Rounding Third

by Michelle Lynn

  “Get her out of here.” He pushed me toward Ella at the same time a huge tree branch cracked.

  I fell to my knees at Ella’s side. I laid my body over hers to cover her from the falling debris.

  Just as I picked her up to get her farther away, another pop of an explosion set off from the car, and a hot, wet substance splashed on my back.

  By the time I’m finished telling the story, Ella’s curled up in my lap with her arms tight around my neck. My legs are bouncing, my body is trembling, and my shaking fingers are unable to fully hold on to her.

  “I’m sorry, Crosby,” she whispers.

  “You have no reason to be sorry.”

  I slow my breathing, remembering my father’s words to not allow that memory to control me.

  It happened two years ago, and although that moment in my life will forever stay embedded in my memory until I take my last breath, the outcome will never change.

  “I’m just sorry you’ve been tortured with that memory all this time.” A tear slips down her cheek before I can catch it with my thumb. “The loss of them was hard enough, but you’ve had to endure the unimaginable.”

  “In my heart, I believe it was an accident, but my hands were controlling that wheel, and my foot was on the gas pedal. Two of my friends died, and the bloodstains are on my hands.”

  My eyes concentrate on her kneading hands between us. I never planned to pour out everything tonight, but I can’t seem to shut my mouth.

  “I understand, but it could have been any of us that night. Noah and Kedsey wouldn’t want you to let your own life pass by.” She straddles me again, her hands now resting on my shoulders.

  “For the first year at Millcreek, I didn’t want any happiness in my life. I drank a lot, barely attended class, and ditched practices. One morning, I woke up in my own vomit. I figured, either I live my life or kill myself because I wasn’t doing much living.”

  She thrusts herself into my arms, hanging on like a koala. “Oh my God, Crosby. We were so stupid to separate. What were we thinking?”

  “We were young, and, hey”—I draw back, giving her a reason to unleash my shirt from her fingers—“you’re the reason I straightened out my life. I just never thought it’d be so hard to see you again.”

  Darkness clouds her eyes. “Do you still see what you told me that night?”

  I rack my brain because I only remember breaking my heart that night.

  “You only heard the screams, saw the blood—”

  I place my finger over her lips. “No. I meant, memories of us, all together, just make that guilt from what was taken away from us hit me hard.”

  “What about now?”

  My hands mold to her hips, scooting her closer to me. The smell of her perfume permeates the air around us.

  “I want to move on. With you,” I say.

  I inch forward, and her fingers dig deeper into my shoulders, keeping me at a distance. She says nothing, but her clear blue eyes are swimming with apprehension. Maybe she’s the one not ready yet.

  She leans in, kissing me on my cheek. “Thank you for trusting me. I know it wasn’t easy.”

  “It’s easy when it comes to you,” I say.

  A slow grin lifts her lips.

  “Will you spend the night? I’m not ready yet, but I want to feel you next to me tonight.” She stands, leaving my lap empty, and she offers me her hand.

  “I’ve waited years to cuddle with you.” I wink, accepting her hand.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ella

  It’s been one whole week since Crosby trusted me enough to share the details of the night of the accident. He held me to his body the entire the night, but his hand never ventured further than my stomach.

  We’ve planned two dates that got postponed due to practices and my study sessions. He’s agreed to go slow with me. If only my body was on board with my mind.

  Crosby: Sunday night. Me and you. Dinner and fun.

  I stare down at Crosby’s text as the train whizzes by cornfields and farms. The scenery from where I grew up reminding me of my conversation with Crosby. Our paths apart were similar.

  My year of therapy didn’t cure me. I could leave photos of Kedsey and Noah up on my dresser. I could even talk about them again.

  Then, Crosby Lynch returned to my life after two years, and all that grief and guilt has rushed back like a tsunami to a remote island. I’m deserted in the ocean, tumbling in the waves, grasping for anything to hold. If that isn’t bad enough, my sister’s roommate has posted pictures of herself at the baseball game. Instagram shows her kissing Crosby’s cheek, and then someone else has his hands on her hips. It hurts, but if I’ve learned anything from when I dated Crosby in high school, it is that I can trust him. If he’s pursuing me, then he’s not interested in anyone else. That is something I never question.

