Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Brooke
If someone had asked what I least expected to happen today, seeing Nate would be right up there with winning the lottery. And that’s considering the fact that I’ve never played the lottery.
I clutch my broken flip-flop like my life depends on it as I try and process the reality that my ex-boyfriend moved a literal country mile down the road.
Plenty of people have gossiped about Jonah and Carolina flipping the Vanderburke Mansion. The most probable story I’ve heard to date is that Samuel who runs the bank bought it. There’s been little activity other than a Sold sign on the lawn late last summer, and the Nash couple in and out a few times with some furniture. I assumed someone out of town bought it.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined Nate living there. Isn’t he supposed to be in Atlanta to do ball, as Timothy would put it?
My heart beats harder as I consider my son.
I’ve never mentioned Nate to him or him to Nate. Actually, I’ve mentioned nothing to Nate since college.
We talked as normal a few times after he visited me at my dorm. Once I found out I was pregnant, I made a lame excuse about us needing to focus on our careers and quit answering his calls and texts.
Real mature, I know.
But I was eighteen and pregnant from one incident. It took all the courage I had to tell my parents and move back so they could help me. All the whispers around town didn’t help, especially since they all assumed it was a one-night stand.
It was—just with my long-time boyfriend.
Did I make a mistake not telling him? Maybe. But I couldn’t live with myself if I allowed a baby to ruin his ball career. Between loving parents and a well-off family, I had all the support I needed.
Or so I thought.
Seeing him today stirred up a bunch of emotions I haven’t felt in years.
Timothy brings the four-wheeler to a screeching halt in front of the house, jerking me out of my thoughts. The other boys walk up as we dismount.
Timothy talks with them, but their voices are muffled, as I’m still in a trance. I slog toward the sunroom, holding the broken flip-flop in my hand.
Morgan is the first to notice me when I enter the room. “What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
My limbs tingle. She’s older than me and doesn’t know much about my high school relationship. However, the others would well remember Nate and me together—especially Erica.
When I came home pregnant and enrolled in Apple Cart Community College instead of Bama, none of my friends or family pressured me with questions. Not even Erica.
At the time, I was thankful. In hindsight, it makes today harder. How could I possibly start to explain my ghost of boyfriends past?
Even worse, admit that Nate is my baby-daddy Bruno. The one topic everyone has steered clear of mentioning to me.
“I’m fine. The boys are fine.” I plop down on a lawn chair and toss the broken shoe on the ground.
“What happened there?” Morgan picks it up.
“I popped the strap climbing the fence.”
She laughs. “What I’d pay to see that.” She slaps the flip-flop against her leg. “Ouch. You mind if I keep this for a backup paddle?”
“Be my guest.” I lie back and close my eyes.
Morgan has been known to wield any type of non-lethal weapon at her kids. Purse straps, fly flaps, wooden spoons, and flip-flops. Andrew is the usual recipient, but all have had their share of heinie pops.
I’m thankful Timothy hasn’t given me any problems so far.
“Mama, guess who we met?”
My eyes pop open to Ethan’s voice.
“I told you to stay outside during our spa day.”
“But we met Nate the Great.”
“Nathan Miller?” Erica leans up, a cloth falling from her eyes.
“Yes, he’s our new neighbor,” I say.
Erica cuts her eyes toward me in a questioning stare.
“Y’all all know him?” Carter’s eyes widen.
“He grew up here and went to our school,” Erica offers.
Thank God, she went with that and not the whole “dated Brooke” explanation. I half smile at her with gratitude.
“He said he could help us with ball.” Ethan raises his hands in excitement. “For free!”
Morgan smiles. “Well, now that does make Nate great.”
“He’s going to help all of us, even Timothy.”
Erica raises an eyebrow at me.
“Maybe. Timothy’s never even played ball,” I say.
“So he needs help the most,” Ethan counters.
I sigh.
“Well, I guess that was your ghost, huh, Brooke?” Aniston’s voice carries coyly across the room.
We all turn to the doorway. “How long have you been there?” I ask.
“Long enough to know you need a massage,” Daisy says, peeking around her.
“That’s one thing I agree with.” I stand and turn to Ethan. “The baseball is TBD.”
He nods and lowers his head.
Aniston hands me a warm towel as I pass her. “Wash your face before falling asleep in there. Remember what happened to me when I misused skin cream?”
I laugh. “Don’t we all.”
Aniston was red for a week after getting her face too heated while wearing her sister’s skin cream. She had to recruit Adrianne to do her makeup so she could attend a banquet with Easton and not look like a tomato.
I wipe my face and toss the dirty towel at Aniston. She scoffs. I follow Daisy toward the massage table without looking back. Serves her right.
Maybe Daisy can work some kind of miracle on me. My body keeps alternating between tensing up and loosening like Jell-O. And I had none of this stress before today.
Sadly, Nate still has an effect on me.
* * *
Nate
In the few days since I’ve moved back to Apple Cart, not much has changed. There’s an extra Dollar General, and the Pig got a facelift. Today I can add one more difference to the list.
Apple Cart County Baptist added a drum set. I guess the elders opposed to anything besides keyboard and string music have all died in the time I’ve been gone.
A younger guy plays the drums, but the same women sit at the piano and organ. I don’t recognize the guitar player, but he’s older as well.
The drums are a nice touch, making “I’ll Fly Away” a little less of a snooze fest. Mom pats her knee and sings along. I didn’t inherit her love of hymnals.
My eyes scan the crowd as I hide a yawn.
Like a beacon from heaven, Brooke’s brown hair shines under the fluorescent lights. It’s down and curled rather than in a messy bun. Her face is smooth with her usual natural makeup look, instead of the painted goop.
