He chuckles. “I’ve become a respectable, upstanding member of society, Abigail.” He pokes his chest out like I’ve seen roosters do. “I graduated from the academy and everything.” He hooks his thumbs in his belt loops and rocks back on his heels. “What are you doing here?” he suddenly asks, like he has realized I’m at the wrong place at the wrong time.
I point toward the field, where Ethan is standing at the fence talking to Mitchell. Mitchell smiles up at him, and Ethan is bent at the waist, his arms resting on the top rail as he talks to his son. “I came with Ethan,” I explain. “I’ve been staying at the cabin, and he just happened to be at the lake too.” I shrug. But his eyes narrow when heat creeps up my cheeks. I’m probably ten shades of pink by now.
He raises his eyebrows. “You just happened to come here with Ethan, who just happened to be at the lake the same time as you, and you just happen to suck, Abigail Marshall.” He laughs loudly.
“You suck more,” I reply, the same way I would have when we were twelve. “Did your wife come with you? I want to meet the unlucky woman who got stuck with you, so I can give her my condolences.”
He shakes his head. “Trust me,” he says, “she knows full well how unlucky she is. That’s why she left me two years ago.” He suddenly stops and looks into the distance. “She left both of us.”
Boy, I put my foot in that one, didn’t I? “I’m sorry,” I say for lack of a better response.
He sucks in a breath. “Well, it is what it is.” He jerks his thumb toward the field. “So, you ready for this?”
“Ready for what?” I ask, as we start to walk slowly toward the field.
“Judgment day,” he whispers quietly.
Ethan turns as we get close to him, when he hears my voice. He smiles at me, but his smile fades when he sees Little Robbie.
“Ethan,” Robbie says with a nod. He sticks out his hand to shake.
I see Ethan visibly relax as he reaches out to shake with Robbie. Little Robbie turns it into a silly handshake with a few slaps, a handshake that Ethan seems to know. Ethan lets out a loud laugh after it’s over, and all the people in the stands turn to stare at him, some with their mouths open.
The coach blows a whistle and all the boys run toward the dugout. Ethan turns to me. “You want to go sit?” He points to the bleachers.
“I want to go wherever you want to go,” I reply.
His eyes narrow.
“What?”
“Did somebody already get to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did somebody already tell you?” he asks, his voice crisp and cool.
“Tell me what?”
“Stop jacking around, Abigail.”
Now I’m annoyed. “I’m not jacking around.” Then I realize that he probably needs to hear the truth. “There were two women talking in the ladies’ room,” I say quietly.
“What did they say?”
I think about it, until his stare breaks me. “They said the town would never forgive you.”
“Forgive me for what?” He stares at me. “Say it, Abigail.”
“The word murder came up,” I whisper next to his ear.
He straightens his spine. “Actually, it was involuntary manslaughter.”
I suck in an audible breath, and immediately hate that I did.
“Yeah, exactly,” he says. Then he goes to the stands, climbs up a couple of rows, and holds out a hand for me.
Even though I’m still reeling, I take the hand he holds out because I feel like he needs me to. I let him pull me up, and I settle onto the bench next to him.
He looks around, so I do too. I see hate-filled gazes pointed in his direction. “I want to hear more about your past, as soon as you’re ready to tell me.”
“Why? What’s the point?” He throws up his hands. “They already got to you.”
I lay my hand on his thigh and give it a squeeze, then leave my hand there. “You got to me first,” I say quietly.
I see him visibly deflate. “I’ll tell you everything.”
I shake my head. “Not now. Today is about Mitchell.”
He nods, suddenly looking world-weary and tired. “Okay.”
The Jacobsons show up and I see them look into the stands, so I wave. They see us and smile, and they climb up next to us as their son, Alex, runs to the dugout.
“You guys beat us here,” Katie says, as she balances a baby on her knee. Jake has a different one strapped to his chest, and a slightly older one is clutching Mr. Jacobson’s hand. Trixie and her massive dog climb up too and they sit down, side by side. Sally slurps his tongue up the side of her face, which makes her laugh.
“Well, you had more to pack,” I say lightly. “That’s why we beat you here.”
They all settle down at various points around us, and then I realize what they’ve done. They’ve formed a protective bubble around Ethan. He has no idea that’s what they’ve done. There’s one empty spot to the back left corner of the bubble, and I smile to myself as Shy stomps up the steps and takes that spot. He grabs my shoulders, gives me a squeeze, and points over my shoulder toward the field.
“That one with the curls, that’s my granddaughter,” he says.
“She’s got your smile,” I tell him.
“She’s a beautiful young lady, all right.” He beams with pride.
At the last minute, Ethan’s mother appears, looks into the stands, spots us, and climbs up. I move over to make room for her next to Ethan, but she sits on my other side and bumps me so that I scoot closer to him.
She looks around at all the people staring. She heaves out a sigh. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she suddenly says very loudly. She motions toward the field. “There’s a whole lot more to see out there.”
Embarrassed gazes jerk toward the field, obviously feeling guilty for being called out for their rude staring.
She leans toward me and says, “You’d think they’d never seen an ex-convict before with the way they’re acting.”
“Ma!” Ethan hisses.
“What?” She leans toward him. “Wear it with pride, or they’ll feed it to you with shame, son. You did your time, and now you’re out.” She motions to the field. “Don’t let any stupid gossip ruin this for Mitchell.”
And that comment—that is what pulls Ethan out of his funk.
He’s totally engrossed in the game. He occasionally calls out words like “way to watch” and “good look.” But I have no idea what any of it means.
He leans toward me. “Haven’t you ever been to a baseball game?”
“Never,” I admit.
“Why did you come?” he asks, and I can hear the uncertainty in his voice, which nearly kills me.
I give him a playful punch on the shoulder. “Because you invited me, dummy.”
Mr. Jacobson chuckles from his seat in front of us, but he doesn’t turn around.
“I’m still in like, Abigail,” Ethan says quietly.
“Me too,” I reply, and I smile at him.
It’s not until the game is over that Ethan truly tenses up. We are standing next to the fence waiting for Mitchell to come out of the after-game meeting, when a man and woman walk up. The man is red-faced and primed for a fight.