five

BIRMINGHAM, AL

2010

Phone calls made and suitcase packed, Kate headed for Alabama. She’d told Rowan that she was going to check out a boutique, and her stomach flipped at the half truth, or half lie. The six-hour drive crept through South Carolina, toward Georgia, and then west to Alabama. Except for the Atlanta airport and the snakelike highways through the big city, which would spin her into another direction with one wrong turn, the drive was a view of spring’s birth, taking Kate through the dormant cotton fields and farmland. The radio stations faded in and out until Kate finally shut off the radio and rolled down the windows, allowing the passing wind to be the music.

What she didn’t tell Rowan was a lie of omission, which according to their Baptist preacher was as large a lie as one of commission. Either way, unannounced, Kate was on her way to Birmingham to see Jack Adams.

Kate knew that if she’d called Jack to tell him she was coming, she wouldn’t have gone at all. There was something about overplanning that would have killed the trip before she even put her keys in the ignition. So, she drove with her windows open while her thoughts were as cluttered as the roadside trees drooping with their too-many blossoms. Memories scraped against one another, vying for attention.

When she arrived, Kate smiled at Jack’s house as if it were a person—an old friend—which in many ways it was. The last time she’d seen the house, the front door had been a plywood board and the rick-a-rack trim unpainted. The windows had been cracked, their wooden mullions peeling old paint. Now double doors dominated the front, dark, carved oak with wrought iron dividing their bubbled glass into intricate patterns. The windows of the house were wide and long, divided also by thick iron into oversized rectangles, which looked out onto the street with a wide and curious gaze as she parked her car.

Even in the day of Facebook and Twitter, of social networking and cell phones, where everyone knew everything about everybody, Kate knew very little about Jack’s life. He worked as a lawyer in downtown Birmingham. He was divorced. He lived with his son.

Kate drove into a parallel parking spot on the street and her body remembered everything: the comfortable ease that nestled next to the jittery desire. All this time, all these years passed, and she’d believed the feelings gone, or at least diminished beyond recognition. Yet there she was within a hundred yards of his house, and the exact desire returned as if it had waited patiently at the end of a long road.

The front door opened. Framed by doorway and sunlight, a young boy emerged with a baseball in his hand, a hat on his head, and a large bag slung over his left shoulder. Kate gripped the steering wheel, holding her breath. The boy—he had dark hair and was small—looked younger than the eight years she knew him to be. He hollered something over his shoulder and his mouth formed a single word, “Dad.”

Then there was Jack. He came through the door, placing his hand on top of his son’s hat and twisting it straight. Kate took in a quick breath. He still moved with the ease of an athlete. The baseball cap on his head bore the same emblem as his son’s, a hornet or bee, Kate thought. Jack grabbed the bag from his son and took two steps down the walkway toward the back driveway.

In her stomach, tiny birds opened their wings and flew up toward her throat. Just because he’d written yearly letters, just because they’d once loved and had a daughter, did this give her the right to show up unannounced in his driveway?

Jack and Caleb were obviously on their way to a game. If she stopped them now, she would make them late and ruin their afternoon. Maybe she’d watch them for a little while. Then decide. Only a little while.

She followed Jack’s pickup down the winding roads into Mountain Brook village, an enclave of beautiful homes tucked into the valley. She followed him through the town dominated by old English architecture and brick-lined sidewalks. He turned right into the elementary school, which at first glance Kate thought was a large estate. The field to the left of the school was packed with families. Baseball bags were scattered like litter, spilling bats and gloves, uniforms and Gatorade bottles. Parents sat in clustered groups with folding chairs and blankets.

This world was foreign to Kate, one that she often avoided for fear of turning over the soil of a long-buried ache. Yet, there they were, families doing whatever it was that families did. Jack and Caleb sauntered in almost identical steps as they approached the crowd. Caleb entered a dugout and Jack turned away to unfold a blue canvas chair.

Kate climbed out of the car and locked its doors, although she knew it was completely unnecessary in whatever world she had just fallen into. Staying as far away as possible from the field, but still able to see, she leaned against a metal light pole and watched the unfamiliar movements of school-age sports. Jack sat in his chair, scribbling in a notebook: stats, she assumed. His full attention was on the game and she didn’t fear him turning to see her.

Jack seemed content—happy, even—as he hollered encouragement toward the field, writing in his notebook. Every once in a while he checked his cell. A girlfriend maybe? A business deal?

Birmingham was showing off in its spring finery, an overdressed woman wearing too many colors and bright jewelry. The azaleas and camellias, the dogwoods and the daffodils burst from the ground. Kate glanced around the fields and surrounding homes, feeling as though she’d fallen into a Disney movie. She knew it wasn’t perfect, nothing was, but this town sure looked like it on that spring afternoon. She watched Jack, content to be an observer. Maybe she wouldn’t tell him she’d been there at all. Maybe she’d get back in her car and leave him to his perfectly nice life without her interference.

The baseball game was into the second inning when Jack stood to walk to the concession stand. He spoke on his cell phone and meanwhile glanced toward Kate, still leaning against the light post. She held her breath and averted her eyes, as if this would make her invisible. Kate counted to ten and then glanced back toward the concession stand, but he was gone.

“Katie?” Jack said her name.

