Chapter Twelve
Reed
“I don’t believe in curses. I think you make your own destination.”
—Manny Ramirez
After Eliza saved my ass from that frame falling on me yesterday and spoke up against her ex on my behalf, the least I could do was return something I took from her long ago.
I called it Operation Lost and Found.
Dad used to say there were two kinds of people: those who waited for change to come knocking and those who broke down the door.
I have never been a patient person, so I planned to do the latter. Not literally, of course—or her father would mount my head above their marble fireplace. No, if I was going to do this, I had to do it right and do it fast before I lost the nerve.
Granddad was keeping Ben busy with an oil change for one of the tractors, which gave me the perfect window of time before our afternoon away game.
Ben would’ve ridden my ass if he knew I was going into enemy territory after I made such a big deal at the start of the summer about our “All baseball. No girls.” pact.
But that was mostly for his benefit, so he wouldn’t spiral again.
What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right?
After sneaking into the attic, I found what I needed and slipped the rainbow-haired ponies into a bag along with a note—which I spent way too long writing and rewriting—before hurrying toward Main Street on foot.
Other than new lampposts and the cardinal statues, Main Street in Fairfield looked exactly the same as it did when I was a kid.
The grassy area between the courthouse and library still had dirt patches and dead grass where the locals set up tables for the weekly farmer’s market.
The fire department still announced birthdays on their roadside sign.
And a small wooden plaque announcing the “Best Mint Chip Around” still hung in the window at Scoops.
I paused, though, when I reached the bank. My jaw clenched as I read the logo on a faded banner staked on their small lawn: “Fairfield Bank: We Are There for You.”
What a load of shit.
Back in the early 2000s, Granddad and my great uncle Charlie finished building the stadium with Eliza’s grandfather, Frank, and her father, Will.
For a couple of years, they worked together to keep the stadium running.
Then Frank took a job in New York for a few years to work in the stock market while Will went off to college.
Apparently, they had verbally agreed to let my family take over the stadium.
They already owned a couple of businesses in town, anyway.
Granddad and my dad kept the stadium running, but it was a lot on top of the farm and Dad’s new enlistment in the army. Still, they made it work.
But just as Granddad had finally saved up enough to put a down payment on the stadium to own it free and clear, Frank Crowley returned with cash and bought it out from under him. With interest. How could the bank say no?
I rounded the corner of Oak Avenue and came face-to-face with Eliza’s massive house.
Tall and white with dark blue shutters, it stood exactly as I had remembered it.
My feet felt weighed down with lead while I trudged along her perfectly paved driveway beneath the tall trees.
The air grew heavier the closer I got. When I neared Eliza’s Jeep, TJ stepped out from the garage.
Shit.
I ducked behind the closest maple tree and took off my hat. It wasn’t that I was scared of him—far from it.
It was that I didn’t want him to take what I had in my hands or twist my reasons for being here. Operation Lost and Found felt more like Operation Lost My Mind now.
Why did I think this was a good idea, again? Entering enemy territory during the most crucial season of my life?
I leaned against the tree, and the Ziploc bag crinkled in my hand.
If Eliza took these back, saw my number on the note and actually responded, then my gut would be right: She had changed after all these years. And maybe I had too.
But then what? What was next for her? For me?
For us?
Hell. Would there be an us?
Did I want there to be?
It’s not like I lived here. I’d be gone at the end of the summer, and whatever went on between us would probably blow over faster than dirt on home plate.
Or would it?
Ever since the railyard, I couldn’t shake the feeling that things were changing. And every time I tried to ignore it, the damn lump in my throat brought the thought right back.
Fuck it.
Dad’s deployments may have sucked but they did teach me one thing: Never give yourself the opportunity to have regrets.
I pushed off the tree and headed toward her front porch. TJ worked underneath his bike, with music blaring inside the garage. A moment later, I set the bag down next to a big ceramic pot filled with umbrellas—who needed this many umbrellas?—and then headed back down the long driveway.
Operation Lost and Found was a go.
Later that day, we squeezed out a 3–2 win against the Burlington Bobcats. Since I pitched the opening game, Cameron pitched this time around. He had the nastiest curveball I’d ever seen, but after several innings, he started throwing grapefruits, so Tom was brought in to finish.
A misty rain fell on the drive home, which meant the rickety-ass bus the Crowleys “gifted” us now smelled like wet dog on top of sweat and chips.
My phone beeped an alert from inside my duffle by my feet. And my stomach did a weird flip as I read the message.
Unknown: Thanks for the bag.
Unknown: I can’t believe you kept them after all these years.
I fell back against my seat. Holy shit. She got my note and actually used my number.
I smiled and started typing a response back when Ben’s head popped over the seat. “Who you texting?” he asked.
“No one.” I clicked off the screen. “Just Nana. Wanted to tell her and Granddad about that win.”
He smacked my shoulder. “Did you hear the Cardinals lost? Ha! That stadium is ours. We should totally punk them again and rub their noses in it.”
My eye twitched. “Why do you hate them so much?”
He scoffed. “Why don’t you?”
Because maybe I’ve been wrong about them all these years. Maybe they’re not all the same.
“I don’t have to be from here to know what it’s like. People like that swoop in and take whatever or whoever they want…”
And we’re back to Erin again.
Ben leaned back in his seat as a heavier rain slapped against the bus’s windows. “Did you see Eliza’s Rolex? It’s gold. Real gold.”
“So what?” Mom had lots of gold jewelry from Dad. Plus, lots of kids had fancy watches. Just not kids like me. Which was fine. Because I had a watch that worked. Sort of.
Ben showed me his phone screen. “Dude, watches like hers cost close to twenty grand.”
I pulled the screen closer. “Holy shit.”
“Exactly.” He sat back in his seat. “So the big question is: Why does a girl who wears that much money on her wrist choose to drive a beat-up old Jeep?”
I opened my mouth to argue, Because she is more than just money. But Ben had a point. It was hard to argue against twenty fucking grand.
And how did he know Eliza drove an old Jeep?
Was he keeping tabs on her?
If so, did he know I rode in the back of that Jeep a couple of nights ago?
“They’re just a bunch of rich people runnin’ all over everyone. Getting scholarships to top schools even though they could afford it.” He hit his fist against the foggy window, hard. “Wake up and smell the hay, Fulton. Good guys like us never get to the top by playing fair.”