by Raquel Belle
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he says and rushes out of the office. I have no plans with Jazz, which works out great for the ball game. Maybe she’d like to meet me at the game though. It could be fun for her. I text her to meet me there.
In seconds, she writes me back: Now, that’s what I call a romantic date. Lol. J/k. See you there.
I smile and clear some of the clutter from off of the desk, organizing as much as I can before I leave. “Hey, are you riding with me?” I say to Bubba when I’m done.
“Why not?”
“Okay, let’s go.”
The day’s already warming up, and I notice that it’s 9:55, and the temperature has already climbed to the mid-sixties, from the late fifties that chilled us earlier this morning.
When we get to the field, the stands are already filling up. It never ceases to amaze me, even while growing up, how everyone has a pathological respect for time. Maybe it’s a small-town thing, or just the Willow Creek pride.
“I’m going to grab a hotdog,” Bubba says, as he rolls out of the truck. “Only had coffee all morning.”
“Sure. I’ll head over to the others,” I say, and indicate the huddled group of officials in the center of the field. I jog over to them, and Dave comes to meet me, the freckles on his cheeks brighter with his face all lit up.
“Thanks for coming, Trip. I guess we can start now,” he says, and walks me back to the others.
I look around at the elementary school kids geared up for the game. “Who’re we playing?”
“Orange Valley,” Dave says, and slips on his cap. “Do you need one of these?”
I take the offered cap. “Yeah, it might come in handy”
“Okay, I want you over by the home plate, so you can go on over there,” he says.
I nod and walk off to take my position. The Orange Valley players come onto the pitch, and their twelve-year-old faces are serious like it’s the World Series. I stuff my hands inside the pockets of my jeans and wait for the game to start.
I instinctively start to gaze around the stands, searching for Jazz, until I find her. She’s sitting all the way in the back, and she smiles and waves when she notices me looking at her. I smile and wave back. Her curls fall down to her shoulders, and a single, curly strand caresses her cheek.
She has on a black, leather jacket, and I assume jeans. I can’t see as much, but the sight of her makes me want to quit the game and take her home.
I tear my eyes away from her when the pitcher takes her position and the game begins. The umpire is behind the first hitter from Willow Creek—Jenny—and she stares at the pitcher as she winds up the ball and throws it. She swings her bat, and it cracks against the ball.
The ball flies through the air and lands across the field. The crowd cheers as Jenny drops the bat and runs all the way to second base before the fielder has a chance to run her out. Next up is Kimmy, Fred’s granddaughter. She grips the bat and focuses on the pitcher.
I’m amused at how seriously they’re taking this, considering it’s more of a friendly game, and not a competition per se. The pitcher aims, winds up, and tosses the ball. Kimmy swings and misses.
“Strike one!” Kurtzman, the umpire shouts, as he sways from side to side on his heels.
The pitcher aims again and fires the ball. This time Kimmy hits it, and it sails clear across the field.
I watch as Jenny races towards me, and as soon as her foot hits the plate I shout, “Safe!” Her teammates cheer her on as Kimmy runs towards third base.
The fielder has the ball, but she’s determined to make it a home-run. The crowd and her team chant, “Run, Kimmy, run!” And she does just that. The fielder throws the ball towards the catcher at home plate. Kimmy glances over and seems to mentally calculate whether she can make it or not.
I position myself and watch as she runs her heart out. She’s only a few feet away when she goes for a slide towards home plate, kicking up dust as she does. She hits the plate just a second before the catcher gets the ball.
“Safe!” I yell, and the crowd erupts into hoots and screams.
The catcher slams her helmet onto the ground, upset that she didn’t get Kimmy out. Meanwhile the girls celebrate their two homers.
I didn’t think I’d enjoy myself this much when I was asked to officiate—not that I’m doing a terrific job, they’re just kids after all—but I’m glad I closed the shop for this. As the game goes on, Orange Valley catches up to Willow Creek, but eventually…Willow Creek marginally pulls away and secures the victory.
The screams are deafening as the parents run onto the field to congratulate their children and the rest of the team for a job well done.
I look back to where Jazz is and notice that Trisha and the boys sitting with her. I start to walk over when Trisha jumps up and hurries down the steps, straight towards me.
“You did such a good job,” she says in a perky voice.
“Thanks…” I say, warily. She’s never been one to act like this after any of the other games she’s seen me officiate.
I look behind her and see Jazz approaching. “Hey,” I call to her.
“Hi,” she says, and slides her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She rocks on her heels as she watches me—the smile she’s wearing quickly unnerves me.
“So, Trip, do you have a minute?” Trisha says.
“Hmm?”
“Can you look at something on my truck? It’s making this noise, and I’m not sure what it is? Wouldn’t want it breaking down while I’m driving it, you know?” She says, and turns to look at Jazz, as if asking for her permission too.
“Sure,” I say, “where are you parked?”
“Behind the stands,” she says and walks off. “Come on, boys!” She takes their hands, ushering them ahead of her.
“Go on,” Jazz says, but I can see behind her reply. She hates that I have to go. I don’t think she hates it more than I do though.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” I say.
