Rounding Third

by Michelle Lynn

  Ariel has lived in my shadow since that night. My needs came first, and hers were second. It’s not fair that she’s can’t announce the fact that she’s found this guy who lights her up. Then, there’s Spencer, who was ripped from his hometown to start new somewhere else. Neither one of them deserve to keep a hidden relationship.

  A determination sets in, and I need to make sure she doesn’t have to deal with what I did moments ago. I cover the box and stand up. Squaring my shoulders, I walk out of my bedroom door.

  My feet hit the last step of the staircase when Ariel barrels into the driveway, gravel spitting up from under her tires. I wait by the door as she grabs her bag, swings the keys around her finger, and walks to the house.

  Her hair is lighter than mine, but we share the same color eyes as our mother.

  “Hey,” she says, her arms wrapping around my shoulders.

  “Hey.”

  She drops her bag on the floor, and our parents emerge from the kitchen to greet her.

  “Ariel,” my mom says, looking her over, similar to the way she did with me when I stepped off the train, “you look really happy.”

  My arm flies up in the air and slaps my leg on the way down.

  Ariel glances over to me and back to my mom. “Thanks.”

  My dad hugs her and walks out of the front door.

  “Dinner’s in an hour, honey,” my mom calls out. Then, she swings her arms over each of our shoulders. “The cookie dough is ready.”

  The three of us walk into the kitchen where she has cookie sheets set out along with a bowl of raw cookie dough that could take all my problems away.

  “So, how’s Ridgemont?” my mom asks Ariel.

  Ariel glances at me from the corner of her eye. “Good.”

  My mom hands the spoons out to us, and we start scooping.

  “We aren’t going to sit around here and act like the elephant isn’t in the room. You’ve seen Crosby, I suspect?” My mom pulls out a chair and sits down.

  “Yes.” Again, Ariel eyes me.

  “How does he seem?”

  Ariel and I both cock our heads in her direction.

  “He seems really good.”

  My mom nods her head, rising to her feet and going to the fridge. “Healthy?” she asks.

  With my mom’s back turned to us, we take the opportunity to share a look that says, Where is she going with this?

  “Yeah, really healthy,” Ariel answers.

  I roll my eyes at her exaggeration of really.

  My mom nods again, pulling things out from the fridge and setting them on the counter. “Thanks girls, now go help your dad until dinner is ready.”

  I put the trays of cookies in the oven and set the timer, and we leave my mom to dinner.

  An hour later, the four of us are sitting around the table in silence. My dad’s head is buried in his plate of tuna casserole while Ariel is rambling on and on about her classes.

  I hate the uncomfortable vibe in the room. Everyone’s smiling toward Ariel, but our minds seem to be somewhere else.

  “So, I met someone,” Ariel blurts out after talking about the mashed potatoes at the cafeteria and her algebra professor.

  Forks stop scraping the plates, creaks echo from the chairs, and all eyes zoom in on her.

  “So soon?” my mom says, her vision veering toward my dad.

  “Too soon,” he answers the question, his fork digging around the noodles on his plate.

  “Well, I already knew him.”

  “Ariel,” I warn her. This is not her fight.

  My mom’s head pings between the two of us.

  “Is he someone from Beltline?” My mom tilts her head, surely going through her contacts on who else from Beltline goes to Ridgemont.

  “Please tell me it’s not that Braxton Brentwood,” my dad says, having already done the math of who he knows attends Ridgemont. “He’s a funny kid, but he doesn’t exactly seem like a man who takes anything seriously.”

  My mom’s hand lands on Ariel’s shoulder. “Sweetie, it’s not…” Again with the inability to say his name.

  “No!” I toss my hands in the air.

  Ariel straightens her shoulders, holding her head up high. This is it. There’s no stopping her now. “I’m seeing Spencer Lynch, Crosby’s brother.”

  My dad pushes his chair away from the table, tossing his empty beer bottle into the trash and grabbing another one from the fridge. A low growl erupts from his throat.

  “Did the Lynches invent some kind of love potion that only works on our girls?” my dad asks my mom.

  But she never responds.

  I disregard my dad’s comment. “She’s really happy. They’ve been talking over the years.”

  Ariel smiles over to me, happy that I’m coming to her defense.

  “Years?” My dad’s eyes examine my mother.

  She vehemently shakes her head. “I had no idea.”

  Ariel catches the fact that my dad thinks he’s the only one who’s been in the dark. “No one knew. Not even El.” She stands up and walks over to my dad.

  He is hunched over the counter, the cold beer bottle resting in his palm, his head hanging.

  Ariel places her hand on his shoulder, leaning closer. “I love him, Daddy.”

  I watch my dad’s back rise and fall with heavy breaths. He’s never been one to have outbursts. He’s more likely to give the silent treatment.

  “What do you want me to do, Ariel? Accept this? Accept the fact that your sister will have to be reminded her entire life?”

  She glances back to me, and my mom’s head is in her hands, slow hiccups of breath struggling out.

  Ariel’s eyes tear up, and this is all because of me. My parents’ distress, Ariel’s sadness. I’m to blame.

  The picture flashes in my head. The secret relationship she’s had to keep. Well, not anymore. Ariel and Spencer can’t have anything else taken away from them because of their siblings.

  “Dad, they’re great together,” I interject and he whips around.

  “So are Crosby and Ella. Just like they used to be.” Ariel says.

  His fist slams to the counter. “Enough.”

  All three of us startle.

  “The Lynch boys won’t come within one hundred feet of this house. I can’t control what you do up in Ridgemont, but I think I raised you better than to go behind our back. Your mother and I will never accept one of them into your life.” He takes his empty beer bottle, tossing it into the trash. “Now let’s have dinner.”

