Left Field Love
: Chapter 25

We leave the lake early on Monday morning. Colt drives. Luke rides shotgun. I’m squished between Caleb and Jake in the middle seat, but I don’t really mind.

I rest my head against Caleb’s shoulder, taking advantage of the opportunity to lean against him. His hand rests on my knee, occasionally drawing circles on the bare skin.

I feel closer to him than I have in a while. Not just physically, although there’s a pleasant ache between my legs that reminds me we had more sex in the past two days than the last six months.

Caleb hasn’t mentioned me attending Clarkson again since our canoe trip, but I know he’s probably thinking about it.

I am, too.

I’m completely conflicted about what I really want.

He told me I’m his home last night.

Home can be a lot of things, I’m learning.

Landry is home.

Gramps is home.

But Caleb is my home now, too.

And I can’t have all three at once besides these small snippets of time when Caleb comes back.

This trip is longer than we’ve spent together in nearly a year, and he’s leaving in two days for a baseball camp back at Clarkson before senior year starts.

I could go with him, but I’m not sure if I can.

If I should.

I don’t know who a Lennon Matthews, who doesn’t live in Landry, Kentucky, is. I’ve never been her.

Throughout the loss and upheaval I’ve experienced, my home address always stayed the same.

I spent high school knowing I wouldn’t be able to leave for college. I made my peace with missing out on that experience years ago. Part of me was relieved, honestly. I’m comfortable taking care of Gramps and the horses. They need me. Rely on me.

Caleb doesn’t. He already has far more than I could ever offer him.

I stare out the window at the countryside flashing past, dreading the upcoming conversation I need to have with him. I still don’t know exactly what I’m going to say, but I have to tell Caleb I got into Clarkson.

Purposefully keeping it from him isn’t fair. I don’t need to tell him to know how he’s going to react, though. He’ll say he understands why I’m not going, and that we’ll make it work.

There’s no other option to change our current situation besides me transferring. I know hardly anything about baseball, but I know Caleb is good. Really good. I know he will be able to play professionally if he wants to. Clarkson is a three-hour drive, but it’s the closest school to Landry with a decent baseball program. I can take journalism classes anywhere. What I can’t do is take care of the farm and look after Gramps.

I’m disappointed when the green Landry sign flashes by, meaning we’re back in the town limits. Not only because I’m happy leaning against Caleb in the close confines of the backseat, but because I’m dreading the coming conversation.

We drop off Luke first, Jake next, then head toward Matthews Farm. There’s more room to spread out now, but I remain pressed against Caleb.

I stare out at the lush green fields as Colt drives up the familiar pothole-ridden lane that leads to the farmhouse, studying the trees that need to be pruned and the sagging fence rails that need to be replaced.

Sometimes—a lot of the time—it feels like I’m failing on all fronts.

I’m an absentee girlfriend.

An underachieving granddaughter.

An abysmal farmer.

Repairs take time and money, both of which are limited resources. Having horses that are fed and sheltered and exercised is the highest standard I can strive for. Attending community college rather than the highly ranked one Gramps wants me to allows me to meet that low bar.

We pass the start of the east pasture, and I look for Dusty in her usual spot under the massive oak.

She’s not there.

A chill that has nothing to do with the air conditioning blasting from the car vents spreads across my skin.

Caleb feels me tense. “What’s wrong?”

“Dusty’s not under the tree.”

To most people—to anyone except him—that sentence would make absolutely no sense. I catch Colt’s puzzled look in the rearview mirror.

Caleb realizes what I’m saying immediately. He’s helped me turn the horses out. He knows Dusty should have been let out in the east pasture along with the rest of the mares several hours ago, and the fact that she isn’t there is strange.

We keep driving along.

Neither of the stallions are in the west pasture, either.

Caleb’s hand tightens on my knee.

We round the final bend in the driveway, and there’s my worst nightmare, spread out before me like a pop-up book. There’s an ambulance, a police car, and a pickup truck I recognize as belonging to Mike Foreman, one of Gramps’s old racing buddies who often stops by. But there’s no sign of my grandfather. And, suddenly, I just know.

I know that I’ve lost the only living family I had left.

I don’t remember how I found out my mother had passed. I only remember Gramps holding me when I got home from school that day, telling me everything was going to be okay.

I do recall how two Landry police officers came to our door one July morning to tell us my father’s body had been found at the racetrack. I also recall how Gramps told me I still had him—how I would always have him.

