CHAPTER 12
Walker
For the first time in a long damn time, I feel relaxed and content. Hell, I’m even smiling.
I’d like to say it has nothing to do with Tally, but of course it does.
I’ve successfully avoided the woman for two whole days. And that is something to smile about.
We only have two weeks until the start of the Daffodil Festival now.
And the following weekend, we have our first wedding of the season.
The magenta flowers in the east field were standing tall this morning, ready to dazzle the happy couple and their guests.
The tulips in the west field are still warm and covered beneath the tarps, ready to bloom when I release them—which won’t be for another three weeks so they’re still pretty for the late-May weddings and maybe even the early June ones.
The daffodils need a bit more time, but by next week, they, too, will be showing off, right in time for the festival.
All in all, things are good. Right. Exactly as they should be.
I pull the ball cap off my head, spinning it so I can see Quinn as he takes the plate and prepares for the first pitch.
It’s Little League, but this is the first year the kids are pitching rather than the coaches, so the ball has been a bit wild.
My sister grips my arm as the ball releases from the pitcher’s hand.
Quinn shakes his little butt like he’s a professional, and when the ball gets close, he swings wide, missing it completely.
“That’s okay, Quinn. Eye on the ball,” I shout. “You’ll get the next one!”
Beside me Billie cheers, “You’ve got this, Quinny!”
My nephew’s head swings back, and he glares at his mom.
“Don’t call him ‘Quinny,’” I mutter.
“He’s seven, not seventeen,” she retorts. “I’ll call him whatever I want.”
I shake my head and clap my hands. “You got this, Quinn!” I holler, annunciating his name clearly.
Billie rolls her eyes and ignores me, cheering louder, though I notice she doesn’t use the baby name again. The next pitch is wide, but Quinn doesn’t swing.
“Wayne didn’t want to come?” I ask, keeping my voice low enough that only my sister can hear me. We’re standing by the batting cage, away from the other parents, who are mostly seated in lawn chairs or on the metal stands, chatting away.
My sister is younger than most of the other mothers because she had Quinn when she was only nineteen—something I didn’t love at the time—so she’s never really fit in with this crowd.
My mind wanders as I try hard not to imagine how well she and Tally would get along. They’re about the same age and both enjoy rolling their eyes at me, and in general, my sister smiles a hell of a lot more than I do—so yeah, I have a feeling that they would be friends if given the chance.
Not that they will, because I’m trying my damn hardest to ignore that Tally exists. Plus, she’ll be gone in a few weeks, anyway.
Nine weeks to be exact. But who’s counting?
Billie doesn’t even glance at me as she replies, “Nope. I let him know about it, but I’m sure he had work or something.”
“Or something,” I grumble, my jaw clicking.
Quinn’s father has been very hands off. Eyes off, too. Billie and Wayne were never really together. As much as I don’t want to think about her like that, I know my sister didn’t have to be in a relationship to make a baby. Still, I wish Quinn’s father didn’t suck so much.
Then again, he doesn’t really give Billie much trouble, either. She has full custody of Quinn, which is all she wants, and Wayne drops in every now and then as if he’s a family friend. But Quinn deserves more from his dad. Which means I show up for him as much as I can.
The pitcher releases the ball again, and this time when Quinn wiggles his butt and swings, the bat connects, sending the ball flying … five feet in front of him.
“Run!” I yell, right along with his coaches.
Billie covers her eyes. She hates watching him get thrown out. “Tell me what’s happening?”
I give her the play-by-play. “He dropped the bat and he’s moving.
The catcher has the ball. He’s throwing it, and he over-threw the base!
” My voice grows excited. “Keep going, Quinn!” I nudge my sister’s arm.
“Open your eyes, he’s rounding second. The ball is in the outfield, and the other kid just tripped trying to get it.
” It’s like a circus act out on the field.
One kid throws it to the next and he misses it, and Quinn rounds third base. “He’s coming home!”
My sister finally opens her eyes and grabs my arm, jumping up and down as she screams for her boy.
When Quinn lands on home plate, our entire side of the diamond erupts and he turns to flash us the biggest smile.
It hits me right in the heart. How his father could miss out on this I’ll never understand. But damn, am I happy I didn’t.
—
“And did you see when I hit the home run?” Quinn asks again from the back seat. Home run is a bit of an exaggeration, considering the ball barely passed in front of the plate, but he’s so happy about this win, I’ll give it to him this time.
