Her Best Catch

by Lindi Peterson

  No apparent conflict there.

  Okay. His “I know the way” statement has put a real cramp on the drive. Now I have nothing to talk about. At least if I could have given him the directions, it would be some sort of conversation.

  This is no lie. I’m going to look for that celebrity handbook tomorrow on my lunch hour. Or maybe it’s some other type of book I need. It’s not the celebrity factor that clams me up, it’s the luxury factor. I can talk to Ashton as long as we’re not in his car.

  Or on our way to Braedyn’s where he already knows the way and I want to know how he knows the way, but in all reality I’m a smart girl (remember the glasses) and I know how he knows I just don’t know why he knows.

  He better be glad he’s not my guy, because if he were my guy he’d probably be getting reamed right about now. On the other hand, if he were my guy I’d probably know why he’d been at Braedyn’s so therefore I wouldn’t be mad and he wouldn’t be getting reamed and we’d be riding in silence just like we are now.

  Well, I’m glad I’ve figured that out. Things are as they should be. Actually, I think I’ve confused myself to the point where I’m just happy to be sitting in the car.

  We park along the curb in front of Braedyn’s. The driveway is full.

  Ashton opens my door. He does the elbow thing again. I think it’s something celebrities must do. I’ve never dated (I know Ashton and I aren’t dating, I’m just being hypothetical,) a guy who leads me around by the elbow.

  It’s somewhat special. Somewhat unique. Somewhat ours.

  I ring the doorbell. By the time Braedyn opens the door, Ashton has dropped the elbow thing. Should I read something into his actions?

  Don’t. That’s Velvet’s rationality popping in again.

  I’ll listen to Velvet even though she doesn’t appear to be on my side regarding the Ashton scenario.

  “Hi,” Braedyn says. She’s smiling this massively huge smile. She’s also looking behind us and I know what she’s looking for.

  One car or two.

  I’ll let her keep wondering. After all, why should I be the only one who’s wondering about something?

  She steps back and waves us into her living room.

  Braedyn is a photographer. Her house is full of photos. She is one of five children and she has two dogs. So between her all of her brothers and sisters and her dogs there is not a space on any of her tables or shelves that doesn’t have photos on it.

  Braedyn is also crafty and has recently started making her own frames to sell. She’s very artsy. Her photos are really good, too. She’s done lots of weddings at the church. Her studio is in the back of her house.

  She motions me to the only free spot on the couch, so I sit. Ashton sits across the room in one of her high-back Queen Anne chairs. She sits in the one right next to him.

  Round one-Braedyn.

  No, round one would be me arriving with Ashton. Correction. Round one-Allison.

  Round two-Braedyn.

  Tie.

  And I’m being ridiculous. I need to stop.

  Everybody’s chatting because we are waiting on Keifer.

  I glance at the end table next to me, wondering if she has any new pictures out. My heart practically stops in my chest. My heart is really getting a workout these last thirty minutes.

  Braedyn has a framed picture of the article on Ashton and me. It’s right here on her table in an Atlanta Braves frame.

  PITCHER TRADES BEAUTY FOR BRAINS

  What is she up to? I want to reach out and turn it around, but do I dare? I have to wait for the right moment. Braedyn is crazy. I didn’t even frame the article. It’s stuffed in my Bible creasing more every day.

  I haven’t even talked to Ashton about it yet. This could be really awkward. Keifer needs to hurry up.

  CHAPTER 10

  Eight of us going are going on the mission trip. It was an equal split of guys and girls until Velvet dropped out. Now it’s five to three. The guys are in the majority.

  We have Randy, our leader, and his twin brother Bandy. His real name is Bradley, but everyone calls him Bandy. Then we have Russell Rhodes, our mission’s pastor, and his wife Pixie. Her real name is Crystal but her short blonde hair and petite build earned her the nickname Pixie. Which leaves us with Braedyn, Keifer, Ashton and me. None of whom have any nicknames.

  It’s going to be a really great crew. As long as Braedyn and I know Ashton is everyone’s friend, I think things will be fine.

