Catching Tatum

by Lucy H. Delaney

  Every morning, every ... single ... morning except for Tuesdays and Sundays, my only days off, I had to be at the gym at four-thirty sharp, and after I got my job with the Patriots, Brett was right there with me. Lucky for us we only lived five minutes away, a huge difference from the twenty minute commute from base. Brett had his alarm wired to a motivational soundtrack and he forced himself up. I was a morning person so it wasn't as hard for me to get up; it was torture for him, but he did it. Always, always he had the end in sight, a contract with the bigs. Talent would only get him so far; he had to train harder and be better than everyone else who wanted it and had talent.

  When weather permitted, we left the house at four o'clock and ran a three-mile course to the gym. He was faster than me and ran ahead in the summer when it was light, but when the seasons called for darker mornings, he stayed with me. He was a good big-little brother like that, but he pushed me to run faster and it worked. My average mile went from nine minutes, fifteen seconds before we started training together to an easy eight and a half minutes after. I probably could have gone faster but that's where I stayed.

  We were usually a few minutes early and did our regular Work Out of the Day, or WOD as it was known, with the other early morning regulars before the first class started at five. Duke, the owner, allowed me to design one WOD a week and I did my best to make it as grueling as possible, but my main job was keeping time for the classes. I started classes at five, five-thirty, and six each morning for the corporate and construction types who had to be in and out first thing. The eight and ten o'clock classes were the mom crowd—ladies with babies keeping their figures in shape or trying to get them back after the children they loved ruined them. I did one last set of lunch classes at eleven-thirty and noon before I was off. Between classes I cleaned the gym, greeted guests. For a fit girl on her own for her first time ever, I couldn't have asked for a better life. I got paid to work out and watch baseball

  Brett and I settled comfortably into adult life, which included frequent visits back to the base to check in. We had decent jobs; he had his dream, I had freedom to be me; neither of us had intentions of changing, unless a deal threw itself in Brett's face. Life was good—better than good, it was perfect.

  Then it happened, not one but two boys made me question everything I had come to believe about life and my game of love. One was like a dream, too good to be true, and the other, a nightmare I couldn't escape.

  Justin Parker and Cole Jackson put my rules to the test the summer after I turned twenty-two.

  That summer, Thomas came to visit for a couple weeks, with his only child, my nephew, Kyle, a three- year-old heartbreaker. Thomas had just finished with his eighth year of service and his girl, now his wife, was on a ship in the Mediterranean so home was his parents’ base, McChord. It was like old times, only we were all older. He fit in with Theo and Brett and their buddies as much as he did the airmen on base. I even noticed him running once with my old friend, Tech Sergeant Warbiany.

  Mom and I were on one of the local co-ed softball teams and the other players let Thomas jump in and play with us while he was visiting. The whole family, all seven of us, and Kyle and Kennedy, came out to watch us play one Friday night. It was one of those memories Mom forced us all to stop and remember forever. She huddled us up, arms over shoulders, heads in, family together, and had us call out what we would remember. I said I would remember the dandelions Kyle picked for me, mom, and Kennedy, but what I really remember was my mom's hair. It was auburn, like it always had been, but peppered with gray. I wondered when that happened. My mom was timeless—how could she have gray in her hair and wrinkles? I saw Thomas grown, and a father, the spitting image of our own, down to his earth-colored skin, and sculpted mustache. Theo was white like mom, as if it took the first two tries for their genes to mix to the perfect color scheme that the last three of us inherited. Brett, Trav, and I were a cool blend of our parents’ white and brown coloring. We were lucky, always tan, never pale in the bland, sunless, Western Washington winter or red like Mom and Theo were that day. The evening smelled like summer itself, no fresh-cut grass, or hotdogs on the grill, because there were no concessions. It was robust and airy, the way only a warm summer night can be. I can't describe it, but sometimes when the wind blows just right, I remember that huddle, that game, and what would come later that night.

  The game wrapped up and a bunch of us decided to get together after for a bonfire out in the woods. It didn't take too much convincing for my mom to agree to watch Kyle so Thomas could go. Trav asked if he could go, too. Mom and Dad wouldn't have it; he was sixteen and had a messy room at home that he had been told to clean up before they left. To prove he was old enough to hang with his older sibs for the night, he threw a fit like a twelve-year-old. It was classic. We all still laugh about that.

  I hugged my parents goodbye and took off with Brett and Thomas in my car. Theo and Kennedy rode up in his Jeep separately. After we gassed up and made our beer run, we followed a caravan of cars and trucks up some mountain road to the middle of nowhere, far away from the noise of the city. There were trucks and tailgates and firewood, a different kind of summer memory. Loud music of all kinds blasted from the cars with the best sound systems, and beer flowed freely.

  Theo, remembering the time he took me to a party when I was in high-school, told me not to embarrass him again. I punched him and told him the feeling was mutual and told Kennedy to keep him in check. They were hot and heavy; making out, and making the best of star-filled night in the woods. Plenty of couples were. Suddenly I felt alone, just like that; one second I was fine and the next I wanted what my brothers had with their girls. I wanted someone to love me for me.