Colt slams on the brakes. It jars me back to the present tragedy.

Horror is appearing on Caleb’s face as he absorbs the scene before us.

I slide out of the opposite side of the car and walk straight up to Bob Everett, Landry’s chief of police. He fiddles with his belt buckle as I approach, dread filling the lines of his weathered face. This is a small town. He knows how many losses I’ve already faced. Knows this one will be the hardest to recover from.

Grief isn’t something you become accustomed to.

Each time, it hits differently.

“He’s gone?”

Chief Everett nods, slowly. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Lennon. Is there anyone we can call?”

“No.” I laugh, but nothing about this moment is the least bit funny. “No. There’s no one.”

He nods again, already having known the answer to the question he was obligated to ask.

I’m barely cognizant of anything happening around me as I sink down onto the bottom step of the front porch stairs and rest my forehead on my knees. Voices swim around me in a distant din of noise. The fire truck departs. Two paramedics talk quietly as they walk about our overgrown front yard.

I’ve thought about this moment.

Gramps’s health has been bad for years. There were days he barely dragged himself out of bed. I imagined him falling on the stairs one morning or calling out to me in the middle of the night. Pictured having to rush him to the local hospital for an emergency procedure. Decided who I’d call to help with the horses while I sat in the waiting room.

But this outcome never occurred to me. I never thought I would leave and return to replace him gone.

If Gramps had any choice in the matter, I know this is the way he would have wanted to go, though, and that’s just about the only thing holding me together right now.

Someone takes a seat beside me. I know that it’s Caleb before he even speaks. “They’re ready to go. Do you want to see him?”

His words are matter-of-fact. No pity or devastation. Caleb is good in a crisis. He’s reliable and steady, always there when I need him.

“No.” I don’t have to think about my answer before speaking.

I want to remember Gramps smiling down at me from the porch before I left for Colt’s birthday party. Telling me he’s proud of me.

Not cold and still and no longer breathing.

My gaze is still aimed at the ground, but I hear Caleb stand to tell the ambulance to leave with Gramps’s body.

Tires roll aways a few minutes later. I don’t move, trying to reconcile what my life will look like with such a central component of it missing for good.

There’s a distant whinny a few minutes later, and that’s what finally sends a jolt of direction through me.

Gramps wasn’t the only one here who relied on me.

I raise my head, taking in the surroundings. The front yard looks normal, and it’s worse than having the emergency vehicles out front as a beacon of bad news. The stretch of grass that’s more weeds than blades looks the same as always. As it did when Gramps was about to walk out of the barn or drive up in his old truck.

Colt’s SUV is still here, closer to the barn than it was when I climbed out of it. He must have moved it to let the other vehicles leave. Colt is leaning against the driver’s side door, talking intently with Caleb.

They both glance over as I stand and walk toward the barn. Colt’s expression is somber. I don’t look at Caleb. I’m worried I won’t be able to keep it together if I do.

I know this must be hitting him hard. Not only were he and Gramps close, but I’m sure it’s occurred to him by now this means he’s all I have left.

I head straight into the tack room, grabbing halters from the row of hooks just inside the door. Impatient hooves clang against wood panels as the horses realize someone is finally paying attention to them.

Her stall is furthest, but I walk to Dusty’s first. She nuzzles me as soon as the door is open. I’m tempted to bury my face in her mane and cry. But if I let myself fall apart right now, I won’t be able to pull myself back together for a while.

I slip Dusty’s halter on and lead her out into the aisle, pausing to put Stormy’s halter on her as well. Stormy tosses her head, making her displeasure about being cooped up all morning known. She is blissfully unaware of how badly I wish Gramps had woken up this morning to let her out.

I’m struggling to buckle her halter in place when I hear Caleb’s voice. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” There’s a bite to the words that I don’t mean to include but can’t seem to curb. Shock is ebbing away, leaving behind a whole host of ugly feelings swirling inside of me like a tornado.

“You don’t have to. I can…”

“It’s fine.”

I tug at the lead lines, and the two mares follow me eagerly. Past Caleb, who’s watching me with a concerned expression that’s probably merited but only annoys me more. Past Colt, who obviously just heard me snap at Caleb and is now looking at me like I’m a bomb that might detonate. Past the skid marks that tell me the ambulance arrived too late.

It takes me an hour to let all the horses out and muck out their stalls. I can hear the quiet murmur of Colt and Caleb’s voices outside the barn as I work, but I can’t distinguish anything they’re saying.