Mom clears her throat loudly.
“What?” I whisper just as loudly.
She pinches my ear like I’m a kid.
“Ouch.”
“It’s not polite to stare in church. Pay attention to the choir.”
I would, if Brooke were in the choir.
Against my wishes, I mind Mom and face the front of the church. I make it a few more songs before my eyes wander.
Timothy turns around and waves at me.
I give as tiny a wave as possible with my big hand. Brooke stays facing forward, but I pretend she sees me out of the corner of her eye. Her family is closer to the front, but on the other side. Just far enough for me to not see her without turning my head.
Mom hits a high note on the last chord of the last song. I flinch at the unexpected pitch. While I’m irritated, I make a note to ask her about not telling me Brooke has a kid, and possibly a husband.
There’s no man on their pew besides her dad.
I force myself to face forward again. The guy could be working or sick or something. I’ll need to check her ring finger again. She’s at church, wearing makeup and earrings. If she has a wedding band, she’ll have it on.
The pastor reads a list of announcements while the choir and band exit the stage. Not much interests me except the part about having a golf benefit once the cows are sold from the county pasture.
Golf is a sport I’ve learned to like over the years. Charity events like to invite athletes from other sports to play in tournaments, and it’s a nice change of pace from killing the ball all the time.
That event is sandwiched between baby showers and planning the Easter program.
Without warning, he goes into prayer. I bow my head and wait for the “amen.” Then I conveniently lift my head in the direction of Brooke.
The sermon is a blur as I zone in and out of paying attention. My focus is on Brooke and tossing around scenarios of what she’s been up to since we broke up.
I can’t leave today without talking to her. If things start to go sour, I’ll claim I came over to talk about helping Timothy with ball.
Once the final “amen” is said, I spring to my feet.
An older couple stands between me and the end of the pew. I don’t want to hurry them or smoosh them between pews trying to get out. Mom is turned around talking to someone on the other side of me. My only option is patience.
The good news is I can easily see over the couple’s heads.
I follow Brooke with my eyes as they take their time shuffling to the end of the pew. She stands and picks up her things.
I’m finally free and on my way across the sanctuary when a hand hits my chest.
“Well, if it isn’t Nathaniel Miller.”
Mrs. Ethel stares up at me. She hasn’t changed much at all, except that she’s now using a walker. One of those fancy ones that has a little seat and a pocket on the front.
She slides her hand down my chest, and I squirm when it reaches my belt. Old people are funny. Once they reach a certain age, they think they can act however, wherever.
I take a step back and clear my throat. She moves her hand and uses it to wag a finger at me. Better than the alternative.
“Did you buy that mansion Jonah and Carolina fixed up to sell?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did.”
She turns to the two older ladies behind her. It’s nice to see her entourage is still in good health. “Told y’all it was true.”
She reaches toward me, and I curl my shoulders in cautiously. Luckily, she swats her hand instead of touching me. “I knew you would come home to Apple Cart one day.” She smiles. “You’re our hometown hero.”
“Well, I don’t know about that . . .” I crane my neck to find Brooke.
Paul comes up and wraps his arm around Ms. Dot. “Dot, we best hurry if we want to beat the Methodists to Mary’s.”
“Okay, dear.” She follows Paul.
Dear? That’s new to me. I remember Mom mentioning her husband passed recently, but she didn’t say anything about Paul.
The other women follow them out, and I make my escape down the aisle. A few more people greet me on the way. I’m polite, but keep trailing forward.
When I finally reach the front of the church, I see Brooke climb in a car and drive off.
I stand on the porch and sigh. Why did I let her get away?
Today and before.
My feet weigh more than I can bench press—even before my injury. I stand plastered to the brick tiles until a hand rests on my shoulder. I turn to Mom, relieved it isn’t another handsy granny.
“Sorry, son. I get to talking a lot on Sundays.”
I press my lips together to not laugh. She’s always been social, and so have I. Too bad I couldn’t be social with Brooke.
“Why don’t you follow me home. I put a roast in this morning.”
“Sounds awesome.”
We walk across the gravel parking lot toward her car. “Have you given any more thought to moving in with me?” I ask.
“Oh, I couldn’t impose.”
“Mom, it’s a huge house. I intended on you moving in when I bought it.”
She frowns. “I don’t know. I’ve lived in the same place ever since we came to Apple Cart.”
“But you’d only be moving a few miles out of town.”
“I’ll think about it.” She gives me a forced smile.
I open her door for her. Once inside, she pauses. “You are coming for lunch, right?”
Instead of saying yes right away, I lean over the door. “On one condition.”
“I have tea.”
I laugh. “Not that. Tell me why you never mentioned Brooke had a kid?”
“Brooke Marshall?”
I put on my most sarcastic stare.
“It happened so long ago, and you never mentioned her to me after the breakup. I assumed you wouldn’t want to know or even care.”
My stomach bottoms out, and I push back from her door. I nod until the shock wears off. “Okay. See you in a few minutes.”
I shut Mom’s door and stare at my feet on the way to my truck. Not interested? In Brooke?
When have I ever acted uninterested in Brooke?
I might go for long periods of time without thinking of her. But she always pops back in my brain the moment I try to get serious with another woman. No matter the person, I compare her to Brooke. And Brooke always wins.
Kind of stupid considering we broke up at eighteen.
At the time, I didn’t want to appear weak to anyone. Not even my own mother. It made more sense to focus on baseball and use the pain of our breakup to push me forward. Anytime Mom visited or called, I talked about ball or working or my roommates. Never about missing Brooke.
In hindsight, she may have thought the breakup was mutual.
It wasn’t.
And if I’ve learned anything this weekend, it’s that Brooke still makes me crazy like she did in high school.