Page 29 of Run Home

I turn to speak into his ear, trying not to detract attention from the stage. “Marcia is the coolest person I’ve talked to in a long time. Present company included.”

Adrian snickers, and he drapes his arm across the back of my chair as he turns to whisper again. “You’re gonna have to fill me in because I feel like I missed out on some epic gossip. The rest of our table just wanted to hear stories of game days and all the guys on the team—boring.”

“The worst,” I whisper with a teasing smile. I notice that Adrian’s chair is closer to mine than it was before. I also notice that he doesn’t move his arm from the back of my chair, despite returning his attention to the stage.

One of the football players shares next, and then Adrian is introduced. The crowd cheers and whistles enthusiastically as Adrian bounds up the stairs to the podium. He thanks the crowd with a wide grin, kicking off his speech with a joke to make everyone laugh.

His eyes flicker to mine, and something changes in his face. He still smiles, but his eyes take on a more serious look as he shares. “Most of you probably know that I grew up in Valencia, Venezuela. You might know that my mom unexpectedly passed away when I was eight years old. What you might not know is that baseball was the thing that held my dad and me together when everything fell apart. Playing baseball was the one thing I enjoyed even when everything else hurt. Helping me to excel at the sport gave my dad something to focus his energy on. The Kansas City Crowns’ investment in the youth baseball program in Venezuela saved us both in a lot of ways.”

He takes a moment to clear his throat, the room around us utterly silent. I swallow hard and imagine channeling courage and comfort from my heart to Adrian’s. He looks back to me, smiling when he catches my gaze.

“The funds you’re raising for this organization could be going to the next Adrian Ortiz,” he says. “Maybe not the next star player of a professional sports team. But the kid who needs something to look forward to when every day feels like a burden. The kid who needs friends and mentors around them to open the doors to a better future. Imagine the money you donate tonight giving hope to a young athlete who needs a splash of color in a gray world.”

Adrian pauses, and his grin is mischievous when he adds, “So empty those pockets and donate big. Starting with whoever is going to win this jersey I wore at the home opener this season.” A volunteer brings out the jersey stretched on an easel and hands Adrian a permanent marker. He autographs the white number twenty-nine that’s still smeared with dirt on the back of the royal-blue jersey.

A professional auctioneer kicks off the bidding, and Adrian hams up the whole experience, riling up the attendees like he pumps up a stadium full of fans. In the end, the winning bid is for an astronomical amount. Unimaginable compared to the meager savings I carefully stored up for my time in school.

Adrian takes photos with the winner of the jersey onstage, then points to the crowd to encourage one final round of applause as he dances down the steps to our table. One of the starting midfielders for the men’s soccer team is already being introduced by the time Adrian sits down next to me. I lean close to him as I’m clapping and murmur, “I think it’s safe to say you helped give hope to several future Adrian Ortizes.”

His smile is thoughtful when he looks at me. “I sure hope so” is his only reply before he sits back in his chair.

His arm stays draped across the back of mine.

Chapter twelve

Adrian

When the athlete speeches and live auction are finished, the emcee thanks everyone for their generosity and promises to announce the total raised after the silent auction items are tallied.

“In the meantime, visit the bar again, and we’d like to invite our live band to the stage to open up the dance floor with a Nat King Cole classic,” he announces. Band members space out across the stage and start playing the opening lines of “L-O-V-E.”

“Find your dancing partner to help us kick off the second half of the evening!” the emcee finishes before holding out a hand toward the band to encourage applause. The crowd claps, and couples gradually fill up the dance floor.

As much as I’m dying to finally have an excuse to hold Sam’s hand in mine, I think there’s something I should do first. Standing, I offer a hand to Marcia. “Would you do me the honor of a dance, Señora Donnelly?”

“Why, certainly, I will. But call me Marcia,” she says. I hold under her elbow to steady her as she stands, then she grasps my forearm with both hands as I lead her to the edge of the dance floor. “Imagine if Harry could see me now. Dancing with one of the handsome young baseball players he loved so much.”

I carefully twirl her around before settling my hand on her shoulder blade. Her eyes sparkle behind the rims of her glasses, and she smiles up at me.

“You know, my Harry was quite the dancer in his time. He sure knew how to lead a girl around the dance floor,” she says. “We won a foxtrot competition once. Nothing big, just a local dance hall putting on some fun for the community.”

I’m far more versed in Latin and club dancing than anything ballroom. “Don’t expect me to measure up,” I say. “I’m glad to let Harry hold the title of best dancer.”

Marcia laughs, and her eyes continue to dance along with our steps as she says, “You know, that Sam girl sure is something special. Seems a shame for you to be nothing more than friends when you’re both so young, attractive, and kind. I have to ask—are you blind, or have you lost your mind?”

I throw my head back in a full laugh, then glance at Sam engaged in conversation with one of the other women sitting at our table. Turning back to Marcia, I say, “I’m definitely not blind. Maybe I’m trying to find my mind.”

Marcia’s eyes spark with a sage knowing. “Let me give you one piece of advice. Don’t waste time.”

Her eyes take on a wistful sheen as she continues, “My Harry and I got married so young, which your generation thinks is crazy nowadays. But then we had decades of the best life together. We had our share of struggles—times we barely scraped by, coming to terms with the fact that we wouldn’t have children, silly arguments that felt much more important in the moment. But he was my constant companion through the rain and the sunshine. I’d give anything to have even a few extra moments with him. You probably feel that way about your mom. So don’t you waste too much time and miss out on the moments you could be having now.”

If she only knew. Or maybe she does know, and that’s why she’s telling me this.

I realize I’ve slowed down our dance steps and renew our original pace. All the while, Marcia keeps her keen eyes focused on mine. I tell her, “All I can say is you should rest assured that I’m taking your advice to heart. Gracias, señora.”

If there was any lingering doubt in my mind about pursuing my chance with Sam, Marcia just laid it to rest. As the song winds down and the band picks up the pace for a more upbeat tune, Marcia pats my arm. “Thank you for the lovely dance, young man. But I daresay it’s time you get a new dance partner.” She winks at me, and I guide her back to the table.

When Sam greets us, Marcia says, “That’s about all the fun these old bones can handle for one night. It’s two hours past my bedtime already. You take down my phone number and call me about the cookies, okay?”