  “No way. I love him and I’m not going to sit here like Ella did two years ago and throw him away. I’m an adult and you can’t control me.” She rushes out of the room, and her footsteps pound up the stairs.

  “Will you be leaving us too?” my dad asks.

  “No.”

  “I just don’t understand why you want to torment yourselves?” He continues to talk to the toaster.

  “I have a deal to make with you." the words blurt out before I truly think of repercussions.

  "Deal? What sort of deal?" my mom questions and my dad turns around.

  I’m sure my dad is way too angry to respond.

  “I’ll stay away from Crosby as long as you leave Ariel alone about dating Spencer.”

  God, the words “stay away from Crosby” transport me back to after the accident when everyone in this town thought it would be better if we separated and grieved on our own.

  “No deal. You both stay away from those Lynch boys.” My dad moves to the fridge, popping the cap off yet another beer bottle.

  “I’ll let her see him without you knowing, if that’s what you choose. We’ll hide their relationship, like some kind of unplanned teenage pregnancy. Or you can have one of your daughters away from one of the Lynch boys.” My heart flattens, like a bulldozer rolling it into a pancake.

  My parents look at one another, and I keep my back straight to show I mean business.

  “Accept Spencer.”

  They both release he
avy breaths, having a silent conversation with one another, weighing the pros and cons.

  “You won’t have anything to do with Crosby then?” My father is the first to turn around, showing he’s contemplating my offer.

  “Well, I have to be around him when I’m with the team. I can’t give up the internship. You have my promise though. I won’t date him.”

  “Deal.”

  “Mark,” my mom sighs.

  “Katie, I’d rather one than both. Spencer was always a good kid.” He moves to his seat.

  So is Crosby.

  My mom gives me a long look and stares down to her plate.

  “You have to be nice when she brings him home,” I add.

  “Uh-huh,” my dad says, picking up his fork.

  The conversation is over.

  With a snap of my fingers, a miracle has been made, and the deal is done.

  And my heart is obliterated.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Crosby

  I hate this town, and the fact that I decided to show my face again confirms how eager I am to move on with my life.

  My fist taps on the wooden door, and a piece of flaking white paint falls to the rotten front porch. Slow and steady footsteps pad toward the door, and my heart races, like I sprinted for third after the second baseman made an error.

  Taking deep breaths to make sure oxygen continues to fill my lungs, I wait.

  Mrs. Ford glances out the dirty window, and the doorknob turns.

  This is the moment I’ve feared most in the past two years. There’s no turning back now. The door opens, and there she stands. Her brown hair is speckled with gray, and her eyes are puffy from what I imagine has been years of crying.

  “Mrs. Ford?”

  She stares at me, and unless she’s lost her mind, she has to recognize me. I might have gained more muscles over the years, but I look the same.

  “Crosby?” she asks. Wetness pools in her eyes.

  An enormous second-guess occupies me, and I think this was a horrible idea. Panic says that I should tell her she’s wrong and hightail it out of here.

  “Yes, ma’am.” My conscience presents itself.

  She’s thinner than I remember, and there’s no joy in her face because I took any happiness away from her.

  “Come in.” She steps to the side, opening her house to me, showing how remarkable of a woman she is.

  She’s the one who taught Noah to be the best friend anyone could have. Man, he proved his worth a hundred times over.

  “Would you like some lemonade or iced tea?” she asks, already moving toward the kitchen.

  “I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” I answer, my head down, looking at the worn carpet instead of the pictures that adorn the walls.

  “Take a seat, sweetie.” She nods toward the kitchen table.

  I sit down, and when I place my arms on the table, it wobbles.

  I’m surprised that a town that shamed my family into leaving hasn’t helped this woman in her time of need.

  I wad up a piece of napkin and shove it under the leg while she busies herself with pouring two glasses of lemonade. She comes to the table, placing the two glasses down, and then grabs a pouch of cookies. She was always good at making everyone feel at ease in her home.

  “What brings you to Beltline, Crosby?” she 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 need a place to live,” Jen argues back.

  Ella’s nostrils flare. “Find another place. Why would I want to live here? Do you ever think about anyone else but yourself?” Those small hands find her hips, and she leans forward in case Jen can’t hear her.

  “I tried, okay? But everyone beat me to the other places. It’s temporary. We’ll be here for maybe a few days,” Jen says.

  Ella’s eyes narrow to slits. “It’s two weeks, Jen. They said we would be out for two weeks.”

  Jen’s head wiggles around, like a dangling worm. “Two weeks is nothing. It will fly by.”

  “Yeah, for you. You’re going to fuck Saucey until your vagina is raw. And I’ll be stuck on a couch.”

  “We moved your stuff into Crosby’s room.” Jen smiles, as though that should appease Ella.

  Truthfully, I’m appeased. I’m surprised Saucey would go for that with the bet and all. It’s like a sealed win for me.

  Ella throws her arms in the air. “Great. Thanks, Jen.” She sounds condescending.

  Jen rolls her eyes. “Where’s the appreciation? Sorry, Princess Cinderella not everyone is perfect,” she says.

  Ella’s patience hits its boiling point where she loses control of her mouth, no matter how hard she tries to resist.

  “Ergh.” Her hands fist into balls in the air. “You are impossible.” Her whole body tenses, and she catches me in the doorway. “Ergh!” She walks into my room and slams the door.

  “You can thank me later,” Jen says. Then, she and Saucey step into his room.

  I knock softly on my door, but Ella doesn’t answer.

  Realizing it’s my room, I turn the knob and peek my head in. “Can I come in?”

  “It’s your room.” She’s staring out the window.

  Her books, suitcases of clothes, and her laptop are sitting in the corner.

  “What happened?”

  I slide onto my desk, placing my feet on the chair, waiting for her to answer me.