Summer
Dear Abby,
Kate
P.S. You’ll be glad you weren’t my turbulence buddy this flight. I got sick so many times they made me sit with the flight attendants.
· · ·
Kate,
You’ll be happy to know Insley is as boring as ever and your letter might be the highlight of my lame summer. I’m relieved you’re safe and I’m sorry about the horrible flight, but I wish I’d been next to you, holding back your hair, if only to return the favor.
I’m going to class but it’s hard to focus with summer teasing me outside.
I’m working at a water-sport shop on the river.
It’s mostly handing out kayaks and kites to ill-prepared tourists, but on the plus side, I get free rentals and essentially live in a wetsuit.
I’m learning how to windsurf. It’s not as satisfying as freely catching waves, but equally therapeutic.
Letting the breeze take over, trusting the water, reminds me of that sweet spot on the field where you feel more than play.
I’m not sure if that makes sense. Do you ever feel that?
I’m sorry you feel your mission is coming up short.
I agree it probably takes more than baseballs and Bibles to make a real difference, but you should know your kindness is a gift of its own.
Having been on the receiving end of it, I can admit you pulled me from a dark place when no one else could.
I’m not sure if I believe in blessings as much as I believe in timing, but if I did, I’d certainly consider you one.
I think of you often.
Abby
P.S. I’m house-sitting for Isla while she’s on a weird wellness retreat for future cat ladies. I think you’re going to have to play cupid with Luca.
· · ·
Dear Abby,
Thank you so much for the letter. I could imagine your voice while I read it, and it made me smile.
Your reassurances help. I’m giving what parts of my heart I can here and when the kids smile and seem to forget about everything except playing or running without worry, it makes it worth it.
I hope this doesn’t sound strange, but in those same moments, I see you.
In their laughter or dimples or a pair of eyes.
I think I miss you so much that I search for you in others.
I’m glad to know your summer is going well.
I get the feeling you’re windsurfing more than studying, but you’ve always been much cooler than me.
I understand what you mean about feeling more than playing.
It reminds me of that phrase everyone throws around: “Let the game come to you.” You can’t control the waves any more than you can control what happens on the field.
You can only feel and react. I think accepting that is surrender.
I’ve always enjoyed that part of softball, taken comfort in it.
Maybe because in many ways it’s reminiscent of faith. Surrendering to the unknowable.
Clearly, I’ve spent too much time alone out here.
I’ll be back stateside in a few weeks. Then it’s off to Colorado to be with Blake for the draft.
We’re almost done fixing the school’s roof.
I honestly go to bed so sore and tired that it’s easy to sleep.
It reminds me of the farm in Deer Park. Is it bad that I don’t miss it as much as I miss Insley?
You’re my blessing too.
Kate
P.S. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I doubt my matchmaking abilities. In fact, after your success with Mick and Haley, so chivalrously “distracting” Zoey, maybe you should play cupid instead.
· · ·
Dearest Kate,
Is that jealousy I’m detecting in your postscript? You know I would have rather been distracting you.
I’ve thought of that night a lot. You looked stunning, and I forgot about everything else—Blake, the team, the bigger questions.
I’ve never experienced what I have with you, with anyone else.
There’s a word for it, one I think we’ve both considered, but I’m not sure it’s right to say.
Not when I mean it so completely. I guess it’s cowardly of me to write this in a letter, when you’re on a different continent, but I’m afraid of hurting you with a confession more than I fear your rejection.
Maybe pen and paper can soften the blow.
If faith is surrender, then I think playing softball is the closest I’ve ever been to God. It must not be a coincidence then that I found you there too.
I think it’s okay to not miss Deer Park as much as the rest of your life. Home is a feeling too. You know what I just thought of? The ballpark is the only place where you must return home to win. Maybe that’s why we always find our way back there.
Praying this letter gets lost in the mail.
Abby
· · ·
Dear Abby,
You can say love. I love you too. Friends can love each other.
I’m just not and can’t be in love with you.
Especially not when I’m committed to someone else.
Though that may be presumptuous of me. You didn’t say you were in love with me.
Either way, I wish we would’ve said it to each other in person before we went our separate ways.
But maybe it’s just one of those things we’ve been saying without words.
It makes me sad that you correlate love and hurt.
Surely you don’t believe that your love could hurt me. Or that love may hurt you?
If we’re sharing secrets, that night at Sunny’s made me jealous.
I often wish to have you to myself. Sometimes I feel like I do.
When we’re turning two, when we’re studying and I catch you looking at me, when we had dinner at Isla’s.
Those moments keep me awake sometimes. They put something foreign in my chest and stomach, like I might explode from the inside out.
Maybe it’s good in that case to only have you in moments.
