Chapter Twenty-Four
Reed
“It is dangerous to spring to obvious conclusions about baseball or, for that matter, ballplayers. Baseball is not an obvious game.”
—Roger Kahn
I had no idea how a bowl of pasta ended up on Ben’s head.
One minute I was standing near the Browns, who talked to me about their store and about how hard it was to run a small business nowadays, and the next minute, Ben yelled out a string of cuss words.
I whirled around, and there he stood. A pile of spaghetti dripping down his head like Medusa’s snakes and sauce all over his shoulders and jersey. But not just any jersey.
His Alex Bregman jersey.
Now, I hated Bregman. Always have—especially after the shit hit the fan surrounding the Astros stealing signs in 2017. But Ben was a loyal fan, and he saved up for months to buy that jersey a year ago. Sauce dripped down his chest like he had been shot.
A couple of the Crowley guys in front of him cackled and pointed.
Dominic, Tom, and Brett weaved around the tables toward Ben, all with fists clenched at their sides except for Dominic, who clutched a basket of rolls.
The guests closest to the scene slowly slid out of their chairs and crept away, leaving behind their half-eaten bowls and salads.
Ben flicked sauce off his shoulder and then grabbed the small pile of spaghetti off his head. He rolled it in between his palms and glared at the Crowley guys, who started to back up.
“Ben,” I warned. “Don’t do it.”
But Ben didn’t hear me, or he pretended not to. The clump of spaghetti hit one of the Crowley guys right in his nose. A roll from Dominic nailed the other one right between the eyes.
Mayor Dupont stepped forward with his preppy son, Chad, at his heels. “Now, gentlemen, this is a time-honored tradition here, and I—”
A pile of pasta hit him square in the chest. The sauce splattered onto his face and some of Chad’s hair.
TJ appeared next to me and the two of us exchanged a look of “Oh shit” a second before Brett yelled, “Food fight!”
Guests screamed and tripped over their chairs to get out of the line of fire.
I checked for Eliza. Her mother, thankfully, hurried her behind the street sign at Scoops.
Most of my team crowded behind a table flipped on its side near Ben and threw anything they could get their hands on—rolls, pasta bowls, salad tongs, even the wrapped silverware and plastic cups.
The Crowley team huddled around another turned-over table about ten yards away and did the same.
TJ and I took cover under the same table away from the war. We went back and forth yelling at our teammates to stop or to aim better.
“Get out there, Fulton!” TJ smacked my arm. “Your guy started it.”
“Like hell he did.” I lifted the tablecloth for another look and then dropped it as a wad of pasta flew toward me. It splattered against the plastic a second later. “You get out there and tell your guys to back down, or we’ll all be in deep shit.”
TJ opened his mouth and then snapped it shut before he ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, what if we both go out there? Maybe they’ll stop then.”
My eyes narrowed.
Or maybe you’re trying to lead me into a trap? “Fine.” I put my hand on the bottom of the tablecloth to lift it. “On the count of three. One…two…three!”
We charged out at the same time and then stopped short.
The good news? The fighting stopped before we had to step in.
The bad news? Our families stepped in first.
And they looked pissed.
Granddad and Coach Crowley stood side by side with their arms crossed, glaring at the mess. Granddad had lettuce leaves on his shoulder, and a wad of spaghetti slid off Coach Crowley’s neck.
“What the hell, boys?” Coach Crowley shouted.
Someone cut the loud country music.
Coach Crowley walked around the table to join Granddad and Coach Monaco. He picked the lettuce off Granddad and then turned to TJ. “Care to explain how this started?”
TJ stepped in front of me. “I, uh, I don’t know, Uncle Will. I was helping with the salads over there, and then I heard all this shouting—”
“And then Ben had a bowl of spaghetti on his head,” I added.
TJ pointed to my team. “But then those guys threw a roll right at Andy’s eyes.”
“Yeah, because Andy and that other asshole were laughing at him.”
“Dude, there was a pile of pasta on his head. It was pretty funny—”
“Enough!” Granddad and Coach Crowley yelled at the same time. Granddad stepped forward first. “Reed, you’re captain of this team. So you’re going to stay late after everyone cleans up and make sure there is not a drop of spaghetti or a piece of salad anywhere on this street.”
“What?” My ears burned.
TJ chuckled, and then Coach Crowley spoke. “And you, TJ, will help him.”
Ha!
Oh…wait.
Most of the guests left after that. I had hoped to catch Ben before he left, but he was one of the first to disappear after the fight.
I guess I would’ve too, if I’d ended up wearing my dinner instead of eating it.
As the sun went down, and despite her parents telling her she could leave whenever she wanted, Eliza hovered and helped us clean up. Her mom warned her about getting sauce on her new “Burr Berries”—whatever the hell those were—but Eliza just groaned and rolled her eyes dramatically.
