Chapter 9 #2
It was… easy here.
I kept coming back to that word. Everything about Bellport felt easy in a way that the last several years of navigating school, baseball, figuring out who I was, and deciding what I wanted had not.
After breakfast, we walked through town.
Pops wanted to go into every shop that caught his eye, which was most of them.
He bought a hat from a place that sold locally made goods, putting it on to wear the minute he had a receipt.
At the next store, he held up approximately twelve different items to ask my opinion, then bought the one thing I told him I wasn't sure about.
"What even is this?" I asked when he came out with a small painted wooden thing.
"It's a pelican."
"It doesn't look like a pelican."
"The man in there said it was a pelican. I believe him." He tucked it under his arm. "It's for the windowsill."
"We don't have a windowsill. We're in a hotel."
"We'll have a windowsill," he replied, unbothered as ever as he kept walking.
We found a coffee shop about four blocks off the main strip that had mismatched furniture and a chalkboard menu. Once again, the line was out the door. Pops declared it another good sign.
He was right.
The cold brew I got was the prime example of why people got particular about coffee. I made a note of the name, because if I was going to be living here the way I intended to, I was going to need to know where to get good coffee.
We took our drinks and sat on a bench outside, watching the city go about its morning. I'd been to a lot of places with baseball. Plenty of them were fine. A few were genuinely great. This was in a completely different category.
I wanted more of it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out expecting it to be Doyle, who had been texting me since last night demanding a full report. Much like I did with my pops, I only gave him vague non-answers.
But it wasn't Doyle.
It was Grizzly.
Grizzly: Thank you for the message. I'm sorry about last night.
I stared at it for a second. Pops looked over at my face, then very deliberately looked away as he took a long sip of his drink.
Paxton: Nothing to be sorry for. Glad you're okay.
The response came quickly.
Grizzly: I am. Enjoy Bellport. It's a good city.
I smiled at my phone like an idiot before putting it back in my pocket.
"Good news?” Pops tried and failed to sound casual.
"He texted back."
"I saw your whole demeanor shift. You lit up like the fourth of July. What'd he say?"
His observation made me laugh. I relayed Grizzly’s well wishes about our trip.
Pops nodded once, all slow and thoughtful. "He's thinking about you being here. That's a good sign."
"I know."
"It's also not a marriage proposal so let's keep both feet on the ground."
"Nobody said anything about a marriage proposal," I groaned.
"I'm just managing expectations. Your face is telling me you’re dangerously close to heading to a jeweler."
"You keep saying that like it's a bad thing. Can’t a man be eager sometimes?"
His gaze quickly reminded me who was the parent in this situation.
"It's not a bad thing. It just means you care.
Most of the time this is great. BUT you have to let the man breathe.
He'll come around. They always come around when the right person is patient enough to wait them out.
" He patted my knee once, then stood up.
"Now. You said baseball at two. We’ve got more time to kill. What else are we doing?"
I stood and stretched. "Whatever you want, old man."
He perked up immediately, which told me he'd already had something in mind. I’d given him the perfect opening. "There was a fishing supply store three blocks back. I saw rods in the window."
"You don't have a fishing license for Louisiana."
"I can get one," he said, excitement brewing with every word.
"We're here for less than a week."
"So I'll use it next time. Or I’ll buy a new one once we’re all settled in our place." He’d started walking again, assuming I’d follow. "Come on, you can tell me more about Grizzly while I look at lures."
I shook my head. There was no stopping him now. Once fishing was an option, Pops locked in.
The sun was fully up, bringing its heat to wash away the final cool air of the morning. Pops had to be in heaven. No snow. No bitter cold. This was definitely paradise for him.
After an afternoon of catch and release fishing, we got to the game with five minutes to spare, claimed two seats along the third-base line because Pops refused to sit anywhere else regardless of the sport, and spent two and a half hours watching a genuinely solid college program work through a tight game that went to extra innings.
Pops heckled the umpire twice. It was embarrassing up until the guy next to us started doing it louder. Obviously, they became fast friends.
I watched the pitcher and the infield closely, noticing the way the center fielder tracked the ball. I thought about what it would feel like to play here, in this city. Some of the people in the stands here probably went to the Bellport Blue Jays games too.
And I bet Grizzly would be in the crowd. I didn't know if he even liked baseball beyond the professional necessity of it. That was something I'd have to find out.
There was actually a lot I'd have to find out. I needed to know everything about my boy.
Later, on the walk back to the hotel, Pops kept quiet for a good bit of the way. Usually that meant he was building up to share some words of wisdom.
"You're going to be happy here," he said finally.
"Yeah. I really think I am."
He nodded, satisfied, and didn't say anything else about it. He didn't need to.
I pulled out my phone and opened the thread with Grizzly one more time. Our texts sat there, a reminder that the ball was in his court. I didn't send anything else. I just let it be what it was.
Patient, I reminded myself. You can be patient.