Page 79 of Running Home to You
The fans who weren’t already on their feet stood for Abby. She sauntered to the box, cracked her neck side to side, licked her lips. One out, two runners on. This was where she thrived. Typically, Kate would’ve cheered, but this wasn’t a typical game. Not anymore.
Abby took the first pitch as if she expected it. She stood in a half stance, drooped her chin as the umpire called ball, and chuckled. It was no wonder most pitchers in the league hated her. Why they’d rather hit her instead of force an intentional walk late in the game. It was a little too Audie Cruz of her, though Kate wouldn’t dare say it even as she helped her ice bruises.
The next pitch came inside. Abby connected on a straight line, launched the ball to center field. Kate didn’t know if the cheers or the home run came first, but their measly field vibrated.
“Adios, Abby Cruz! It’s outta here! Three–nothing, Eagles!” the announcer boomed.
Abby carelessly chucked her bat, dawdled around the bases, nodded at the pitcher, but didn’t crack a smile as she high-fived her teammates. Kate lingered in the background.
She didn’t get on base that game, while Abby trotted around the diamond, racking up runs and applause. Every pitch mocked Kate. She swung desperately, whiffed with gritted teeth, sighed each time the infielders tossed to first for an easy out. By her last at bat, their opponents simply waited for her to do herself in.
The game was no longer meditation, no longer sprang to or from her. It thickened inside like tar, clogging the jet streams in which its magic traveled. Her parents’ cheers and teammates’ encouragement became an insult. Abby returned to a rival.
A low growl emanated from Kate’s throat when the crowd chanted her name. She hated the signs and Abby’s face on the program, even though Kate was the captain, the leader, the one who made sacrifices. Abby simply showed up and praise poured in.
When a grounder hopped her way at third base, Kate wished she might miss the throw to Jill. She just as quickly hated herself for such a thought, crumpled with more shame than she did at posting her worst outing of the year. The same shame that radiated in her chest when she shrank around her parents and denied who Abby was to her. No, she didn’t despise Abby. She despised herself.
“Good game,” Abby said after they shook hands with the other team and broke from Coach Whitley’s post-game talk.
“You don’t have to say that.” Kate sighed.
They silently packed up their gear, Kate avoiding Abby’s gaze as if it might reveal her cowardice. That morning, they’d woken up together and kissed before their home field curtain call. Now it resembled a dream. It couldn’t exist with Ray and Beth waiting outsidethe dugout, with her hitless game, and with Abby a hero to the stands but a threat to her peace.
“So, I’m just the third baseman now, huh?” Abby hoisted her bat bag on her shoulder.
Kate glanced around to ensure everyone else had cleared out. “I’m sorry. I panicked.”
“And you’re okay with them being here?”
“What do you mean?”
Abby’s gaze hardened. “Seriously? They excommunicated you for rejecting a proposal. Your mom slapped the shit out of you.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” she said, but invisible flames ignited her cheek at the reminder. “I wish you hadn’t said what you did.”
Abby lowered her head. “I’m sorry. I just hate what they did.” She furrowed her brow. “I don’t know how you don’t.”
“What do you want me to do? They came here to apologize. I’m not going to turn my back.”
“And what about us?”
Kate’s throat went dry.Usechoed catastrophic. The phantom flames burned hotter. She imagined herself back in the cold kitchen, the family Bible on the table, the road split in two, of what she wanted and what her parents demanded. It’d been an easy, albeit painful, choice that winter. This should be easier. Picking Abby should be easier. Only it wasn’t.
“They’re only here for the night,” Kate said. “I don’t think now is the time to share.”
Abby’s lips wilted, but she nodded. “Okay.”
She started to leave, and Kate sank. She threw her arms around her. “Hey wait,” Kate whispered into her chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay?”
Abby squeezed her tight. “It’s okay. I love you.” She murmured into her so quietly that the message arrived through vibration rather than sound.
Kate rubbed her back. “I love you too.” But when they released, Abby inched too close for comfort, her mouth on a habitual route. Kate nearly flew out of her arms. “Not now.”
Abby exhaled. “Right. Have a good time tonight.”
Kate nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
But as she pivoted to leave, as she hugged her parents, as Abby snuck off from the rest of the seniors and their families, she knew it wasn’t okay. Worse than that, a familiar fear warned that it might never be again.