I had laughed at the whole thing, which earned a suspicious look from her father. He kept a close watch on me for the next thirty minutes. What did I do? Was I not allowed to even laugh at something his daughter did?
Chad My-Golf-Shorts-Are-Too-Short Dupont sauntered up to Eliza as she was leaving, and my eye started twitching. The two of them laughed about something before she playfully pushed him a little.
What the f—
“Fucking sucks,” TJ mumbled as he ripped off a plastic tablecloth. More spaghetti dropped to the ground with a wet thwack.
“Hey, come on. Wipe those down before you just yank the thing off.” I crawled over to the new noodles on the ground and threw one at him.
“I’m trying to get this done quickly so we don’t miss the fireworks.” He picked the pasta off his shoe and threw it back at me.
Eliza looked my way and tapped her watch.
I checked my phone: 8:45 p.m. Dammit. I looked back at her and mouthed, I’m sorry.
She made a pouty face and walked away. Chad hurried after her, and my entire body felt like hot lead.
“I really hope she doesn’t get back together with that tool bag,” TJ muttered.
Same.
TJ and I didn’t finish up until fifteen minutes after the fireworks finale, which I could barely see from where we stood.
He left on his motorcycle, and I got in Granddad’s old truck and swung by the farm for a few things before I made my way over to Eliza’s.
I didn’t sneak down her driveway on foot this time, but I did drive slowly down it.
With the lights off.
Her house was quiet and mostly dark, but small twinkle lights outlined Eliza’s balcony. A couple of lamps were on in her room, and all four of her windows were open. Four windows and a balcony. The kind of stuff you saw in movies, not real life.
Or so I used to think.
For the briefest moment, I thought about ringing the doorbell, shaking her father’s hand, and asking him if I could take Eliza out for a little while.
He’d grip my hand a bit longer than necessary—like any protective father would—but he’d smile and say, “Sure, Fulton. Have her home before midnight though.” And I would, because that would allow me to come back the next evening and the next.
But then I looked down at my spaghetti-stained shorts and jersey and back at Granddad’s run-down truck.
Get real, Reed.
I smacked the face of my broken watch to bring it back to life and picked up a couple of small stones before tossing them onto Eliza’s balcony and waiting.
A sound like a laptop closing.
The creak of a chair.
Then she appeared through a flutter of thin curtains.
Time slowed.
Her long hair hung loosely around her shoulders in waves. The white lights blurred around her. And for a moment, I forgot to breathe.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, smiling.
“I’m sorry I missed the fireworks.” I shoved my hands in my pocket. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Hell yes.” She hurried back into her room and switched off her lights before looping a long rope around one of the balcony’s banisters.
“Careful,” I warned.
But within a minute, she shimmied down it and kissed me.
“Damn, Crowley.” I nodded to the rope and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Sneak out often?”
She smirked. “Maybe.”
I drove us back toward the farm, parking near the end of the South Five, where I put down the tailgate and spread out a few blankets that I hoped Nana wouldn’t notice were missing. Eliza hopped up and climbed toward the cab, where I joined her.
“Wow,” she said, leaning her head on my shoulder. “Look at those stars.”
I rubbed my thumb on the back of her hand. “I don’t get to see stars like this back home. Too many lights.”
“Do you miss it?” she asked. “Home?”
“Home.” I sighed. “Not sure that what we have right now is home. Not without my dad around, anyway.”
“Any word from him?”
I shook my head as a sharp pain swelled in my throat.
“I read somewhere once that home can be a person and not just a place.”
“Yeah.” I picked her hand up and threaded my fingers through hers. “I always felt a little guilty using that word when it wasn’t in the same place as my grandparents though. Like we abandoned them or something.”
Eliza got quiet for a moment and then sat up straighter, letting her head fall back against the window. “When Grandma died, it felt like she abandoned me. Which feels stupid to say out loud, because she didn’t choose it. But I still felt it.”
“I get it.” I squeezed her hand. “My dad chose to join the military. I’m proud as hell of him, but I still feel like he abandoned us.”
“Exactly.” She wiped her eyes. “But then I realized Grandma was still here, just not in the way she used to be.”
“Like in her connections to the town and the theater?”
“Mhmm.”
“I think that’s what scares my grandparents the most about this summer.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “That if they lose their farm, they’ll have nothing left to connect them to this town. Like they’ll be erased.”
And if they’re erased…
I couldn’t imagine not coming back here to see them.
To see her.
Eliza sat up, closed the space between us, and kissed me. If she listened hard enough, I knew she could hear my heart thrumming.
“Fairfield isn’t Fairfield without Crowleys and Fultons,” she said. “We won’t let them lose that farm.”
We. I liked the sound of that.
Our foreheads touched, and for the first time all day, my body relaxed.
Maybe it was the starlight.
Or the sound of the corn moving with the wind.
Or the beautiful girl sitting next to me.
But whatever it was, my stupidly optimistic heart decided to believe her.