The Spring Tournament #4
That night, the group adjusted sleeping arrangements so Abby couldn’t leave, though she promised profusely not to.
Jill slept on the rollaway, blocking Abby’s end of the bed, while Kate took her side, guaranteeing that she would literally have to crawl over them to escape.
Not that she wanted to. Rather than dread another nightmare, rather than itch for a drink, she sank into the pillows.
She eyed Kate in the dark next to her, lulled to sleep by her breathing.
Abby recovered for Sunday’s games and welcomed Coach Whitley’s change in the lineup. “Hutchins, stay at short. Cruz, let’s try you at second.”
“Yes, Coach.” Abby grinned as she caught Kate’s smile.
While Abby certainly preferred shortstop, she played second base brazenly. Playing second ensured Kate rightfully shined at short. They locked down the defense, a ball never breaking their fortress, the two of them errorless through the doubleheader, diving, sliding, whipping outs to Jill.
The final out of the tournament sent Kate diving across the dirt.
She twisted and flung the ball off target to Abby, but it didn’t matter.
She tagged the runner behind her back and threw to Jill for the final out, the win, and a roar.
It wasn’t just going through the motions either. Abby could feel it again.
When Kate came at her for a high five, she crushed her in a hug and lifted her off her feet. Organically, either to Kate, the softball gods, or the unknowable magnetism that drew her back to the field, Abby whispered into her neck, “Thank you.”
Kate’s gaze glistened when she released her, a pure blue that knotted Abby’s throat.
She didn’t fully recall her night of debauchery or breakdown, but something in her knew it then.
Kate was her anchor. A whisper, a hug, a pair of lips to the top of her head in the harrowing noise.
She waited for her to respond, saw her mouth open, but then the rest of the team tightened around them.
Abby held her stare for as long as possible, wanting her to know what she knew.
That it wasn’t the game that saved her. It was Kate.
Thunderstorms in the Midwest delayed their flight home.
Most of the team lounged across chairs at the gate, slept on their duffel bags, studied, or scrolled.
Abby found Kate at a table in the nearby food court.
She’d apologized at least a dozen times for her drunken behavior, been forgiven just as many, but the urge to say it struck again.
“I’m—”
“Don’t,” Kate stopped her, never glancing up from her reading.
Abby smirked. “Okay.” She leaned back in her chair. “What are you studying?”
Kate winced and revealed her Bible. “Book of Job.”
“Oh.” Abby didn’t know if she should change the subject, but didn’t want to dismiss her either, especially with the way Kate shrank into herself, like it was something she usually hid. “What’s it about?”
“A man trying to understand why God has allowed him to suffer so greatly.”
Abby’s ears perked, courtesy transforming to curiosity. “Does he get his answer?”
“Not entirely. Just that God is beyond our understanding.”
“And you find comfort in that?”
Kate pursed her mouth. “I don’t know if it’s meant to comfort us. Maybe it’s just supposed to remind us of how small we are. That we’re not entitled to understanding.”
“Stupid me. I thought the Bible had all the answers,” Abby scoffed, but then frowned at Kate’s blush. “Sorry. I wasn’t really raised religious.”
“Do you believe in God?”
If it was anyone else, Abby might have rolled her eyes, dismissed them as a Jesus freak or religious fanatic attempting to evangelize her. But she didn’t detect moralizing in Kate’s question. “I want to.”
“What do you mean?”
Abby sighed. “Because if there’s a God, then maybe there’s a heaven. And if there’s a heaven, maybe that means my mom is there.”
“She is,” Kate said with such certainty that it almost convinced her.
Abby’s throat tightened. “You can’t be sure though. Can you?”
“No, not entirely.” She tilted her head. “That’s why they call it faith.”
Abby’s knee bounced beneath the table as if the months of lonely grieving lay in wait for this moment.
She’d tried to rid herself of it with booze and risk, taking control of her own hurt.
But that’s all it was. More hurt with nowhere to go.
Except now, maybe it did have somewhere.
Right here with Kate. She’d been there from the start, showing up every day when no one else did.
And while Abby didn’t know if she believed in God, she knew after that weekend, she believed in Kate.
“Did you know it was a car crash?” Abby’s voice resounded low and unfamiliar, but perhaps that was only because she’d never spoken of it before.
“I didn’t.”
“They called me that night. The police. She’d been drunk, was drunk when she got behind the wheel.
” Abby cleared her throat, the story stinging on its way out like a thorn extracted from skin.
Kate placed a hand on top of hers, stopping the trembling that Abby hadn’t noticed.
“It wasn’t just then. She struggled with it for years. I could never get her to stop.”
“How could you? You were a kid.”
The first round of tears started in her throat. She trained her gaze on the Bible, though she didn’t know if its promise of an afterlife meant her mom was stuck in some other realm or if it was just a crock of shit, and she returned to the nothing that Abby now carried with her.
“I don’t tell people how she died, because I’m sure some might think she got hers. That she deserved it. It’s like I carry her shame with me instead. Like a curse.”
Kate squeezed Abby’s hand tighter. “No one deserves that. Not you. Not her either.”
Abby shifted her eyes up, not bothering to hide the tears in them. The same inkling as earlier that day assured that Kate knew them, understood them, could take them.
“She was—” Abby considered stopping as the memories fell upon her. The fights, the empty bottles, the picking her up from the bar, the putting her to bed, the staying out to cope, the relief that came from leaving for college, and the accompanying dread. “I—” She sighed and shook her head.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” Kate whispered.
“I used softball as an escape. A way to never have to think about it or go home. But maybe I shouldn’t have.
” A droplet slid to her chin, and she wiped it away.
“I knew something bad would happen, and I didn’t stop it.
Sometimes I even wonder.” She exhaled and shut her eyes.
“I wonder if she did it on purpose and if I might have missed my chance to help her.” Abby choked on a cry.
“I miss her. I miss her so badly, but then there’s also a part of me that’s relieved that I don’t have to worry anymore. ”
When Abby opened her eyes, she discovered Kate’s tears. And while she cherished her assurances and the comfort of her hands, this empathy meant more than words, though she knew just what to say too. “Nothing is your fault.”
Abby nodded but crumpled, fighting to keep her whimpers quiet, unsure if the confession or that gentle declaration finally freed her.
“I know this might not be the right thing to say and some people hate it, but I pray for you all the time.” Kate sniffled as she drew circles on the back of Abby’s hand. “I guess when I say that, I mean, I think of you. My heart thinks of you.”
Abby’s chest rocked, but not with her usual burdens. “My heart thinks of you too.”
Kate glimpsed down at their interlocked hands. The brief shift regrettably brought the airport back into focus, as though they’d been in their own bubble until then.
“Flight 534 to Portland, good news. We’re ready to start your boarding process,” the gate agent announced.
Abby didn’t move from her chair as Kate gathered her things and turned for the gate. She stayed seated, uncertain how she might leave their conversation behind.
“Hey.” Kate reappeared and wrapped an arm around Abby. She rested her chin atop her head, and Abby’s heart shot into her throat. “Let’s go home.”
Abby’s eyes widened as Kate grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. She nodded, still in a daze. “Let’s go home.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said or meant it, but knew she’d never have to wonder where it was again.