One more week here. Six until I see you.
Love,
Kate
P.S. How are classes? Have you chosen a major yet?
· · ·
Kate,
I love you too. I agree, I should’ve said that a long time ago, but it feels good to write it now. Of course, I didn’t mean to make you say something that you didn’t mean.
As far as love hurting, maybe I’m just projecting.
No matter how much we might love, or think someone loves us, we hurt each other, don’t we?
My mom loved me, but not enough to not hurt me or herself.
I worry that may be in me too. Worried that Audie might also exist somewhere deep, but I don’t know him well enough to be sure.
I think that’s why I resent them sometimes.
It feels like the only thing they gave me was a curse.
Does it make you feel better that I get jealous too? I’m even jealous that you’re on your way to see Blake. He’s a good guy, decent third baseman, but horrible timing, am I right? I’m wishing him and you luck with the draft.
Yours always,
Abby
P.S. Like all overachieving students, I’ve decided to be a general studies major. Why restrict my talents to something simple like one subject, when I can just generically kind of know all of them? If I send you my philosophy midterm, will you write it for me?
P.P.S. Mick says hello. She and Haley are obnoxious. I’m talking five-hour phone conversations. They might as well start writing each other love letters. I swear everyone is madly in love this summer except for me.
· · ·
Dear Abby,
You may not have been able to hold my hand, but you certainly got me through the flight home. I must have reread your letters a dozen times. The last one had me laughing, but also left me aching for you.
I hope you know I meant it. I’m no expert, but I know love doesn’t free us from hurt.
I’m sorry for the pain your parents caused you, but I don’t believe you’re destined to repeat their mistakes.
You’re not cursed. You’re full of such goodness that I can’t imagine you hurting anyone you love.
I hope you know I never intend to hurt you either.
But I have to be transparent with you. Since the draft Blake’s been more obstinate about marriage.
He hasn’t officially proposed, but we’ve had serious discussions.
I’ve told him I’d like to wait until after law school, which he’d rather I delay, or as I suspect, put off altogether.
The Reds are likely going to send him to play Single-A ball in Florida and he wants me to come as soon as I finish at Insley.
I haven’t told my parents. I don’t think they’d understand.
In fact, I haven’t told anyone else except you.
You’ve probably realized by now, I’m in Fort Collins. I know I could technically call or text, but something about these letters feels like I’m closer to you than when we talk. You’re not obligated to keep writing of course.
I’m playing with the collegiate summer series next month. I’m nervous. Coaches for the national team are supposed to be there. I wish you’d come. You’d make the national team easily and I always play better with you.
Love,
Kate
P.S. General studies is fine, as long as you graduate. And absolutely not. Try Marcus Aurelius for your midterm. I think you’ll like him.
P.P.S. No summer love? I find this hard to believe knowing you…
P.P.P.S. Let them enjoy their phone calls. Love letters aren’t for the faint of heart.
· · ·
Kate,
Congratulations on being engaged to be engaged to a Cincinnati Red. He made the front page of the Insley Inquirer, which is quite a feat. There’s a picture of you too, celebrating with him. I’ve sent a copy.
I think you’re right to follow through with law school, and not because I selfishly would hate for you to go to Florida, but because you’re too damn smart and have worked too hard to throw it away.
Even if you are going to be Mrs. Blake Davis, you deserve to have dreams too.
You’re going to make an excellent lawyer.
Besides, what does Aurelius say? “Your worth is no greater than your ambitions.” You are as great as your ambitions, Kate, and worthy of pursuing all of them.
If your parents or Blake can’t understand that, then maybe they’re not fully understanding you.
I know you’ll play great in the summer series without me. Don’t be nervous. Just breathe. Surrender. And try not to be so perfect.
Love,
Abby
P.S. I don’t know if I’d associate love with my summer relations.
· · ·
Dear Abby,
I’m counting the days until Insley. I’m excited to see you.
I’m also in the worst hitting slump of my career.
I think maybe I just wanted this one too badly.
Nothing feels right. I’m tense. I’m distracted.
I think knowing our last season is ahead, that the game ends here, is getting to me.
I thought maybe if I made the national team, I might keep softball in my life a little longer.
I remember that there’s always another game, another chance, but time is moving faster than I’d like.
Decisions about the future, about Blake, about law school.
And what about you? I haven’t even asked where you might end up or what you’ll do after we graduate.
I can hardly function on the field without you. How will I do the rest?
I hope you’re well.
Love,
Kate
· · ·
Dear Kate,
You haven’t lost anything yet. I’m excited to see you too. Keep breathing.
Love,
Abby
P.S. I know I could’ve texted this, but it felt right to end the summer with one last letter.