Not that they will, because I’m trying my damn hardest to ignore that Tally exists. Plus, she’ll be gone in a few weeks, anyway.
Nine weeks to be exact. But who’s counting?
Billie doesn’t even glance at me as she replies, “Nope. I let him know about it, but I’m sure he had work or something.”
“Or something,” I grumble, my jaw clicking.
Quinn’s father has been very hands off. Eyes off, too. Billie and Wayne were never really together. As much as I don’t want to think about her like that, I know my sister didn’t have to be in a relationship to make a baby. Still, I wish Quinn’s father didn’t suck so much.
Then again, he doesn’t really give Billie much trouble, either. She has full custody of Quinn, which is all she wants, and Wayne drops in every now and then as if he’s a family friend. But Quinn deserves more from his dad. Which means I show up for him as much as I can.
The pitcher releases the ball again, and this time when Quinn wiggles his butt and swings, the bat connects, sending the ball flying … five feet in front of him.
“Run!” I yell, right along with his coaches.
Billie covers her eyes. She hates watching him get thrown out. “Tell me what’s happening?”
I give her the play-by-play. “He dropped the bat and he’s moving. The catcher has the ball. He’s throwing it, andhe over-threw the base!” My voice grows excited. “Keep going, Quinn!” I nudge my sister’s arm. “Open your eyes, he’s rounding second. The ball is in the outfield, and the other kid just tripped trying to get it.” It’s like a circus act out on the field. One kid throws it to the next and he misses it, and Quinn rounds third base. “He’s coming home!”
My sister finally opens her eyes and grabs my arm, jumping up and down as she screams for her boy. When Quinn lands on home plate, our entire side of the diamond eruptsand he turns to flash us the biggest smile. It hits me right in the heart. How his father could miss out on this I’ll never understand. But damn, am I happy I didn’t.
—
“And did you see when I hit the home run?” Quinn asks again from the back seat.Home runis a bit of an exaggeration, considering the ball barely passed in front of the plate, but he’s so happy about this win, I’ll give it to him this time.
“Yeah, buddy, it was great.”
“And did you see how fast I ran? That kid couldn’t even keep up with me.” The catcher is who he’s referring to, and he’s right: The poor kid tripped over his own two feet, missing the out completely.
“You are the fastest, Quinny boy,” my sister says.
I eye her and then glance at my nephew in the rearview mirror as he whines, “Mom, you’re so annoying.”
“Quinn.” My voice is hard. Even though I agree with him, I’ll never let him talk to his mother that way.
“Sorry, Uncle Jesse.”
“It’s not me you need to say sorry to.”
Billie gives me a small appreciative smile before turning to her son in anticipation.
“Sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay. I love you.”
“Love you, too,” he grumbles before looking out the window toward the cherry and maple trees that line the road leading into downtown Hope Harbor.
My sister settles back in her seat. She looks more relaxed than I have seen her in a while. I’m taking them both out todinner in Hope Harbor and then to The Ice Cream Barn for dessert. I’m slowly trying to get her to spend more time in this town every week. She might not want to admit that she needs help and that she can’t continue working herself to death at the hotel day in and day out, but hopefully after seeing what shecouldhave—peace and tranquility and a real home for Quinn—Hope Harbor will grow on her.
Billie and I grew up a few towns over, so we heard about Hope Harbor, and Darling Daffodils Farm, pretty regularly. Our father’s favorite topic was how the Darling’s land should have been ours. How it was my birthright. His grumbles only became more incessant when I showed interest in farming. Honestly, I almost changed majors just to shut him up, but nothing made me as happy as my agriculture classes. Or to be more accurate, being on the land. Offices and desks have never felt comfortable to me. But being outside among the dirt, the trees, the fresh air, and the birds? That’s always been my home.
As soon as we make the turn toward downtown, the drive livens up. Despite the fact it’s early spring, Saturday night in Hope Harbor is an experience. Everyone is keyed up from having been stuck indoors all winter, so like typical New Englanders, the townspeople are out without jackets on, braving the cool weather with smiles and pretending they can’t feel the chill in the air.
And I’ve got the windows down because I love it, too.
I turn to Billie, who glances longingly at Penny’s bookstore as a few women, who must be only a year or two younger than her, laugh loudly as they walk inside.
Someone on the sidewalk yells “Hi, Walker,” and I wince as my sister smiles.