“Yeah, buddy, it was great.”
“And did you see how fast I ran? That kid couldn’t even keep up with me.” The catcher is who he’s referring to, and he’s right: The poor kid tripped over his own two feet, missing the out completely.
“You are the fastest, Quinny boy,” my sister says.
I eye her and then glance at my nephew in the rearview mirror as he whines, “Mom, you’re so annoying.”
“Quinn.” My voice is hard. Even though I agree with him, I’ll never let him talk to his mother that way.
“Sorry, Uncle Jesse.”
“It’s not me you need to say sorry to.”
Billie gives me a small appreciative smile before turning to her son in anticipation.
“Sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay. I love you.”
“Love you, too,” he grumbles before looking out the window toward the cherry and maple trees that line the road leading into downtown Hope Harbor.
My sister settles back in her seat. She looks more relaxed than I have seen her in a while.
I’m taking them both out to dinner in Hope Harbor and then to The Ice Cream Barn for dessert.
I’m slowly trying to get her to spend more time in this town every week.
She might not want to admit that she needs help and that she can’t continue working herself to death at the hotel day in and day out, but hopefully after seeing what she could have—peace and tranquility and a real home for Quinn—Hope Harbor will grow on her.
Billie and I grew up a few towns over, so we heard about Hope Harbor, and Darling Daffodils Farm, pretty regularly.
Our father’s favorite topic was how the Darling’s land should have been ours.
How it was my birthright. His grumbles only became more incessant when I showed interest in farming.
Honestly, I almost changed majors just to shut him up, but nothing made me as happy as my agriculture classes.
Or to be more accurate, being on the land.
Offices and desks have never felt comfortable to me.
But being outside among the dirt, the trees, the fresh air, and the birds? That’s always been my home.
As soon as we make the turn toward downtown, the drive livens up.
Despite the fact it’s early spring, Saturday night in Hope Harbor is an experience.
Everyone is keyed up from having been stuck indoors all winter, so like typical New Englanders, the townspeople are out without jackets on, braving the cool weather with smiles and pretending they can’t feel the chill in the air.
And I’ve got the windows down because I love it, too.
I turn to Billie, who glances longingly at Penny’s bookstore as a few women, who must be only a year or two younger than her, laugh loudly as they walk inside.
Someone on the sidewalk yells “Hi, Walker,” and I wince as my sister smiles.
“Aren’t you going to wave?”
“And make them think I want to say hello?”
She laughs as she waves at whoever said hello and I keep my focus on the road, though my lips lift slightly. I like seeing her like this. Hell, I’d say hello to everyone in this town if it would make my sister happy.
“Is your roommate home?” I can feel Billie’s intense gaze as she tries to read my thoughts.
“Don’t know.”
“Should you call her and let her know we’re coming?” We’re stopping by the house to grab one of Quinn’s school folders that he left earlier in the week before heading to dinner.
I glance at her. “Why should I let her know that I’m coming home to my house?”
“Because you’re bringing guests.”
“You’re not guests,” I grumble.
“Why is everything so difficult with you?” she asks playfully. “Just text the woman. Or do you not have her number?”
She reaches for my phone but I’m quicker, pulling it out of the center console and tossing it into my lap.
Obviously, I don’t have the woman’s number, but I don’t want my sister going through my phone and seeing how few people I talk to.
It’s mainly just her and Quinn. Okay, it’s only her and Quinn.
“Do I look like I text?”
“I have no idea what you do when I’m not around.”
I shake my head and focus on the road. I do nothing when she’s not around. I work. And find ways to avoid Tally. And I work some more.
I take the left over the small bridge that leads to the farm.
“She just seems nice is all,” Billie says almost wistfully.
“You could text with her,” I blurt out. I don’t know why I say it, but I hate the tone of my sister’s voice. The yearning I saw in her eyes at the girls in town. The loneliness that I understand more than I let on.
“I don’t know her,” Billie replies, matter-of-factly.
Gnawing on the inside of my mouth, I try to stop myself from my next offer but I could never stand to see my sister sad. “I’ll invite her to dinner and you can get to know her.”
My sister practically bounces in her seat as she turns to face me. “Really?”
“Really,” I mutter with a resolute smile.
Guess I’m done avoiding Tally Darling.