by Sally Henson
“Don’t talk about me.” I sucked in a deep breath but stopped when another wave of pressure squeezed my heart. I pressed my palm to my chest and rubbed.
Madi stepped back, staring down at me with her eyebrows knit together. “Are you going to cry?” she asked.
I let out my breath and dropped my head, propping my elbows on my knees, and rested my forehead in my hands. “Thinking about talking to him makes my heart hurt. Thinking about not talking to him makes my heart hurt. He’s like family, you know. I don’t think I can just walk away and forget him.”
“Then don’t,” she said with a firm voice.
My brow furrowed, and I looked up at her.
She had that determined, focused look she gets when she’s about to take the court in a volleyball match.
“What do you mean, don’t?” I asked, standing.
She stepped back, unplugged the iron, and then pulled out a makeup bag from the cabinet under the sink. “Go to his house. Ask him what he was thinking. Tell him how much he hurt you. Tell him you miss him. Work it out.”
I tilted my head. When did my little sister start giving relationship advice? She was a fifteen-year-old freshman.
“What?” Her eyes widened. “You think I don’t hear things? Do you think Mom and Dad don’t have fights or argue or hurt each other?”
It was my turn to widen my eyes. “I know they get upset with each other sometimes, but no. They don’t hurt each other.”
“Yeah, they do. Not on purpose. But it happens.” She held up a concealer stick. “Did you moisturize?”
I nodded but was still thinking about Mom and Dad hurting each other. That couldn’t be true.
Madi dabbed a drop under each eye and patted it into my skin. “You haven’t been sleeping well. Your eyes tell on you.”
“How do you know that about Mom and Dad?” I asked.
“I know lots of things. I talk to Mom about this stuff. You should too.” She brushed a little blush onto my eyelids and my cheeks. “When are you getting another phone?”
I wanted to shrug or shake my head, but she had ahold of my chin, and I felt as if I couldn’t move. “Whenever it comes in the mail. I don’t know.”
She released my chin, reached back to her makeup bag, and then held up the tube of lip gloss. “Talk to Roan today,” she said with a bossy tone, giving me a pointed look.
I slipped the tube from her fingers but didn’t answer. Madi left the bathroom to get her things. I applied the lip gloss and stuffed it into my pocket. My little sister had a talent for making me look good. As much as I hated to admit it, she gave good advice too.
The tightness in my chest lessened. Knowing I was going to talk to Roan hurt less than knowing I would never talk to him again. I knew what I had to do.
32
I knocked on Roan’s front door. His truck wasn’t in the drive, but that didn’t always mean anything.
My sister was right. I needed to talk to him, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found at school today. I could have sent him a message through Madi or Cayla, but I didn’t want to do things that way.
We needed to be face to face. I wanted to see his expression. See if he was telling me the truth. Understand why he wanted to keep us a secret.
Marilyn opened the door. “Tommie, come on in.” She stepped back, wearing an apron with flour smudged across it, and waved me in. “I’m making a pie,” she said as she started toward the kitchen.
I stepped in and closed the door, following her. “When did you get back?” I asked. Did Roan say anything to them about me? Us?
“Oh, it was late Sunday. Jim’s brother had to go back in for emergency surgery. He’s not doing too well.” She washed her hands at the kitchen sink, drying them on a hand towel. A partially rolled out pie crust lay on the countertop. She gripped the rolling pin and got back to her crust.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is he going to be okay? Where’s Jim?” Did he have to stay behind?
Roan stayed at home by himself for three weeks. Three weeks with me. Kissing me. Talking with me. Now we did none of the above.
“Jim’s at his office, taking care of some things. Gerald, that’s his brother’s name, is not doing well. Did Roan tell you about our move?” she asked, pausing for my answer.
Um, we hadn’t spoken since he went eleven rounds with my heart. I lost. Didn’t know if my heart will recover. But the word move caused my stomach to knot. I didn’t know why or what she even meant by it.