  I hope Ashton knows he’s just everyone’s friend.

  I hope Ashton is just everyone’s friend.

  Keifer shows up five minutes late.

  Randy starts the meeting with a prayer, then immediately engages his pen and clipboard. He passes out a calendar of the month of July. He has our tasks penciled in on each day the week of the mission trip.

  These calendars are personalized. I mean we’re all leaving on the same day, and returning on the same day, but other than that we have different jobs throughout the week.

  I see that my main job is heading up a vacation Bible school for the children.

  “Randy, it looks like you’ve got everything under control,” Russell says.

  “I tried to set us on a path where we’ll be able to utilize our time and be effective while we’re there. We only have five full days,” Randy replies.

  “Keifer, make sure you bring your guitar, and Braedyn,” he continues, “make sure you bring one of your cameras. We want to get as many pictures as possible so we can put together some slide shows. We’re hoping it will encourage more people to volunteer.”

  “Actually there’ll be a whole service focused on missions toward the end of August,” Russell says.

  I wonder what’s on Ashton’s calendar. I wonder what he does well? Besides kiss.

  I can see it now. Day two. Play baseball with children. Day three. Explain the advantages of driving a luxury car.

  There is more to Ashton Boyd than I’m aware of. I know this. But do I want to know more? Risk getting involved?

  I look across the room. He and Braedyn are comparing calendars.

  “Okay,” Randy says. “Now that we have looked at the schedules, let’s start the prayer meeting. Let’s all join hands.”

  Oh, that’s so not fair. Braedyn gets to hold Ashton’s hand. I know she planned this part. I on the other hand, no pun intended, get to hold Russell’s hand and Bandy’s hand. Two married men.

  “I’ll start the prayer and we’ll go around the circle. If you don’t want to pray out loud just squeeze the person’s hand next to you. Nobody has to do anything they don’t want to.”

  Randy starts and his prayer is pretty long. Ashton is next. Then Braedyn. But the next person who speaks is Keifer who’s sitting on the other side of Braedyn. I have just noticed she has settled herself between the two single guys. Should it really surprise me?

  Braedyn always prays out loud. She has great prayers and really has a gift for praying. But she skips. Did she skip because Ashton skipped?

  I hope not. I hope that she just didn’t have any words in her heart. I hope she didn’t skip out on God because of a guy.

  After Keifer prays, Bandy prays. Then he squeezes my hand. My turn.

  “Lord, let this trip be Yours. Let our hearts and minds focus on You and You alone. Our mission is to spread Your word and teach Your ways. Lord, we want to do this in a powerful way. Your way.”

  I squeeze Russell’s hand. Okay. I know my prayer was somewhat selfish. I mean I’m sure everyone’s heart is in the right place. Everybody’s but mine. I don’t want to focus on Ashton or Ashton/Braedyn. I want to focus on God and His agenda. I do.

  I’ll have to pray that prayer every day until we leave.

  Russell’s prayer is extremely inspiring. At least the last half is. I missed the first half because I was once again being selfish and thinking of my selfish prayer.

  “These meetings aren’t going to be long, but I think it’s important we get together to pray. Ne
xt week we’ll meet at my house. I don’t think Amy has anything planned.”

  We all laugh.

  Braedyn raises her hand. “I have some refreshments set up in the kitchen.”

  Of course she does. Braedyn is a great hostess. We’ve had several parties here for the Sunday school class.

  Everyone stands.

  Keifer walks over to me. “Hey, Allison.”

  “Hi. Glad you could make it.”

  He soft-punches me in the forearm. “You know I’m gonna be here. Hey,” he says as he lifts the Braves frame off the end table. “Is this you? Look.” He flashes the photo in my face.

  “I see,” I say, hoping to diminish his enthusiasm.

  “Did Braedyn take this?” he asks. “Look, Russell. Did you see this?”

  “It’s no big deal,” I say as I try to intercept the photo Keifer is passing to Russell.

