Page 5 of Last Slice of Pie

Home . . . my home is here, but home also means Lexi and James. I think about a picture of Lexi laughing I found on the Firefly Kitchen website last night. She looks different, but also the same. She looks like a woman now, but she still has the same details I’ve always loved: the sweetheart shape of her face, freckles across the bridge of her nose, and those pale green eyes.

“I feel honored they think I’m worthy of the key to the city.”

The key to the city—how crazy is that? I didn’t even know towns did this type of thing anymore, but I guess they do. An ornamental key that’s given as a gift to someone the city—or town, in my case—feels is a friend, ally, or someone special is an interesting tradition.

“Well, I would feel honored, too,” Reid says excitedly.

“It’s a small town, and not a lot happens there. All I’ve done is donate some money to the athletic program at the high school and create a scholarship.”

“Must have been a lot of money. Look at you, being a philanthropist,” he teases, and I grunt in response while unlacing my cleats.

“How long has it been?” Jack asks as he walks up into our conversation. There’s a fork sticking out of his mouth, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. You would think after how much pie he shoved down his throat yesterday he’d be in sugar shock, but nope, he’s back at it again today.

Catching my expression, he grins. “What? I can’t help that it’s all so good.” His eyes widen as he spots the two new boxes, and he tips his head. “What kind are those?”

I pick up the boxes and hand them to him. One says grasshopper pie, and the other says cherry.

“Yes! Can I take these home?” he asks, his voice so hopeful.

“Sure, and it’s been a while since I’ve been back—years, in fact,” I answer as I look at Jack. I’m certain my frown relays that it’s been more than just a few years, but only I know that the true answer is never. I’ve never gone back home.

He tucks the boxes under his arm, the sleeve of his clean shirt bunching up. He’s already showered and ready to go.

“I understand.” He nods and then breaks eye contact. “I don’t really have any one place I call home, so I haven’t been anywhere in years either. We moved around a lot with my father’s career, and now they’re retired in Scottsdale. I love the water way too much to think about staying there long-term.”

I agree. I love the water, too, which is why many people were surprised when I bought my house on the river instead of downtown or on the island with my other teammates. The minute I walked out the back door, which faces northwest, I knew it was the one for me. Yes, the river cuts through the city, but the view across from me is undeveloped, wooded, and it makes me feel like I’m not in the city. It’s perfect.

“What time is the ceremony? Want me to go with you?” Reid asks. I should have known he would offer. He’s loyal and a true friend like that. Not many would give up their day off to drive two hours in the car, stand in the heat, and then drive two hours back.

“It’s at ten, and thanks, but no thanks. I might make a few stops while I’m there.”

Not a few stops, just one, maybe, but I don’t tell them that.

Tossing my cleats and helmet into my locker and my dirty clothes into my bag, I grab a towel, wrap it around my waist, and turn to find both Reid and Jack staring at me. It’s like they know tomorrow is more of a big deal than I’m letting on, so I slip into my role as a leader and try to assuage their concerns.

“Don’t worry, boys.” I smile real big and see both of them shift away from the uncertain tension that had set in between them. I throw out my arms and begin walking backward toward the showers. “I’ll be back and on the plane for our game this weekend first thing the following morning.”

If only it were that simple.

Grasshopper Pie

EVERYONE HAS DEFINING moments in their lives that they remember with more clarity than others, whether they are good or bad, and for me, almost all of them include him.

The first occurred when I was ten years old, which I find ironic these days. He wasn’t present for the first ten years of my life, and he hasn’t been present in the last ten. Now, today, he’s blowing into town, and I can’t resist the opportunity to get a glimpse of him.

Growing up, my bedroom faced the back of our property, and an acre and a half away from the porch stands the most gorgeous oak tree in the whole world. GiGi once told me her father built our house near it because of an old Southern legend. The legend says if an oak has been struck by lightning, its destiny is to protect the land and anything on it, and there’s a large burnt crack down the side of the trunk. I’ve always loved this legend, and without fail, a day or two after a really bad storm, GiGi would walk out to the tree, kiss the crack, and wrap her arms around it like she was giving it a hug. I imagine most people would think this is strange, but it was normal for me. I don’t know how old the oak tree is, but I do know it has been there a very long time.

The second best thing about the tree is the tree house my grandfather built for my mother and her brother when they were little. Even after they were grown and my grandfather had passed, GiGi continued to pay the property manager to keep it safe and sturdy. James and I probably spent just as much time in the tree house as we did the main house. It was our go-to place.

When I was ten years old, on one particular night, daylight had slowly slipped from a beautiful shade of lavender into the inky black of night, and as the sky darkened, I watched and squinted my eyes in search of the tiny flickering lights. The oak tree is surrounded by tall grass, and instead of mowing it all down, the lawn man keeps a nice clean path that runs right up to the base of the trunk. He also circles around the tree to give us some space to talk and have access to the swing on the backside. Have I mentioned I love this tree?

During the day we would lie under it and make wishes on dandelions as we blew the seeds away, and at night I always stayed up in my room and watched for the fireflies as they would twinkle up into the sky. There’s something so magical about something so small that can light up all on its own.

I had settled down into my seat by the window, which was cracked so I could listen to the cicadas, and that was when I saw a flicker of light coming from inside the tree house, a light brighter than that of the fireflies. Staring, I had begun to believe I’d imagined things, but then the light flickered again.

What was James doing out there, and why hadn’t he invited me to join him?

Anger coursed through my ten-year-old body. In our safe little world here on the farm, it never occurred to me that I should be worried about a stranger being in the tree house, so I grabbed my flashlight, pushed open the window, and climbed out onto the back porch. Instead of going down the steps, I tiptoed over to the side of the house where the veranda ended and jumped to the ground.