My eyebrows knit together. “What are you moving?”
Her expression softened. She straightened and wiped her hands on the apron. “I thought he would have told you when we first considered it. When he called after the game Saturday, we told him we would be moving to Florida.”
My jaw dropped open. I think I stopped breathing too. Moving? To Florida?
“But…” I didn’t know what to say. Roan mentioned downsizing, but I thought that meant a smaller house in Sweet Water. Why didn’t he tell me? Was that why Roan never tried to talk to me again after Saturday? Did he think we were better off to end everything since he was moving?
Marilyn let out a huff. “That boy. He talks to you more than anyone and he didn’t say a word about it?”
I shook my head, still too stunned and confused to say anything.
She sighed and turned back to her crust, gripping the handles of the pin. “He’s a lot like his mother. God rest her soul. I loved that girl more than life itself. And Roan is like my own son. Even more special than that.” Her eyes glazed over with moisture, and she blinked a few times.
“He is quiet and on the hard-headed side just like my Ashlyn was,” she said and then shook her head. Marilyn was a strong woman. She didn’t show a lot of emotion and rarely talked about her daughter. I guess it was easier for her that way.
My mind reeled, trying to understand what was happening. Questions mixed in and I had to ask before I got dizzy, “You’re moving to Florida for good? Where will Roan live? When are you moving?”
“We’ll be staying in Gerald’s home until we know what the future holds. He has a long recovery ahead of him, and since his wife passed last year, Jim is all he has. His kids live in different states and can’t be there to help him out.”
Was that what brothers and sisters did? My parents' families never had to deal with anything like that. Would my Mom have to move to help if her sisters needed care like that?
She rolled the crust onto the pin and gently transferred it to the pie plate. Sprinkling the counter with fresh flour, she continued, “We’ll be leaving in a few weeks. We are considering renting this house.” Marilyn unwrapped a ball of dough and flattened it on the counter, patting more flour on top of it and then doing the same with the rolling pin. “While Roan’s at Tennessee meeting with the coach and players, he’s supposed to see if he can get into a dorm early. We’re not sure that will be an option.”
“He can stay with us,” I blurted out. It was the first thing that popped into my mind. He might have hurt me, but he had to have been hurting too, and I didn’t even know it.
She stopped, mid-roll, and tilted her head at me. “I’m not sure about that. You have a house full the way it is, and your mother has a lot on her plate.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how she keeps up the way it is.”
“Please. Let me talk to her. Just for the summer. Until he goes to college in the fall,” I begged. Roan may not have even wanted to do it. He obviously didn’t tell his grandparents we weren’t friends anymore.
She pursed her lips for a moment. “I’ll talk to Jim about it. Are you ready for graduation?” she asked. And just like that, she closed the door on that subject. She did that sometimes.
I hitched a shoulder. Cayla’s mom was taking her to Hawaii right after the ceremony. Her mom was out of the picture most of the time, but at least Cayla had some perks to having a mom who worked for an airline. My dad would not make it home. I may not be able to share it with Roan. And if I didn’t do something to ge
t us back to at least being friends, graduation would be as depressing as a future without my best friend in it.
“Yeah, I guess.” I watched her pour cherries mixed with flour and sugar into the dough and then sprinkle the top with cinnamon. “So when will Roan be back?”
Marilyn rolled the crust one last time, stopping to glance at me with a surprised expression. She shifted her weight, tilting her head and squinting as if she were watching a confusing play. Marilyn was a smart woman, intuitive. “He didn’t tell you?”
I shook my head.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She picked up the knife off the counter and began cutting the crust into strips. “He should be back Friday night.”
My heart squeezed. His future was becoming his present all too fast. How was I going to stop the divide between us? “Oh.”