  I don’t succeed. Russell passes the framed disaster to Pixie.

  Of course she does the girly thing and gushes, just like Velvet did. We women are so predictable.

  “Allison, this is great,” she says. “… ‘keep her a secret much longer,’” she continues reading. “Oh, look … ‘having lunch with my girl.’ Allison, what aren’t you telling us?”

  At least Ashton is in the kitchen with Braedyn, yes right now that is a good thing, and isn’t a witness to all these comments.

  God is good. All the time.

  “It’s nothing really. We had lunch one day and a photographer shot that picture then made up a crazy article.”

  Pixie slides over to me. “So you and the cute baseball player aren’t an item?” she asks.

  “No. We’re not. We’re just friends. He’s really nice, though.”

  Ashton walks into the living room carrying a small plate filled with incredibly wonderful looking finger food. He walks over to Pixie and me. Pixie is still holding the picture, and I’m holding my breath. And suddenly I’m holding the plate because he’s handing it to me.

  “Here,” he says. “I hope you like all this.”

  “This is for me?” I ask, trying not to sound too confused.

  “Sure. Braedyn’s got some sodas in the kitchen. Tell me what you want and I’ll grab you one.”

  Pixie is looking at me with her nose pointed down and eyebrows pointed up. Ashton has chosen an inopportune moment to do a couple’s thing after I have just stated we aren’t a couple.

  “We were just talking about you,” Pixie says, turning the picture so Ashton could see.

  “What’s this?” Ashton asks.

  He takes the photo from Pixie. “Oh, man,” he says, half smiling while shaking his head. “Johnny owes me one. When was this in the paper?” he asks.

  I’m assuming he’s asking me because he’s looking at me.

  “That Sunday after we went to lunch. The same morning you had to take your Grandma to the hospital.”

  “Oh, right.” He looks at me with total concern. “You weren’t upset about this, were you?”

  Upset? Confused was more like it.

  “No. I wasn’t upset.”.

  “Good,” he says.

  Braedyn steps into the room. Most everyone has migrated into the kitchen with the food. She walks over.

  “Why do you have this out?” I ask real politely because Ashton is still standing with us holding the photo.

  “I saw it and loved it,” she says. “I thought it was cool that my friends were in the paper. I mean, how often does that happen? And I’ve always thought of Allison as being so brainy. So when the article picked up on that, well, it was perfect.”

  She doesn’t choose to mention the beauty part. At all.

  With my free hand, I take the photo from Ashton and lay it face down on the end table.

  “You should really stick to pictures of family,” I say.

  “No way.” She reaches around me to stand the picture upright. “Real, true friends are just as important.”

  Putting the emphasis on real and true leads me to wonder if she is questioning our friendship. I hope not. Ashton just flew into our circle, and in all reality I have no idea when he might fly back out.

  “I really think this mission trip is going to be fun,” Ashton says as he pulls the classic Jag in my driveway.

  “Randy has assembled a good group of people,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt.

  “Everyone’s really nice. They treat me like one of them.”

  Puzzled I ask, “Why wouldn’t they?”

  “I know the first day I came to the class at church a lot of the guys asked me questions and stuff, but ever since then I’m just Ashton. They don’t treat me special. And they shouldn’t. It’s just a rare thing for me, that’s all.”

  He unbuckles his seat belt and opens his door. I wait for him to come around to my side of the car.

  The sun’s descent has painted a mirage of pinks and yellows across the sky. Dollops of dark shadows are scattered throughout, proceeding the upcoming night, which has cooled, but is still comfortable. The caw of a crow’s screech echoes above, its sound conflicting with the sky’s serenity.

  “Do you have to go right in?” Ashton asks.

  I look at my watch. It’s just after eight-thirty.

  “No.”

  Who am I kidding? It could be ten after two in the morning and my answer would be no.

  He sits on the top step even though there is a perfectly good swing on the porch. I join him.

  A breeze rustles the hedges surrounding the porch and blows his clean, patented scent toward me. I settle next to him, close but not too close.

