Chapter Twenty-Seven
W hat had gotten into him? Thatcher’s life had been predictable for years. And now, all of the sudden, he was agreeing to play in a pickup softball game instead of working. But Jason seemed like a nice guy and the prospect of playing ball sounded fun.
He glanced across the table and considered asking Vickie what she thought. Would it seem to her as if he was trying to engrain himself into her world somehow? He sighed. No, that was silly. She probably wouldn’t even come to the game, so it would be a non-issue.
“Problem?” she asked.
He looked up and saw her curious expression. “No. Just wondering if maybe I should call Jason and tell him I can’t come tomorrow.” He shook his head. “We have a lot to do, and I also have some projects at the house I’ve been meaning to get to.”
Vickie bit her bottom lip. “You seemed like you were pretty excited at the thought of playing. It’s only for a couple of hours. Surely you can spare that.” She grinned. “Then you won’t have to go to the gym.” She paused. “I mean, if that’s the kind of thing you do.”
“Nope. I’m not a gym rat. I prefer running.” He put the pencil down and leaned back. “Okay, these days it’s more like jogging. Right after I turned thirty-five, I had to have knee surgery. Since then, I’ve stuck to a slower pace.” He grinned. “Old age setting in, I guess.”
She laughed. “I wondered how old you were but didn’t want to pry.”
“Thirty-eight. Man, time flies.” He looked curiously at her. “And you? Is it rude to ask a lady’s age?” He knew it was rude, but for some reason he really wanted to know how old she was.
“Since you shared yours, I’ll share mine.” Her green-eyes gleamed. “That’s my rule, anyway. I’m thirty. Newly thirty.” She paused. “In fact, the day we met at the Lincoln Memorial was the day after my birthday.”
“Happy belated birthday.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
He shifted in his seat. “So, I guess maybe we should call it a day, huh? It’s getting close to dinner time and I’m sure you have plans.” That had slipped out. Would she think he was fishing to see if she had a date? Although maybe he was. He did wonder about her status.
“My plans for the night include an old movie and probably a leftover chicken salad sandwich.” She grimaced. “Exciting, I know.”
Thatcher grinned. “Sounds good to me. Depending on the movie, of course.”
“I’m a sucker for a good chick-flick. The cheesier the ending, the better.” She laughed.
He groaned. “I think I can safely say I’ve probably only watched a couple of those in my entire life.” When one or the other of his sisters forced him to.
“What? Do you make your girlfriend go see action and war movies?” She cocked her head ever so slightly as she asked the question.
“Actually, I’m not seeing anyone right now.” He cringed inwardly. Right now? What was that supposed to mean? He cleared his throat. “How about you?”
A light pink blush crept over her creamy skin. She shook her head. “No one special.”
“I guess it’s best. Gives us more time to work.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “You’re exactly right.”
He closed the book in front of him. “I should be going so you can get to your movie.” He picked up a stack of books from the table. “Tell you what. How about if we just work separately tomorrow? That way you don’t have to get an early start just because I’m playing softball.” He grinned. “I don’t want to ruin your weekend or anything.” If he were honest with himself, he knew he didn’t want to work separately. But he’d gotten so little done today. He figured it had something to do with being on her turf. It threw him off of his game and kept him from concentrating. So tomorrow, he’d have to make up the progress he should’ve made today. Maybe he wouldn’t have to keep reading the same sentences over and over if there was no one around but the dog.
Vickie nodded slowly. “Okay. That’s fine.” She nodded at the books on the table. “Do you want to leave a few here?”
“Sounds good. Maybe Sunday afternoon we can get together again? I’ll call you.” He paused. “Unless you think you might come to the game.”
Her expression was unreadable. “Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”
“That’s fine.” He shoved the books into his bag. “Either way, we’ll talk tomorrow afternoon or night.” He stepped to the door, then turned back to look at her. “Thanks for lunch.”
“You’re welcome.”
He closed the door behind him and headed down the stairs. Somehow he always managed to feel awkward around her. He did fine as long as they stuck to the business at hand, but when he delved into personal territory, he felt himself stumbling. And he didn’t like it.
∞∞∞
Saturday was a beautiful early fall day. The heat was warm, but not the sticky warm that had been present all summer. After a morning of playing fetch in the backyard with Buster and reading through several articles about Lincoln, Thatcher was suited up for softball. He just needed to find his glove and he’d be ready.
The front closet that kept his winter coats and jackets was full of old sporting equipment. He sorted through old tennis rackets and a set of flags his family used for the annual Thanksgiving flag football game and finally emerged victorious with his battered softball glove. He ran his hands over the weathered finish. He’d had this glove for at least twenty years.
The trouble with the past was that it was always present. As a student of history, he knew all too well the ways the actions of long ago could impact present day. He wasn’t immune in his own life. Every now and then, he felt a familiar pang of regret. Shake it off, Torrey. No good can come from playing what if.
Thatcher was still pondering the ways a person’s history affected their daily lives when he arrived at the ball field.
Jason loped over, a black and green jersey in hand. “Hey, man. Glad you could come.” He tossed the jersey to Thatcher. “Here you go.” He jerked his head in the direction of the field. “Most everyone is here, and they’re already warming up.” He held up a tattered piece of notebook paper. “I’m going to put you in left. That okay?”
“Sure. Outfield is probably best.” He grinned. “It’s been awhile.”
Jason pointed to the sparsely populated metal stands. “Looks like we’ve got some cheerleaders.”
Thatcher looked up into the stands. Dawn and Vickie were climbing to the center of the stands. “Guess so.” His stomach churned. It had been ages since he’d played and now someone was going to watch him. But that was crazy. She wasn’t there to see him. She was there to keep Dawn company in the stands. In fact, he would bet she’d be here even if she’d never met him. At that disheartening thought, he jogged onto the field.