeks turned red. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure.”
“That’s my sign. I keep it up because I want people to remember her,” he said sheepishly. “But I’m sorry that it led you off course.”
“You know what?” I smiled at him, even though my heart was heavy. “I think the best journeys have a lot of twists and turns, don’t you? They’re not just a straight line. And you have to be open to following your heart and seeing where the road takes you. My heart brought me here, and I’m not sorry.”
But as I drove out of town and got on the highway, I cried like a baby.
Twenty-One
Griffin
The night after Blair left, we lost our baseball game to the Mavericks.
It wasn’t the championship game or anything, but it was the final game of the regular season, and losing to them sucked.
The entire game was a shit show. Moretti reinjured his groin sliding into third, Cole threw more balls than strikes thanks to his sore shoulder, and I got into it with the first base ump after he made a bad call in the bottom of the ninth. The Mavs’ runner was clearly out—I know I was on the bag with the ball in my glove when he ran past me, but the call was “safe.”
Since I was already in a shit mood, my temper flared and I argued it, getting in the guy’s face, poking my finger against his chest, asking him if he was fucking blind or just stupid.
Of course, he threw me out of the game, and I called him some other names I regret, because then he started threatening to ban me from the league.
From behind the plate, Beckett pushed his catcher’s mask up and came jogging over to first base. “Hey, hey,” he said, pushing me back from the ump. “That’s enough. What are you doing?”