Probably for the best. I’m sure they’re talking about things I’m not ready to think about yet. Decisions will have to be made. Arrangements too.

When I emerge from the barn, they’re still standing next to Colt’s SUV.

“I’m so sorry, Lennon,” Colt says as soon as I appear.

“Thanks.” I give him a small smile, then keep walking.

Up the porch stairs, through the front door, past the kitchen, up the stairs to the second floor, and down the hall to my room. I don’t stop until I reach the twin bed tucked beneath the eaves.

I collapse on top of my comforter, not caring I’m in clothes that are damp with sweat and smell like manure. I lie face down, inhaling the familiar scent of laundry detergent and cotton.

Quiet footsteps sound on the stairs, drawing closer and closer to my bedroom. I flip over onto my back to watch Caleb cross the room and stop beside the bed. He’s pale beneath his tan, eyes worried and jaw clenched tight.

I scootch over, until the cool drywall is pressed against my arm. Caleb takes the silent invitation, lying down beside me. The bed is way too small for both of us. It’s barely big enough for me.

“Steve Fisher came over around eight to drop a program for this weekend’s races. He noticed the horses hadn’t been turned out, so he came inside to check on Earl. Found him on the couch and called nine-one-one. They think it was a stroke. It was…quick.” His voice wavers a little, but I don’t react. “After the autopsy, they’ll transport him to the funeral home. You’ll have to decide about the burial then. Steve had to leave to take his granddaughter to school. He asked Chief Everett to pass along his condolences and to let him know if he could help with anything.”

I manage an “Okay.”

“What can I do, Lennon?”

I roll, so I’m half-lying on him. We woke up in a similar position just a few hours ago, but it feels like days have passed. “You’re doing it,” I tell him.

And then…the tears come.

The next five days pass in a daze of wandering around the farmhouse wearing cut-off jean shorts and a ratty tank top while fielding endless phone calls with the funeral home, church, and cemetery.

Kentucky is experiencing a record heat wave, and the farmhouse only has one wheezing window unit. It’s almost as miserable inside as it is out in the barn.

I watched Gramps do this twice, for each of my parents. But in many—most—ways, he was more a parent to me than either of my actual ones. Their deaths were defined by the mistakes they made while living. Gramps’s is just…sad. The farmhouse is too quiet and empty without his work boots clomping up and down the stairs or his baseball games blaring from the living room.

Caleb has barely left my side since we returned from the lake. He’s worried about me. And he feels guilty. Guilty I wasn’t here. Guilty he wasn’t here. But the coroner confirmed Gramps’s death was quick and painless and there’s nothing anyone could have done, even if he hadn’t been alone.

And as much I wish I’d been here for Gramps’s final moments, I’m equally glad I wasn’t. He knew I loved him, and I know he loved me. I wish he could have been here for more of my life. But there was nothing left unsaid between us. No regrets are haunting me now.

“Can I help?”

I don’t glance up from the old jackets I’m sorting through, just keeping making piles of wool and denim to donate to charity.

“I’m almost finished.”

There’s a pause as Caleb decides how to respond. I’ve spent the past week doing an accurate imitation of a zombie. Barely eating. Hardly sleeping, though that’s partly because of the heat.

I wouldn’t blame Caleb if he left to go stay at his family’s estate. It has air conditioning and a private chef. But every morning he’s asleep on the couch when I come downstairs, since neither of us want to sleep in Gramps’s bedroom. Every meal, he makes food he knows I probably won’t eat more than three bites of.

It’s so tempting to sink. To stop thinking and stop caring and just ignore everything around me. Gramps’s friends keep coming over to help with the barn chores, so I’ve barely had to do anything lately.

Caleb is keeping me afloat. And that scares me, because he’s leaving soon. He should have already left. If I let myself lean on him now, I’ll fall over once he’s gone.

“The horses are all set,” he tells me. “Tim Wilson came over and helped.”

I look up and nod.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Len…”

“I know, Caleb,” I cut him off. “Today, right?”

He sighs. “I pushed it back as far as I could.”

“I know. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” I finally glance up at him.

“You could come with me.”

It’s a relief he’s finally saying the words. The strongest string tying me to Landry has been snipped.

I’m no longer tethered to this farm. To this town. But the lack of a link only makes me want to hold on tighter.

I stayed here with the horses I helped Gramps raise and train after my mother died. After my father died. After Caleb left for college. It feels right I remain here after Gramps is gone, too.