  I could have let it get me down but instead I decided to be happy because I was happy: I had a good life, my brothers were there; it didn't matter that I didn't have a guy to share the night with. I cracked open a beer and went down to the fire. By nightfall I was buzzed and I was in my element; there were people to talk to, boys to flirt and laugh with, music to get lost in, and stories we had to share that couldn't be told around the parental units. Who needed to be with a guy for the night anyway?

  I embraced my singleness. It was hot, and so was I, and I danced the night away around the bonfire in my tight little tank top, flirting, but not particularly interested in anyone. It wasn't like I was the only single girl; there were a few of us dancing and making eyes at the cute guys that didn't have a girl in their arms. I might have been the only one who wasn't looking for a hookup though. I was glad I had my rules. Some of the girls were too easy. I felt sorry for them. I couldn't believe I had been like that once.

  I imagined how I looked in the dark, silhouetted by the firelight. I felt their eyes on us, hungry men filling up on our shapes and sizes and sexiness. I lifted my arms, twirling my hands in the air and rolled my body to the beat of the music, occasionally winking or tipping my bottle in the direction of an approving whistle. I reveled in my youth, somehow knowing like never before that like my mom, I'd have a family and grandkids and gray hair someday. I wanted this night to be mine forever and always. I knew that guys were watching and I danced for them as much as for myself, but I didn't want them.

  Maybe, for my brothers and I, this would be our last night together. I kind of wished Trav could have been there but if he had been, we would have had to babysit him. As it was, Thomas, Theo, and Brett let me do my thing and they were all doing theirs, but even so, we were together; we were grown versions of the kids we had once been, and younger versions of the adults we were becoming. It was a night to make memories, a night to remember, and I always have.

  When my beer ran out, I went for a refill. On my way up to the car I caught a couple boys' eyes and smiled my best “come and get me” smile even though I didn't really mean it. It was colder by my car and I was glad for the hoodie I tossed in the back seat a couple of days before. I shrugged it on, opened my beer, leaned back on my trunk and took everything in. Some engaged in animated co
nversation back and forth, some made out, some were obviously desperate. One guy had stubble so dark the shadows from the firelight made it look like he was wearing a mask on the lower half of his face. Some people I didn't recognize either from base or the ball field were getting high. I hoped none of my brothers would partake; gladly, they didn't. There were probably thirty people there. I recognized several faces from the base, one airman whose wife played on the softball team with us, seemed to be flirting with all the ladies a little too much for my liking. I assumed everyone was somehow connected to the softball teams in one way or another but didn't take a poll of how everyone ended up there.

  Even with the hoodie, it was getting chilly so I finished my drink, grabbed another for later, and went back down to sit in the warmth of the fire, but I wasn't quite ready to dance again. There were logs strewn around the fire and I took a seat on one, pushed my legs out in front of me, and got lost in the fire for a long time, letting the sounds of the night wash over me in waves.

  Then my world changed and it started with two simple words.

  CHAPTER 8

  “HEY YOU ...” HE SAID.

  I saw him across the fire, Airman Justin Parker, one of my dad's favorite new transfers. He had been playing a guitar with his head down or I probably would have noticed it was him a lot earlier. He had a face that, like the fire, I could get lost watching. I didn't know he played the guitar; I didn't know anything about him, except that my dad had invited him over for Sunday dinner once and he asked to say a blessing before we ate.

  It's funny, though, how someone who is little more than a stranger can become a friend in a crowd of unknown faces. He came over and sat next to me, guitar propped between us.

  “Some pretty impressive moves you had going on out there,” he said.

  “Why thank you ... I practice a lot ... in the comfort of my own bedroom. Big mirror makes for an awesome practice ground.”

  “It works. Did you come alone?”

  “No.” I laughed. “I just dance alone. I'm with my brothers. They're over there ...” I pointed to each of them and told him who they were, respectively. “How about you? You alone?”

  “Nah, a couple buddies from the base and I came up. It's nice to get out sometimes.”

  I guessed that he was close to my age. I wondered if he was single and started fishing for details subtly. He transferred to the base a few months before, after reenlisting. He ran the trail with my favorite Tech Sergeant who had recruited him for this thing called The Rodeo, a training opportunity where soldiers could get together and show off their talents in different fields of expertise, and compete against teams from other bases around the nation. Theirs was a mechanical crew but other than that he didn't know too much about how it all played out. He said it kept him busy and he liked that.

  No hint of a girl in any of it.

  He smelled good. It was a popular cologne, but I couldn't quite place it. It complemented him well, not too strong but enough to catch my attention. I thought about nuzzling him to get a better memory; that made me think of my lips on his neck and that made my heart start beating faster in my chest. I knew the feeling too well. I could fall for him. I told myself to be careful—it was only our second meeting. I needed to be cool, to act normal, but I didn't have anything else to say. I took a swig, fast, hoping for courage or at least to look cool while we sat in silence. I didn't know where the free and independent me had gone. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to be with him.

  “You and your brothers came from a ball game, right?”

