Page 129 of Running Home to You
As Abby stood, Jill almost knocked her over with another hug. She squeezed so hard that Abby knew she didn’t have to explain the last two years. Jill pecked her cheek, tears in her eyes when they released. “Mick told me.”
Abby tilted her head and frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “Though I hate being the last to know. I mean, even after T.K.?”
T.K. appeared on cue, donning large sunglasses and a larger sun hat, out of place among the parents. “That’s because I introduced her to some nice people, and what does she do? Sleep with half of them and pillage their medicine cabinets.” She rocked Abby into an embrace. “Let it stand as proof that I am excellent at keeping secrets. In fact, I didn’t talk about you once.”
“Please, no one here is mistaking your narcissism for discretion,” Mick said, earning a shove from T.K.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Abby said.
“You kidding? Mick sounded the alarm. I got on the first flight,” T.K. said.
Abby smiled at the picturesque Saturday afternoon. The sun warmed her skin, and everything glowed bright around them. As she surveyed her friends—Jill in her pink hat, matching shirt, and mom jeans, T.K. in her heels and wielding a designer bag, Mick permanently in Insley softball gear, she hardly noticed a difference from eight years ago. Except that they were missing one more.
Juniper tugged her hand. “Why were you gone so long?”
“Sorry, Junie. I’ve been traveling for work.”
Juniper pointed her bat at T.K. “She said in the car that you went to rehab.”
Abby rolled her eyes.
“Oh my God, she repeats everything.” T.K. scowled. “You don’t have to be such a snitch, Junie.”
“What’s rehab?”
“Juniper Faye Farrelly, not appropriate,” Jill said. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” Abby chuckled. “It’s like a time-out for adults, Junie.”
“Why’d you get time-out?”
“Booze mostly. Some pills too. And I got arrested.”
“Okay, let’s spare the details, shall we?” Jill muttered to her.
“Abby!” Dylan joined them with Dylan Jr. atop his shoulders. “Where’s Kate?”
Abby grimaced and the rest of the group recoiled too.
“Dill,” Jill hissed, and smacked his shoulder.
“What?”
T.K. shook her head. “This is where Junie gets it.”
“Well, no one tells me anything!”
“I’ve got an idea—how about I take DJ, and you do coach-pitch today so we can catch up?” Jill swiped the toddler from him.
“No, Jilly—”
“Hey!” Jill waved to the other parents. “Dylan is going to do parent pitch!”
Abby nodded at Juniper. “Come on, show me your swing.”
After a brief hitting lesson with her favorite pupil, Abby slid into the bleachers with the gang. While she doubted any future MLB players skipped onto the diamond in their pigtails that day, she watched with the same reverence. Perhaps because beneath the bobbling heads with helmets too big, clumsy little hands struggling to swing and catch, Abby recognized the same love of the game. In fact, she might’ve very well been witnessing it take root as it had for her. She pictured her mother in the stands like she always did, only now it didn’t hurt.