  If the people in this town saw him this past week, after he relented and shared with me the terror that continues to haunt him, they’d be surprised on how far he’s come. He’s flirtatious in his texts and those eyes that held the most wicked of thunderstorms, now resemble parting clouds with a stream of sun shining through. My stomach flutters from the possibility we’ll get over this hurdle.

  Me: Fun?

  Crosby: With a stick and ball.

  Me: And a hole?

  Crosby: Check mark for you, genius.

  Me: Where exactly do we have this fun with a stick, ball and hole?

  Crosby: Why, where else? Adventureland Miniature Golf.

  My hand falls to my chest and I giggle. The woman in the next row with a sleeping baby shoots me a death glare.

  Crosby: U have a very dirty mind.

  Crosby: UR ready to take advantage of me.

  Crosby: We promised to take things slow. Remember?

  Me: Oh, we’ll take all the time u need.

  Crosby: Not too long.

  Crosby: Right?

  Me: Idk, time will tell.

  Crosby: Shit, gotta go.

  Crosby: Coach is screaming.

  Me: Go, ttyl.

  The train stops at Beltline, and looking out of the window, I catch sight of my mom talking alongside a few other women who work at the bakery nearby.

  She’s adorable in her jean capris and yellow blouse with sunflowers plastered on every inch of fabric. Her chestnut hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, showing off her slender neck that is adorned with her classic cross necklace that’s been passed down through generations of women from her side of the family.

  I take my duffel bag and swing it over my shoulder before I wiggle down the vacant row. Beltline is the first stop on a very long line of stops through farm country.

  My mom rushes over to me the minute I step off the train, placing her hands on my cheeks. Her eyes inspect my body as she lets out soft uh-huh. When her gaze lands on my face once again, she smiles.

  “You look beautiful, as always, but maybe a bit anxious,” she comments, using a tarot card–reader voice.

  This is my kooky mom, who truly does believe she can see every emotion living inside of me. Maybe she can because she’s my mom and not because she has some magic power of a psychic.

  “I’m fine, Ma,” I say, guiding us toward her minivan.

  She clicks a button, and the doors open, giving me the surprise of my dog, Holland.

  “You brought her!” I climb in the back instead of the front, petting Holland’s golden fur while I sit.

  Holland brings her mouth up to me, licking my face.

  “I told you, you’re anxious,” my mom says, raising her eyebrows at me through the rearview mirror, before starting the ignition.

  I roll my eyes once she’s focused on the road.

  “I saw that.”

  “Saw what?”

  “You know. Now, I have to stop by the store and grab some chocolate chips. Your dad refuses to take care of himself. His diabetes is growing out of control, so I’ve banned all sweets from the house.”

  “Then, why are
you buying chocolate chips?”

  Holland, all one hundred five pounds of her climbs on my lap, whining for attention.

  “Because my baby Cinderella needs them. Someone’s been hiding things.”

  Her eyes search my face through the rearview mirror, and I swallow down the guilt that my parents have no idea that the Lynch brothers have invaded Ridgemont.

  “It’s fine, Ma. I don’t need cookies.”

  “Yeah, you do. It will only take a second.”

  We move only a few miles down the road before she parks at an angle in front of the grocery store, Bishop’s.

  Kedsey’s family, the Bishops, have owned and operated the small country store for the last seventy years. They’re known for the fresh bread Mrs. Bishop makes. Crosby worked here as a stock boy until the accident. Then he wasn’t welcome.

  “I’ll wait in the car.”

  I continue petting Holland, but my mom’s head whips around, her ponytail almost slapping her in the face.

  “You most certainly will not. I need to show you off.” She clicks my door open, leaving me no choice but to follow.

  She stands in front of the van, her purse hanging from her forearm, her eyes pinned on me.