“My place off-campus is nice. The guys won’t mind if you stay with us for a while. And if you liked it, we could get our own place.”

Anxiety tightens in my chest. Not at the thought of living with Caleb. That part sounds wonderful. But about leaving Landry. It feels like losing what little I have left.

“I can’t.” I want to shove the words back in my mouth when I watch Caleb’s face fall, but I can’t bring myself to take them back. Or to explain them.

To Caleb it must seem like I’m still picking a falling-down farm over him, after almost three years of barely being together. He still doesn’t even know I got into Clarkson, and I feel guilty about that too.

“He’s gone, Lennon,” Caleb says softly. “And he wouldn’t want you to be sitting here, making piles.”

“I know he’s gone. And since he’s gone, I don’t know what he’d want.”

It’s a lie Caleb doesn’t call me out on.

He’s right. If he could see me now, Gramps would call me a coward and push me out the front door in the direction of Clarkson. He wanted me to go. He told me to go.

I gather up the pile of jackets and stand, picking my way past Caleb and down the hallway.

The entire farmhouse is in shambles. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to change anything, so I’ve gone to the opposite extreme. I’ve emptied bookshelves, strewn clothing, removed paintings from the walls. Anything and everything to stay busy.

There aren’t any empty boxes left in the hallway, so I head into my room. Caleb follows, studying me as I dump the jackets into a cardboard box and neatly label the side with a marker. I stay in motion, moving to my bed to fold the load of laundry I did at two a.m. when I couldn’t sleep.

Caleb takes a seat on the mattress next to the pile of clean clothes. I should have known he wasn’t going to drop this so quickly.

I didn’t ask him to stay, but he has. I knew it wouldn’t—couldn’t—last forever. He has a life to get back to.

I only heard Caleb’s end of the conversation, but I know his baseball coach is not pleased with the delay of his star pitcher’s attendance at a mandatory team camp.

“I’ll come back next weekend,” he tells me.

“It’s fine, Caleb. Really. I’m a big girl.” I force a smile, but he doesn’t look convinced.

“I’m worried about you, Lennon.”

“What do you want me to say, Caleb?” I ask as I fold my favorite T-shirt. “I’m sad and upset and I don’t see either of those things changing anytime soon.”

“Exactly why you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I have the horses.”

He doesn’t reply right away. At first, I think it’s because he’s trying to come up with a way to tactfully tell me he meant company of the non-equine sort. But he’s no longer looking at me. He’s staring the piece of paper he pulled out of the book I stupidly left out on my bedside table.

“You got in.”

I bite my bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. “Yes.”

“You got in weeks ago.”

“Yes,” I repeat.

Caleb looks up at me. I watch him visibly push the anger away to keep his voice even. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“You think I’d lie to you about this?”

He stands. “You did lie to me about this, Lennon! I asked you if you’d heard back from Clarkson, and you told me that you hadn’t!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I toss the T-shirt I’m holding back on the bed. “I didn’t know what to tell you, okay?”

“You should have told me what we both knew all along: that you were never going to go.” He shakes his head, dropping the letter onto the mattress.

“It was complicated, Caleb! I didn’t know what to do.”

“I told you we’d be fine if you stayed here, Lennon. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me. It didn’t need to change anything.”

“It would have, though,” I reply. “It would have been a choice, that I made. It would have been me choosing this farm. And I was worried it would seem like not choosing you.”

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other, Lennon. You don’t have to stay here to keep the farm. I could hire staff, or we could move the horses down the road to my family’s stables.”

“I can’t let you do that, Caleb.”

“Because of the money?” I can tell he’s fighting it, but more anger trickles into his expression.

“That’s part of it,” I admit. I was raised to work hard. Not accept hand-outs.

“I have plenty, Lennon! I could easily—”

“I know you have plenty,” I interrupt. “You, Caleb. It’s your money.”

“To spend how I want.”

I open my mouth.

“Just think about it, Lennon.” He walks past me, headed for the doorway. “I’m going to change for the funeral.”

“Caleb.”

He stops, but doesn’t turn around. “I am sorry. I should have told you as soon as I got the letter.”

Blue eyes meet mine as Caleb glances over one shoulder. “I should have told you congratulations, Lennon. I never doubted that you’d get in.”

Just that I’d go. Neither of us say the words, but I’m certain we’re both thinking them.

As soon as he’s gone, I push over the stack of folded cloths and curl up in the center of my bed.