She smiles. “Sure.”
I hurry off behind Trisha, grinding my teeth to dust as I do. I’m a little impatient and annoyed when I get to her. “What’s the trouble?”
“Listen to this,” she says, as she slides behind the wheel and turns on the truck. “Hear that?”
I’m listening, but I don’t hear what she’s making a fuss about. “Hear what?”
“That!” She says, and revs the engine. “That knocking sound.”
“Trisha, that’s just because this is an old truck. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Could you just look under the hood? I’d feel so much better,” she says, and gets out of the truck.
“Fine,” I say and lift the hood open. I quickly do a standard inspection…not a cursory one, but not super thorough either…that’s what the auto-shop is for. “I don’t see anything wrong. If it still bothers you after, bring it by the shop. I don’t have any tools here with me anyway.”
She sighs. “Okay. Are you going to hang around here?”
“Yeah, I have to get back,” I say, and start backing up. “See you later Kyle, Conrad!”
“Okay, Uncle Trip,” they shout back, as they chase each other around the truck.
“Boys, get in,” Trisha calls to them. She isn’t looking at me, but I can see the disappointment on her face. Something Jazz said pops into my mind, but I dismiss it. I need to go and find her.
“I’ll save you dinner,” Trisha calls after me.
“No problem,” I say, and hurry off.
I search the grounds when I get to the field again, but Jazz is gone. I inhale sharply and walk back to my truck. Bubba is waiting for me there, and he hops in when he sees me.
I’m pulling out when I see Trisha. “Hey, I thought you went with Jazz.”
“No, she left.”
“Oh. Maybe you can come over now for an early dinner,” she says. “Right boys?”
“Yeah!” They scream and stick their heads out the back window.
<
br /> “Why not?” I say. “I’ll come by when I drop Bubba off.”
“Okay,” she says, and her face lights up, as she drives off again.
Bubba doesn’t want to go home and prefers heading back to the shop for any late customers that may arrive.
I can’t say I blame him—since his wife died, he’s just been home alone—much like me. I used to do the same thing before Jazz came into town, just end up over at Trisha’s or someone else’s house…or Nana’s.
I’m sitting in the truck outside Trisha’s when I text Jazz:
I thought you were going to wait for me.
I was going to, but then I wasn’t sure when you’d return, so I came home. Where are you now?
I’m outside Trisha’s. She asked me to come over for dinner.
Hmm…
She doesn’t say anything else, but I already know what she’s thinking, and before I go in, I begin to wonder if she may not be right about Trisha after all.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jasmine
You’ve got to me kidding me!
I stare at his text for a long time, but he doesn’t reply. I can see her with her fingers sinking into him, using the boys as she manipulates him. And he can’t see it. He’s too nice—too noble.
It bothers me for the rest of the evening and I confine myself to my room so no one has to ask me why I look so glum—or for Mom to try and convince me to stay.
I’m not going to compete with Trisha, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let her use him. If she really cares about him, she’ll let him do what makes him happy.
And why the hell doesn’t he see what she’s doing? Seriously?
I fall asleep that night with all kinds of thoughts swirling around in my head. When morning rolls around, I’m groggy and miserable. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m no more decided about Trip than when I ran into him on my first day in town.
“Well, you look rested,” Mom says, sarcastically, when I drag myself down to the kitchen. “Bad night?”
“You could say that,” I say, not intent on telling her anything. She’s the last person I want in my head this morning.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and settle onto the barstool, where I cradle the cup and inhale the aroma as it revives my senses. I’m halfway into drinking, when I think to check my phone. I pull it out from the pocket of my robe.
No messages from him, and my mind conjures up images of Trip sleeping over at Trisha’s. I blink hard to dispel the false ideas, and return to drinking coffee. I can’t believe I’m actually jealous, and what’s worse, I begin to think that I have nothing to compete with. Trip’s nobility will make him choose his responsibilities towards her and the boys over a life of love.
“Hey!” Mom says, and snaps her fingers.
“Hmm?” I say, and look up. She’s standing right in front of me. I didn’t even see when she moved from the fridge to answer the door.
“You have company,” she says, and gives me an odd look.
“Who?” I say, and my heart races, thinking it’s Trip.
“Marcy,” she says. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I am,” I say, before she can begin her official probe. Marcy is walking towards the kitchen when I run into her. We embrace. “Hey… I didn’t know you were coming over.”
“If I knew you weren’t an early riser, I would’ve waited,” she says, giggling as she hugs me.
“I usually am, but I’m milking this sleeping-late thing,” I say, and pull back. “Once I get back, I’ll barely have time to brush my teeth.”
She laughs. “I guess big cities are for some people, like you, and small towns are for people like me.”
“And Trip,” I say, and scratch my hair.
She raises her eyebrows. “What? Did I miss something?”
I glance behind me and realize Mom is too close for comfort. “Let’s go in my room. It’s a little messy, but hey…”
“I’m used to that,” Marcy says.
I laugh. “No, you’re not. I’ve seen your house.”
“Okay, you’ve got me,”
When we get to my room I push the door closed and instantly Marcy’s nose turns up.
