“I wanted to be a pitcher too, but my friend got the spot because his dad is the coach.” Ouch. Yeah, I remember those things happening when I was young too. “Now I play in the outfield because I’m a lefty, and I can throw far.” The lack of enthusiasm in his voice tells me this is not his choice position.
“I didn’t love being first base either, at first, and my dad was the coach. He had me as the pitcher, but when I got to college, they moved me. First base was good for me.” My eyes leap to Britton, wondering if she remembers first base with me. My mouth waters as I recall the taste of her. The feel of her lips against mine. The way she eagerly kissed me. Then I shame myself for daydreaming about the mom when I’m trying to help the kid.
“Do you still play ball?” Gee asks, and I swipe a hand through my hair to refocus.
“No. I broke my wrist. I couldn’t throw after that, and other opportunities came up for me.”
“Cool,” Gee says. My eyes return to Britton, wondering if she remembers anything about us. If she remembers that summer. If she remembers that one weekend like I do. “So, can you still pitch?”
“I think Mr. Scott might have other plans this evening,” Britton says, and I exaggerate, looking around me.
“Mr. Scott? Is my dad here?” I chuckle while Britton frowns.
“We use proper addresses with adults. It’s a sign of respect.”
Oh. Right.
“I can be Gavin,” I state, but Britton shakes her head.
Jeez. Tough mom.
“Look, Mr. Scott is my dad. How about calling me . . . Coach?” I have no idea where the suggestion came from or how it so easily rolled off my tongue, but as soon as I say it, I realize I like it. Calling me Coach would be an honor and not as stuffy as calling me Mr. Scott. “And I don’t have plans this evening until later.”
“Oh yeah, what are you doing?” her child asks.
“Gee,” Britton hisses. “That’s not our business.”
“I’m here for the film festival in Traverse City. I made a film.” Pride fills my voice as I look from the boy to his mother. I want her to be proud of me for some reason. I’d been a drunken sap for part of that long-ago weekend, wallowing in my fear of failure and begging her to just fuck me.
My God. I asked this woman to do things to me, with me, and I did things to her. Things I should not be thinking about while her son is standing next to her.
“A baseball movie?” he asks.
“Sort of. It’s a documentary about baseball.”
His nose wrinkles. “They make us watch videos like that for gym class on rainy days, and they are so boring.”
“Gee,” Britton hisses again, tightening her hold on his shoulder.
“I remember those. Yeah, boring, but I promise mine isn’t.”
“Can we see it?” he asks, and my head pops up to Britton. Would she come to see my film? I’d be flattered, but I’m not certain all of it is appropriate for a kid who is . . .
“How old are you?”
“I’m twelve.” He stands taller, puffing out his chest.
“My film is probably PG-13.” Brant and a few of the other guys are caught on camera hitting on women or getting hit on.
Gee rolls his eyes. “I can watch PG-13,” he tells me.
“When you’re thirteen,” his mom teasingly warns, and I slowly smile, recalling things we did that weren’t PG-13 and probably shouldn’t have been done when she was sixteen, but she let me. She let me do so much to her body, and from the looks of her now, she hasn’t changed one bit. She has a kid but still looks like a teen herself. Zoey said she never wanted children because she didn’t want her body to change shapes, shift, or sag, or anything. One look at Britton and I can see everything is exactly as it used to be, maybe even better.
She’s so freaking beautiful. I bite my tongue to prevent the words from escaping.
“Maybe we can get in a few pitches before it gets too dark,” I state, noting the heavy filter of trees overshadowing the field. From the view across the lake, it’s going to be a beautiful sunset, but I don’t suppose Britton wants to watch a sunset with me like she used to when we were teens. Plus, I do have dinner plans later this evening, although I’ve lost my sense of urgency to attend.
Gee runs back to home plate, and I use the seconds to step closer to Britton.
“I can’t believe you’re really here. What are the chances?”
“Yeah, what are the chances?” Her voice lowers, not sounding half as pleasantly surprised as me. In fact, she sounds a little displeased that I’m standing before her.
“So, a son,” I say, questioning how, when, who, but then I recall she already mentioned Patrick, her husband. “And he’s twelve.” I don’t know what I’m implying, but a measurement of time comes to me. Her getting pregnant must have happened soon after our weekend together.
“How long has it been since I’ve seen you?”
“Thirteen years,” she quickly snaps. I had already known the answer, but I wanted to see if she remembered.
“Yeah, thirteen years,” I whisper, recalling memory after memory with a smile. I’m actually a little sad to consider she found another guy so quickly after being with me, but we weren’t intended for forever. It was only an amazing weekend.
“You still look amazing.”
Her forehead furrows as if that’s the wrong thing to say to her.
“Thanks for giving Gee a few pitches. Just a couple will satisfy him. I don’t want to hold you up.”
“You aren’t holding me up,” I say, reaching out for her arm, but she steps back at the same time Gee calls out, “We gonna play?”
“Yeah, we’re gonna play,” I reply, but I’m looking at his mother.
I definitely want to run the bases with her again.
Summer goal—get to know Britton McKay again.
Take 5
Scene: The Baseball Field (continued)
[Britton]
My brain is muddled. I’m still trying to get over the fact Gavin Scott is actually standing before me. My heart flutters faster than a jump sequence in ballet, and a spot on my body long neglected is thumping in rhythm with my rapid pulse.
“We’re gonna play,” Gavin replies to Gee while looking at me, and I wonder if he has any recall of saying those words to me once upon a time.
It was the summer we first met. By the time Gavin found me at a party hosted by my cousin, I couldn’t stop thinking about the movie date, as he called it, where we shared a cool theater on a hot summer day. It wasn’t so much the movie I wanted to see but the heat relief and the sweet popcorn. I was spending the summer with my great-uncle Leo, and his small cottage did not have air conditioning.
“What do I need air-conditioning for? We have the lake to cool us off.” His quaint home on a point jutting into Elk Lake was cool and comfortable most days, but that day, it had been incredibly warm. Or maybe it was just my reaction to Gavin. He was smooth, confident, and funny. His running commentary throughout the scary movie had me laughing instead of screaming. When the movie ended, I didn’t know how to play it with a boy who looked like a man already. I was a quiet girl who loved girlie things. Ballet. Pink tulle. Pretty shoes. I didn’t date. I practiced night and day, praying I could perfect every move.