The farmers market is winding down, and there are only a few people wandering the stalls. Mom is working a crossword puzzle when she sees me. “Josie! You’re early.” I don’t usually pick her up for another half hour.
“Is that our garlic or his?” I point to the bread stand.
“His garlic and his rosemary. I couldn’t compete.” She smiles so I know she’s done okay sales-wise.
“Maybe we should join forces. Aromatherapy bread.”
“Not a bad idea.” There isn’t an extra chair, but she turns over a plastic crate she uses to carry things and pads it with her cushioned laptop cover. “Five more minutes and I’ll start packing up.”
“I can help. If we’re going to be partners, I need to do more of these.”
She closes her book of crosswords and sets it on the table. “And are we?”
More freaking tears fill my eyes, and I’m mad at myself. Mad at him.
“Did something happen?” she asks.
“He’s been getting people to tell me stories about comebacks or people doing impossible things. Why is he doing this?”
Mom smiles in that knowing way of hers. “You know what he’s doing. He’s fighting for you.”
“He’s also trying out for a coach today. He’s going to end up playing in Florida, and I’ll be the pathetic girl waiting with her suitcase.”
“Josie, there are a lot of stories that start the same way. That doesn’t mean they end the same.”
“But when do you find that out? Five years down the road? Ten? Fifteen?”
“You don’t find it out,” she says. “You’re not waiting to see what happens in your life. You’re living it. You’re making choices.”
“But…” I’m struggling to make sense of her words. This isn’t what I was expecting her to say. “What about Dad?”
She grabs my hands and squeezes. “The first man you loved abandoned you. I know it changed you, because it changed me, too. You were right, Josie. I broke up with James rather than risk my heart. And though I want to protect your heart as if it’s my own, safety comes with risks, too. Risk of regret. Of opportunities missed. Of love lost.” Her thumbs smooth over the back of my hands, warm and comforting. “And I haven’t been fair to Garrett. He deserves the chance to be judged for himself. I was wrong to paint him with the same brush as your father.”
I blink back tears. “You think I should give him a chance?”
“I don’t know.” She releases a long sigh. “But it does make me think about Elizabeth Arden. How she wanted to start a makeup company at a time when makeup was associated with prostitutes. It was impossible to think that she could succeed in changing so many minds.”
I cover my mouth with a hand, but it doesn’t stop a loud gasp. “You too?”
There’s a hint of embarrassment in her shrug. “Me too.”
“You…you met him?”
“This morning. He was here as I was setting up. I knew it had to be him even before he introduced himself. All that nice hair and boyish charm. He has a finger gun. Did you know that?”
I laugh in spite of myself. “It’s awful.”
“Truly.” Her expression softens. “He came to tell me that he deserves a chance like Elizabeth Arden. That people can change your mind if you keep it a tiny bit open. He proceeded to tell me stories about Estee Lauder, Coco Chanel, and a chemist named Balanda Atis who started up the Women of Color Lab. He ended the whole thing with—” She pauses, and I make the air quotes with her because I know what’s coming next.
“You gotta play it out.”
My breath is coming so fast, I’m a little dizzy. It’s so much to absorb. Mom’s smile is almost more than I can handle. “So did you… I mean, do you… Could you like him?”
“He’s very charming. I told him so, in fact, and he said he has a way with mothers. That’s when he pulled the finger gun.” She laughs, and the sound is better than a gallon of pralines and cream. “He was actually very sweet. And yes, Josie, I think I could like him very much. The real question is, how do you feel?”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Mai texts Jason who texts Cooper who texts the location of Garrett’s tryout.
It’s a high school about ten miles west. My heart is sprinting while I sit in the parking lot wondering what I’m going to do.
I’m not positive, but I think that maybe I’m playing it out.
Gathering my courage, I head for the baseball field, a diamond of grass beyond the school. With each step, the blurry figures come into focus, the colors sharpening, the smells of dirt and damp grass growing stronger. There are guys in various uniforms in the dugout. A couple of players warming up on the field and four men standing behind the fence. Two are wearing jerseys from the college in Florida, and I’m guessing the one with gray hair is the head coach.
A man with a clipboard says something, his voice carrying my way but not clearly enough for me to hear what he says. The guys in the bullpen react, and one carries his bat to the plate. Not Garrett. But he’s there, standing in the dugout, and though I can’t see his expression, I can imagine it. Determined. Focused.
He’s going to get his chance.
A lump forms at the base of my throat. He’s fighting for what he wants. A life in baseball.
But he’s also been fighting for me.
I’ve reached a berm, too far from the field for Garrett to see me but close enough that I can watch. I sink down on the crabgrass, crossing my feet in front of me and feeling cold even with the sun beating on my shoulders and the back of my neck.
What am I fighting for?
As the first player takes his cuts, my mind travels back.