My throat tightened with disappointment and I didn’t want her to know what was going on. If Roan left without us talking…no, I couldn’t let that happen. If I didn’t have a phone, I’d have to do it the old-fashioned way. Write him a note. “I think I left my bag and earbuds up in the media room. Do you mind if I look around?”
The knife sliced through the last strip. She glanced over, wearing a sweet smile, and said, “My home is your home, Tommie Sue. You’ve been part of this family since we moved in.”
I smiled back. It was true. And I wasn’t about to let it end now. I slipped off the bar stool, thanked her, and went upstairs.
The media room wasn’t my destination though. I took a right down the hall. They had two master suites in this house. One downstairs, which his grandparents used, and Roan had the upstairs. It used to be his dad’s—for the few years he lived here before moving back to Argentina. Roan took residence in it his freshman year.
I even helped him move his things. He kept the queen-sized bed. His grandparents had the room painted for him. He wanted green and gray, the school colors, but Marilyn wouldn’t allow that. She said it was too drab and had it painted a sandy color.
Roan negotiated for sports memorabilia that hung on the walls. Baseball, of course. But he loved football too. He was good at everything.
I crossed the threshold and spotted the driftwood desk nestled in front of the window. He had left his laptop open, and I thought about opening a document to write my note on and leaving it up so he could see it.
When I stepped closer, I noticed his screen saver had changed. It used to be baseball photos and University of Tennessee logos, but now it was…me. My fingers covered my mouth as I watched the images slide across the screen, fading in and out. I didn’t even remember some of them being taken.
There was one of us kissing in the rain. Where did he get that? An image of the lyrics to my favorite song faded in. My fingers fell to above my heart. I knew I often didn’t read guys right, but this said I meant something more to him.
I watched selfies of the two of us fly by until I’d seen them all twice. My heart had worked itself up to a hopeful swell again. I slid out a sheet of paper from the desk drawer and grabbed a pen from the holder in the desktop's corner.
Roan wouldn’t see it until tomorrow. I didn’t know if I could handle that long of a wait, but it had already been a week. Whatever I wrote needed to be straight forward, like my dad said. If I wanted to save our friendship, I couldn’t hold back.
“Roan…”
33
Summer and I looked at each other across the table and slumped in our chairs at the same time. Cayla and Addison giggled, and I moved my gaze as if in a slumber to see what they were laughing at. They both had the same posture as Summer and me.
We both snickered.
“Ugh,” Summer groaned, rubbing her belly. “I ate too much.”
The words “Me too” popped up all around the table. Coach Hayes and Mac invited all the senior softball players to breakfast graduation morning. Addison, Summer, Mazzie, Cayla and I showed up. Veronica did too. I was thankful London didn’t show her face.
“Sweet Water Stacks should come with a warning label,” I said, waving my hand through the air as if it were written there. “Secret recipe contains ingredients that are highly addictive and could be hazardous to your hips.”
That got a laugh from the entire table.
Coach Mac wagged a finger at me and said, “Jenkins, you were never that funny in practice. What’s the deal? You’re about to graduate and your personality changes?”
I shrugged. “Guess I was too worried about getting yelled at.”
“I don’t think that worked,” Cayla said with a smirk.
“You weren’t the only one,” Summer said.
Throughout breakfast, Coach Hayes had given what she called “exit interviews” to each of the players. Only the pitchers were left, Mazzie and myself.
Veronica came back to the table. She took her seat and eyed Mazzie. “You’re next,” she said.
Mazzie swallowed, caught my eye, and wore an expression that seemed to mirror how I felt about having a one-on-one with Coach Hayes. My palms began to sweat, knowing I was next. Last.
I didn’t want to think about it though, so I distracted myself and asked, “What is everyone doing today? Staying home? Going to the beach? A movie? We don’t have to be at the football field until three o’clock.”
Addison was the first to answer. “Sleep.”
That got a few approvals.
“Sleep on the beach doesn’t sound too bad,” Summer said. Her smile grew with a new thought. “A back row movie with Gabe sounds even better.”