  “I want to thank you,” he says.

  “For what?” I ask.

  “For making me a part of your world. A part of the group. Like I said, everybody’s been nothing but nice. Especially you.”

  He takes his index finger and touches me gently on the nose. “I feel like I can be me around you.”

  “Who else would you want to be?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Nobody. Come here.”

  Now I scoot really, really, close to him. He drapes his arm around my shoulder. Me and the pitcher. The pitcher and me. I look straight ahead because I don’t trust my lips so close to his. Remember, I can’t handle a non-couples kiss. And I know we’re not a couple. I don’t have that feeling. Yet.

  Okay, maybe I have that feeling a little bit. I guess the real truth is I’m not sure he has that feeling. I’m mean, let’s face it. Guys don’t see things the same way girls do. I know how I see sitting on the top step with a guy who has me close to him and his arm draped over my shoulder.

  But how does he see it? His version of my being his girl is different than mine, so who knows what this little interlude means to him.

  I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Then again I don’t want to feel silly, and that’s how I’d feel if I asked him.

  But then again, why not ask? I’m a big girl. He’s just a guy. If we’re not a couple, so be it. He’ll tell me, we’ll still be friends, and life will go on.

  Right?

  I’ll just ask him. Now. I’ll ask “Are we dating?” It’s a legitimate question. I mean lunch, prayer meetings and a dinner to save him from hospital food aren’t what I’d call dates.

  But maybe he does. And I can’t wonder forever. Girls are that way. Remember, we want to know.

  I open my mouth.

  “I had a dream last night,” he says.

  I shut my mouth. A dream? He’s going to tell me about his dream? Ooh. I’m starting to feel warm and fuzzy all over. This could be it.

  This guy is cute, goes on mission trips, and now wants to tell me about his dream?

  Can it really get much better than this?

  CHAPTER 11

  Can it really get much worse than this?

  His dream is about how he receives a phone call from Brian Cashman of the Boston Red Sox telling Ashton he wants to call him up. The Red Sox need him because they’re going to be on the road for the next ten days and Ashton’s al
ways strong on the road.

  Baseball.

  It’s starting to sink in. I like Ashton. He likes baseball.

  “Wouldn’t that be awesome, Allison? To get a call and have to be on a plane the next day? Nothing compares to that rush. Nothing.”

  I guess not even a kiss.

  His little-boy look has returned full force. Then he smiles.

  “Wait,” he says.

  Well, what else can I do? It seems to be my new verb of choice. Or is it non-choice?

  Ashton heads to his car and opens the trunk. He grabs some things then closes the trunk and heads back towards me as he dons a baseball cap with an Atlanta Braves logo.

  “Here,” he says. “Catch.”

  My head snaps back and my eyes blink as he gently tosses an object to me.

  Between my hands and my lap (mostly my lap), I catch the object which turns out to be (can you guess?) a baseball.

  I half-smile, hold it in my hand, and turn it around with my fingers. Yep, it’s a baseball all right.

  “What do you feel?” Ashton asks.

  I wonder if there is a right or wrong answer.

  “It feels hard, slick maybe? I don’t know.”

  “Toss it back,” he says.

  He’s standing on the walk at the bottom of the steps, his jeans hanging at just the right angle off his hips, the slightly too-long bottoms scrunched, but looking totally natural, against his brown, worn, must-be-favorite cowboy boots. His baseball hat is pulled low, making it hard to see his eyes, but his smile is as incredible as always.

  I toss the ball to him and he pretty much has to make a diving catch. Okay, I don’t have a good aim.

  He juggles the ball in one hand. Finally he settles it, his fingers wrapping tightly around the ball. He pulls it to his chest.

  “This is my life,” he says. “I mean was my life. This baseball made my dreams come true. It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? This little ball being somebody’s future.”

  He backs up into the grass. Starting out in slow motion, he does what I’m assuming is his wind up. He finishes it off at full speed, thankfully not letting go of the ball.

  “Come here,” he says.

  What the heck. Do I really have anything to lose?