  “Jeez. Holland, she’s still bossy, huh?”

  I step out, winding my neck in a circle, showing her how annoyed I am. But that doesn’t stop her from walking ahead of me and grabbing a cart.

  “You said chocolate chips.” I walk alongside her as she waves to every other patron.

  “Might as well get other things.” She stops. “Hello, Linda. How’s Dan? I heard the line got jammed yesterday and backed everyone up for hours.”

  My mom’s gossiping skill is still the sharpest knife in a drawer.

  The line is the tire factory in town. The factory alone employs seventy percent of our town, and then there are the few farms, like my parents’, that have been passed down from family to family and the few stores in the downtown area. Other than the preacher who took Crosby’s dad’s spot, there aren’t many ways to earn money in a one-road small town. If that factory closed, we’d be a best-selling country song.

  The two women continue talking.

  Once they’re finished, Linda looks over at me. “This isn’t Ella, is it?” she asks.

  My mom beams a smile, nodding her head. She places her hand on the small of my back, giving me a little push to the forefront. “It is. Ella, you remember Mrs. Crandle?”

  I remember her catching me with Crosby’s tongue down my throat here in the back room. That’s what I remember.

  “Hello, Mrs. Crandle.”

  She eyes me, still with that I-know-what-you’ve-done look on her wrinkled face.

  “You have really grown into a nice-looking woman,” she compliments me. “Maybe it’s because you went to Ridgemont”—she pauses, and my body stiffens, as I know what’s coming next—“and started over.”

  Started over? I’d like to tell her that I haven’t forgotten that night or my friends who are now buried up on Cherry Blossom Hill.

  I smile, and my mom pats my hand.

  “We should get going. It’s been nice seeing you again, Linda.”

  “Yes, it has. Stay out of trouble, Ella,” she says.

  I wish I could grab a carrot stick and shove it in one of her judgmental eyes. How could I have ever blamed Crosby for wanting to get out of this town?

  We walk away from where Mrs. Crandle was stocking the fresh bread on the shelf.

  “Some people don’t know when to keep their thoughts to themselves. Don’t listen to her, honey.” She pats my arm for me to stop my speed-walking tendency.

  “I told you, I didn’t want to come in.” My voice is harsher than I’ve ever used toward my mother, and I regret the words the minute they leave my mouth.

  “They aren’t mad at you.” She excuses her so-called friends, the ones who turned their backs on the town preacher and his family after the accident. “Your own guilt makes you see and hear things differently.”

  The rage grows to a beast-like level, and if I have to keep my cool among the people who hurt not only me, but also the Lynches, I need to excuse myself.

  “I’ll be in the car,” I say, not waiting for an answer.

  Once I turn around, I step into a wall. Well, actually, upon inspection, it’s Xavier Bishop, Kedsey’s brother.

  Standing at six-six with his broad shoulders and rippling muscles, he glares down at me, and quickly, that beastly anger fizzles down to a mouse’s level.

  “Cinderella.” It’s not a greeting or a question. It’s flat and plain. Like he’s been most of his life.

  “Ella,” I correct.

  Xavier has never called me Ella, so I shouldn’t be surprised that he isn’t now, but with him, my nickname holds no endearment.

  “I heard.” His red-spiked hair has grown out now and softens his rigid features. Mixed with his freckles, he’s almost boyish again.

  “Heard what?” I step back to gain my personal space, but I run into my mother behind me.

  “Hello, Xavier. How are you?” My mom smiles, displaying that small-town charm she’s known for.

  His lips turn up at the corners. “Hello, Mrs. Keaton. The apples were brought in from the farm this morning.” He points to the produce stacked in barrels from the Bishop farm, but that doesn’t deter my mother’s curiosity.

  “How’s Ridgemont?” he asks me.

  I fiddle with the zipper of my sweatshirt, not meeting his eyes. He and Crosby were friends. Two grades separated them, but they were as close as brothers at one point. That didn’t seem to make a difference when Crosby and his family were run out of town though. I guess all bonds can break.

