Page 201 of Just One More Thing

“Beautiful, Hattie,” Maddy says. “Really captured the moment.”

“I’ve been practicing,” Miss Hattie says proudly.

“With what, the neighbors’ patience?” Maddy asks.

Frank is tossing doughnut holes into the air like celebratory confetti and eating every third one.

Charlie claps my shoulder on his way past. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. Just the grip, the nod, the look that says I watched the game and I watched the girl and I’m happy for you, brother.

Mrs. Kravitz materializes from the crowd, holding a scoring paddle. She looks at me. Then at Mo. Then back at me.

She holds it up.

Ten.

Mo laughs and presses her face into my shoulder.

Tommy brings me a beer I didn’t ask for. “On the house,” he says, which is a generous offer for a beer that came from my own restaurant.

Humphrey hmphs from a lawn chair but doesn’t leave, which from Humphrey is practically a standing ovation.

I see Walt heading our way with two cups. He hands one to Mo. One to me.

I look down at mine.

HE GOT THE GIRL

I look at Mo’s. She tilts it so I can read it.

STAY

One word. Four letters.

Walt looks at me, then tips his chin toward the bench at the edge of The Green. Willard is there. He’s not in the crowd. He’s watching from where he always watches. A quiet observer of everything this town does.

The place where he’s spent years listening to me talk about the girl I couldn’t get over and this summer listening to her talk about the boy she couldn’t go back to.

He catches my eye across The Green and tips his hat.

I lift my cup.

Some things don’t need a speech.

The crowd thins slowly, the way crowds in Blue Crab Bay always thin—by half measures and long goodbyes and one more beer and somebody remembering a story that has to be told right now.

Mo is sitting on the edge of The Green with Maddy, their heads close together. Maddy says something, and Mo laughs the loose, unguarded kind that only comes when you’re somewhere you’re comfortable.

I think about ten years ago. About the night I told her I loved her and she said thank you and the silence after that swallowed everything. About the years I spent on the dock looking out at this water and wondering if she ever thought about me. About the night I heard she was coming back and the way my hands shook when I set down the phone.

I think about my parents.

About the seats they never got to sit in. The games they never got to see. The way my dad would’ve stood up and clapped too loud and my mom would’ve cried before the anthem was over.

They would’ve loved tonight.

My mom would’ve had her arm around Mo before we made it off the bridge. My dad would’ve shaken my hand, then pulled me in and held on too long.

I would’ve let him.