  “Yep, yep, it's a local Jack and Jill team; my mom and I are on it.”

  “So ... you play too then?”

  “Yeah. Can't get enough baseball. I love it.” I smiled.

  “Does your hair get in the way?” he asked, reaching with his close hand to flip a dread. It always amazed me how many people thought they could come up and touch my hair without permission. I didn't mind so much with him. My dreads came to the middle of my back and hung in a thick mane I usually had tied back. I thought they were beautiful but knew some people had great distaste for them and hoped he wasn't one of those people.

  “No, I just tie it back and make my hat fat.”

  We talked about everything and nothing until my drink was done. Then he walked me up to the car to get another one, guiding me in the dark, with a hand at my back.

  “Want one?” I asked, extending a beer in his direction.

  “No, I don't drink.”

  “Really?!”

  “Really.” He smiled unapologetically.

  “You smoke?”

  “Nah, not for years. I don't mind if people do though; it's just not for me.”

  “Oh, good, I thought you were going to be a boring toker. But if you don't drink ...and you don't smoke ... why are you up here?” I laughed.

  He shrugged, straight-faced, and said, “To have fun. You don't have to get high or wasted to have fun, right? And ... I guess it reminds me of home, only without the yelling and fights and such.”

  “Oh ...” Something about the way he said it told me there was more to that story.

  “Where's home?”

  “California.”

  “Huh! I've never lived there. Which is pretty amazing because I've lived like everywhere.”

  “Where all have you lived?”

  “Let's see ...” I said. My words were slurring. I hoped he wouldn't pick up on it but I knew he could. “North Carolina—I was born there—here, of course, Texas, Delaware, and Virginia.”

  “Wow! I grew up in the same house almost my whole life until I joined the Force. I've been a couple places now.”

  “It's a brat's life for me. I think I'd go crazy in one house.”

  “It just about drove me crazy.”

  The silence again. I shivered.

  “You're cold,” he said and guided me again, with his hand on my back, down to the fire. I looked over to my brothers. They were all busy: Thomas and Brett were hovered around the hood of a lifted Chevy with several other guys shining a flashlight onto the engine parts. Theo and his girl were dancing around the fire. All of them were too busy to pay attention to me. I took a long pull from my new drink before remembering I needed to slow down. I was already plenty good. When we got to the fire, I wanted Parker, not the fire, to keep me warm and he kind of obliged.

  We sat close, but he was quiet. There was a faraway look in his eyes and he situated the guitar between us again. He carried a lot inside.

  “So ... Parker, what do they call you off base?” I asked trying to get conversation to flow again.

  “Still Parker.”

  “What's the J. for?” I asked, hooking his dog tag with my index finger.

  “Could be anything,” he joked.

  “But what is it?”

  “Justin.” He shrugged.

  “I like Justin.”

  “I like Parker. I was Justin in a different life.” I wanted to know him, his life now and the different one he talked about. I was about to ask why when a slow song came on that gave me a better idea.

  “Dance with me?” I asked.

  I saw the look in his eyes: he wanted to but he couldn't. Something was stopping him. Then I knew—the distance, the guitar between us— he wasn't a free agent. Good, I told myself, I didn't want him anyway. All I wanted to do was dance with a member of the opposite sex, who happened to look like a model and smell like heaven. We stared at each other. “C'mon, it's just a dance, Parker,” I said, nudging him with my shoulder, “I'll be good, I promise!”

  He looked at the fire, pursed his lips, and then nodded, resigned. “Just a dance.”

  And we danced, and he was a good, strong leader like my dad told me to watch for and my soul longed for him. I'd dated plenty since my senior year but none of them made me feel that way. It was the alcohol; it had to be. Unless there was something special about him, I told myself. I reached my arms up to his neck and nuzzled my nose into the crook of it like I had been tempted to
earlier. He was warm and rough and smelled so good. His hands tightened around me and I reciprocated but then he pulled away and looked at me apologetically. “I got a girl. That's why this has to be just a dance.”

  “Where is she?”

  “California ... she called it off, but I know her; she'll come around. I'm sorry I led you on like that.”

  “Wait ... she broke up with you?”

  “Yeah,” he said; pain fresh in his firelit eyes.

  “How long has it been?”

  “Months.”

  “How many months?! Have you talked to her?”

  “Seven months and eleven days and, no, she won't answer my calls or letters. Our friend, Lizzie, told me she has a boyfriend. They're pretty serious, I guess.”

  He was as hopeless a romantic as I was. My heart went to him even though I didn't want it to.

  “You fall in love easily, too,” I accidentally mused aloud.

  “No, I don't. I fall in love for life. She's the only one I've ever loved or wanted.”

  “And she dumped you?”

  “Yeah, but she doesn't mean it. I know she'll come around. I just have to wait for when she does ...” He sighed. “I'll be right there for her.”

  “You kind of make me want to throw up. Why is it that all the good guys are stuck on girls that don't want them and the rest of us are left with the arrogant pricks who just want to get in our pants?”

  “I don't know what to tell you about that.”

  “Can you forget her?” I asked.