I tossed my napkin at her. “I’m so jealous of you two.”
“Yeah,” Cayla said. “You’re too sweet to take on a pancake stomach.”
Summer straightened, giggling, and pulled out her phone. Her grin widened as she said, “Speaking of sweet…”
The rest of the table groaned and threw their napkins too.
I wished we had this much fun during the season. Maybe they did, but I was too consumed with what happened at prom to enjoy anything. I had to stop allowing London or anyone else use that night to humiliate me. The one good thing that came out of it…the times I had kissed Roan.
Summer blocked the two napkins that flew close to her head. She smirked, lifted an eyebrow, and said, “Did y’all forget I’m the catcher?” She stood at the same time Mazzie came back.
Mazzie had sat on the chair next to Summer. Talking to Coach must not have been too painful, because Mazzie’s bright blue eyes sparkled. “You’re up,” she said and sat down.
I sucked in a breath and leaned against Cayla sitting next to me. “It’s fine,” she whispered. “I promise.”
I stood and stretched my spine for a second. Coach Hayes sat at a two-person table across the room of the restaurant. The place looked a lot like any other beachside breakfast diner. Light colors with an airy feel.
It wasn’t likely Coach would gripe me out for anything since I was no longer a student at Sweet Water High. Hm. Did that make me an adult?
I crossed over the white and light blue checkerboard tile and took the seat every other softball player had sat in that morning. “Coach,” I greeted.
“Tommie. How was your breakfast?” she asked, sipping a half-empty cup of coffee. Her gray eyes had a tendency to cut right through you. But she seemed different at the moment. Soft and gentle like a fluffy kitten.
The closed file folder on the tabletop had a stack of papers on top of it. I wondered what she had said to the other players. My hand rubbed at my belly. “It was good,” I said. “I’m stuffed.”
She grinned. The speech she and Coach Mac gave before our food arrived was nice. Nicer than they had been the whole season. They both wished the seniors the best of luck and offered to help us in any way they could for our future.
“Tommie, you had a lot of potential when the season began. I believed you would play a special part our team.”
I ducked my head. That potential thing didn’t work out so great.
“You stumbled for a bit and that st
unted your growth. Life happens and sometimes,” she snapped her fingers and waited for me to look at her before she continued, “Sometimes we can’t control what other people do or what is happening around us. The one thing you can control is yourself.”
My stomach tightened. It already hurt from the pancakes, but according to Cayla, Coach would not be chewing my butt this morning. I rubbed at my stomach again and tried to keep eye contact.
“You need to learn to control you, Tommie. Learn to focus and tune out the distractions. This will help you be successful not only when you play next year but also in your studies and future.”
I pursed my lips and glanced down at the table. I said in a low voice, “I’m not playing next year.”
She tilted her head. A smile played on her lips. “Do you want to play?” she asked.
“Yeah, of course.” My eyebrows shot up and then knit together. I loved softball. I would miss some of these girls so much. “But I didn’t have any offers. I’m not sure I could even walk on at Sweet Water College.”
She straightened, shifting her back against the chair, and asked, “Did you know I was a walk-on my freshman year?”
I shook my head. Coach had played for Florida and had even made it onto the Olympic team before she injured her knee and ended her career. She was a tough coach, but I respected her. The whole team did.
She flipped through her papers and pulled out a sheet, glancing over it before she said, “I had an interesting conversation with the coach from the University of Tennessee yesterday.”
I stared. I didn’t know what she was getting at. Roan had a scholarship to play at UT, but why would the baseball coach be calling her?
“It seems someone has pointed you out to them. Made a strong argument on what an asset you would be to their team.” Coach handed me the paper. “I agreed. They sent this to me.”
It had the University of Tennessee and the softball coach’s name at the top. I scanned the letter. When I came across my name, it caught my breath. I glanced at Coach. Her smile had stretched. She nodded for me to continue.