When she heard his voice, she felt her heart expand and reach for him, but it was when she turned and saw his eyes that the need returned in full. In the middle of a bright baseball park, surrounded by families, she saw only Jack. It was propriety and fears that kept her arms straight and her hands from touching him at all. She smiled. “Hey, Jack.”

They stood, face to face, inches apart as unsaid words filled the cracks of distance and time. Finally he spoke. “It’s really you. What are you doing here?”

She bit the right side of her lip in a childhood nervous gesture. She’d hoped she wouldn’t want exactly what she wanted at the moment—to kiss him, and more than once. She would not ruin this moment with her need. She would not chase him away with her old desire. “Would you believe me if I said I just happened to be in the neighborhood?”

He laughed and it was a lovely sound—deep and freeing and full of life. He hugged her and she fell against his chest, into the hollow cleft where she’d once so casually settled her body. He let go and stepped back. “Let me look at you and then you can explain yourself.”

She blushed. Warmth traveled through her body and settled in her face. She covered her face with her hands, and he took her fingers and pulled her hands into his grasp. “You,” he said.

“You,” she said in return, staring once again into those green and unsettling eyes.

“So, you’re a big baseball fan?” he asked.

She smiled. “Really, I’m not positive about the difference between a run and a touchdown. I came to see you. I guess, maybe, I should have called.”

“How did you find us?”

“Well, I went to the house and you were leaving, so I followed.”

“Were you going to tell me you were here or just spy on me?”

“Tell you, of course. I sort of felt like I was interrupting and I wanted to wait until the game was over.”

“This is amazing, Katie.”

“I go by Kate now,” she said.

“Well, that’s nice. But to me, you’re Katie.” He tipped his hat. “With all due respect.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t really know what to say because I’m a little stunned.”

“I know. I wanted to see you and talk.”

He smiled. “Can all those things wait until after Caleb bats?”

“Absolutely. They can wait until he bats ten times.”

He laughed—that lovely sound again—and shook his head. “This is wild. But come sit. Watch baseball with me.”

“Watch baseball with you.” She smiled. “Nice.”

They walked together toward the baseball diamond and Jack offered Katie his chair. Number 17 was at bat.

“That’s Caleb. He’s the shortest on the team, but he’s the fastest,” Jack said, talking in a low whisper. “His coach is obnoxious, but Caleb loves the game. He’s obsessed. Knows every stat of every player in the majors.”

“There are worse things to be obsessed with,” Kate said and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees,

Caleb swung the bat and missed the ball, which landed with a thwump in the catcher’s mitt.

“Strike One,” the ump hollered, making a motion with his hands.

“Does he have to scream it like that?” Kate asked.

Jack smiled at her and shook his head. “You don’t go to many games do you?”

“I think the last baseball game I went to, I was with my dad and he took me to Atlanta. I was about ten years old. I whined the entire game about being bored and he never took me again.”

“When you meet Caleb, do not tell him that story,” Jack said. He was speaking to her, smiling, but his gaze was on the field.

“Ball,” the ump hollered as the pitch went far right and hit the fence. Caleb stepped back from the plate and looked over his shoulder at his dad.

Jack gave his son a thumbs-up and said, “Wait on the ball.”

Caleb nodded and stepped back, facing the pitcher. A ball came across the plate and Caleb swung, making contact with a thunk that sent the ball flying over the second baseman’s head. Kate jumped up with a holler before she even understood what she was doing. Caleb was safe at first base.

“Looks like you’re good luck,” Jack said.

Chatting about the weather and the rules of a game she didn’t understand, Kate enjoyed watching eight-year-old boys running around. They were all so earnest.

“They all look like they’re playing the most important game of their life,” she said.

“They are. Today is always the most important when you’re eight years old,” Jack said and squatted down next to her chair. “Always.”

She nodded. “Good way to live, I think.”

They sat through the remainder of the game and watched Caleb’s Hornets lose by one run. While Jack folded up the chair and waited for Caleb, Kate wandered over to the concession stand and bought a fountain Coke. She sipped from the vintage-looking red-striped straw as Jack and Caleb walked toward her.

They reached Kate’s side, and Jack stopped as Caleb kept walking.

“Son,” Jack said. “Stop. I want you to meet an old friend.”

Caleb turned around to look at Kate. His baseball cap partially shaded his face but his green eyes and the cleft in his chin were obvious statements of his father’s imprint.

“Hello, Ma’am,” Caleb said in a voice that was young and quiet.

“Hi, Caleb. I’m Kate Vaughn.”

“Miss Vaughn to you,” Jack said and came to his son’s side. “I think we can take her to our postgame pizza, don’t you?”

Caleb nodded. “I think so too.”

“Well, I’m honored,” Kate said. “I love pizza.”

Caleb looked up toward his dad. “When is Gram picking me up?”

“After pizza. I have your bag in the car.” Jack turned to Kate. “Do you want to ride with us?”

“I’ll follow,” Kate said, pointing toward the parking lot. “I’ve got my car.”

In the parking lot, Caleb and Jack threw bags into the truck’s bed before walking to opposite sides of the vehicle and climbing into their seats. Caleb looked so like Jack, and questions she rarely allowed to surface rose with a furious roar.

Yes, it was the damn un-knowing.