“Oh my goodness,” she says. She hurries over to the bed instantly and starts to make it.
“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” I stand just inside the door watching her smooth down the spread on top.
“I can’t stand it,” she says without looking. Then, when she’s done, she sits on the edge and pats the bed for me to sit beside her.
I walk over and sit next to her, rocking into her. “Maybe you’re the one I should take back with me.”
“Okay, talk to me. Is everything going okay with Trip?”
“Yeah, for the most part,” I say, and sigh. I lean over and place the coffee cup on the side table. “I don’t know though… He’s told me he’ll leave Willow Creek or follow me wherever…”
Her eyes are bright while she listens. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“I didn’t say that...”
“Well, then why do you sound so forlorn?”
I huff. “Because I think you’re right. Trisha does have a thing for him.”
‘Told you,” she says, and half-smiles. “What did she do? What gave it away?”
“Everything,” I say, and throw my hands in the air. “Any time she knows that I’m with him, she always needs a favor from him.”
“Yep.”
“I don’t know, Marcy. Sometimes I think it may be for the best. Trisha’s right. I don’t belong in a small town, and she and Trip had an arrangement before I came here. I don’t want to get in the way…”
“Let me stop you right there,” Marcy says, and grabs my hand. “Trip is your man. Not hers. Plus, that’s gross…thinking about sleeping with your dead husband’s best friend.” She cringes and shivers when she says it. “It doesn’t matter what she says, okay? She’s only looking out for herself and no one else.”
“But what about the boys?”
“What about them?” Marcy says, sympathetically. “They have family in town, Jazz. Trip’s helping her out, but they’re not his responsibility.”
“I know but…I feel awful, like I’m doing something wrong if…”
Marcy taps her finger viciously on my lip to stop me from talking. “Enough! I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense. I came to spend some time with you before you leave, not to try and convince you not to be such an idiot.”
I laugh at how blunt she is. She rolls her eyes at me, and I rest my head on her shoulder. “Okay, fine. What’re you doing later?”
“Girl, the same thing I do every year—watch the fireworks, then go home and go to bed. That’s pretty much it.”
“That’s not bad,” I say.
“Are you going?”
“Maybe.” Although, I’m not sure what stunt Trisha might pull by that time. But I’m sure it’ll be something.
She has a sad look in her eyes when I look at her again. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m going to miss you is all,” she says, tearfully. “I barely got any chance to see you.”
“Maybe next time you and the girls can come and visit me in New York.”
“Really? I’ve never been.”
“Of course, really,” I say and bump into her shoulder with mine. “You can come anytime.”
“I’ll have to take you up on that one day,” she says with a smile, and then stands.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah,” she says, and scratches her head. “Have to go and get the girls and then get ready for the show later. I hope I see you there…and Trip.” She winks and smiles.
I laugh. “You might, but I can’t make any promises.”
She hugs me and sniffles. “Take care of yourself, Jazz. I’m such a crier.”
“And now you’re making me sad too.”
“Oh, shush,” she says, and pinches my cheeks like an old woman. “Tears are good. How else would we c
lean our eyes?” She laughs and walks to the door.
“Let me walk you out,” I say, as we leave the room.
I’m feeling a lot better after Marcy’s visit, and I linger in my room for the greater part of the day, getting my things together.
It’s minutes past three when I get a call from Trip. He wants to watch the fireworks with me. I expected that, as much as I expect that Trisha will find a way to put a dent into our plans.
He comes to pick me up around six, and he’s wearing shorts and a tank. I look at him like he’s crazy.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to stay out in the cold in that,” I say, and climb into the truck.
“Who says we’re going out?” he says, and winks.
“Huh?” I follow him with my eyes as he walks around the front of the truck and hops in. “I thought you said we were going to watch the fireworks.”
“We are,” he says, and starts the truck.
“I don’t get it.”
“I know the perfect place. And I thought you’d remember it, too” he says cheekily, and suddenly I remember.
I laugh. “Omg! Your roof?”
“Yep!”
“I can’t believe I forgot about that. We used to do it every year.”
“I know, and don’t think I’d pass up this chance to do it again.” He smiles and reaches for my hand. He kisses the back and pulls it onto his lap as he continues to drive home.
The warm feeling embraces me and makes me feel high and dizzy. The last time I felt anything close to this was with him—it’s like he’s the only person capable of bringing me to such emotional heights. Am I being stupid in thinking that we should part ways after tomorrow?
“Here we are,” he says, when he parks the truck in front of the house. “Follow me.”
“I think I know where to find it…”
“Are you being coy with me?” He says, turning around.
I hold my hands out, already knowing what he’s going to do. “Trip! No!” I command, like he’s a dog about to hump my leg. “I take it back. Lead the way.”
He does, but instead of climbing the ladder like we used to, he takes me upstairs and to the open balcony area. “Wow,” I say when I see what he’s done with the place.
He takes my hand and gives me the mini tour. “Over here…” He points at a blanketed area on the floor right next to a cooler with beer and a bottle of wine, and a basket with what appears to be goodies.