  “It’s good. Ariel’s there now, too.” I make the small talk I chastise my mother for because there’s something Xavier is trying to ask, and I’ll do anything for him to keep his mouth shut.

  “Your mother told me.” He smiles.

  Curiosity hits me as I wonder if Xavier ever wanted to go to college. A lot of kids I graduated with were stuck with training to take over their family businesses instead of moving on to college. My parents were adamant that Ariel and I graduate college. If we chose to run the farm, that’d have been our decision, but it was never an obligation. It was more of the reason I wanted to go pre-med. If I don’t come back to run the farm, I’ll be able to afford to retire my parents and they won’t be strapped to a profitless farm.

  My mother’s chin is practically resting on my shoulder, and I roll my eyes because she won’t give me alone time with Xavier, so he will tell me what he’s hinting at.

  “It was great seeing you. Come up to Ridgemont sometime.” I smile, nudging my mother to continue her shopping. We’re two steps away.

  “I think I will because I’d love to see him.” His words almost sound baiting or threatening.

  My stomach drops. My mom turns around, her eyes narrowing and rising with flames of anger.

  I whip around to face him, placing my hands on my hips. “Why?”

  “Who’s him?” My mom disguises her anger with a tone as sweet as the apple pie next to us.

  “Crosby Lynch,” Xavier says.

  All the shopping carts stop, customers pretending to peruse the items on the nearest shelf to eavesdrop.

  “I’m sorry. Did I misunderstand you?” My mom’s voice cracks, and her face pales.

  “No, Mrs. Keaton. Crosby is playing for the Tigers up in Ridgemont.”

  He looks down at me with a smug look splashed across his face, and I want to smack it off.

  “Ella?” My mom’s hand grips my forearm, and wetness blurs my vision.

  Pushing my tears back, I look up at her, swallowing the large lump that’s recently formed in my throat.

  “Is it true?” she asks.

  I briefly weigh my options. I could lie, but she’d know I was lying. Maybe she’d let it go, but maybe she’d use that pointed glare, too. Or I could tell the truth and wait for the lecture to start and continue for
the rest of my time here.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Have you”—she places her hand over her heart, as though she can’t bear the thought—“seen him?”

  I nod.

  “Ella, answer me.” She’s lowered her voice, not to alert the eavesdropping, gossiping patrons that she’s doesn’t have control over her child.

  “Yes.”

  I leave out the fact that I made out with him a week ago.

  “Oh, Ella.” From her disappointing tone, an outsider would assume that I’d announced I was pregnant.

  “I’m sorry, Cinderella. I figured you’d told your mom,” Xavier says.

  I whip around fast, my face heating from my anger toward him.

  “You knew. You know, you were his friend once upon a time.”

  I jab him in the chest with my finger, but he doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even roll back on his heels. Nothing. He’s like a brick wall.

  “It was an accident,” I seethe through my teeth. I look around at everyone in the grocery store. “It could have been any one of you, so why were you hell-bent on pointing the finger at him?”

  Tears well up in my eyes. As I’m unable to find an escape, they fall down my cheeks.

  “We should have each other’s backs, not chastise and banish one another. It was horrible for us. When I say us, I mean, me and Crosby. We are the ones who relive that nightmare every day.”

  “He killed them,” Xavier mumbles next to me.

  I use all my force to knock him from that pedestal he somehow feels entitled to stand on.

  “Fuck you,” I say.

  My mom gasps along with all the other women in the store.

  I turn around to face my mom. Her mouth is hanging open, and her eyes are pinging at anyone but me.

  “I’ll be in the car.”

  With that, I don’t wait, but when I reach the car, it’s locked. Not wanting to stand in front of the car until she’s done apologizing for her daughter’s outburst, I figure a walk will cool me off.

  I’m halfway down Main Street where all the shops line each side of the road with rows of autumn red trees. You could easily confuse us with Vermont or Maine, but Beltline holds its own against the New England fall trees.