Left Field Love
: Chapter 30

I’m mucking out Stormy’s stall when I hear gravel crunching. I lean the pitchfork against the wall and head outside. I’m not expecting anyone.

There’s a delivery truck stopped in the driveway. A middle-aged man hops out of the open driver’s side, wearing a brown shirt and matching shorts.

“Matthews?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply.

He shoves his hat up to scratch his forehead, then lowers it. “You know your mailbox is on the ground?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “Sorry. It’s on the to-do list.”

“All right, well, this has gotten sent back a couple of times. Other guy couldn’t replace the place.” He walks toward me and hands me a navy plastic bag. “Have a good one.”

“Thanks. You too,” I call after him.

I start back toward the barn, glance down, and stop in my tracks.

The package I’m holding is addressed to Earl Matthews. It’s postmarked the day after Gramps died.

I hold my breath as I tear the plastic open. The sound of an engine fades as the truck traverses down the driveway toward its next stop.

I drop the bag to the ground and hold up the cotton material that was inside.

It’s a gray Clarkson University sweatshirt.

I stare at it. Then stare some more.

At some point during the three days between when he found out I’d been accepted and before he passed away, Gramps took the time to order this. He meant what he told me from the porch. He wasn’t pushing me to transfer to Clarkson out of obligation, it’s something he really wanted for me.

I wonder if Gramps would have given this to me before I decided. He always made his opinions clear, but never pressured me into any decision. If I’d returned from the lake to him in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch, he would have brought Clarkson up again. Pushed me to tell Caleb.

I glance between the shingled barn and the gray sweatshirt I’m holding. And then, I finally make the decision that’s been hanging over me ever since the white envelope with the Clarkson University emblem appeared in the mailbox almost a month ago. Back when the mailbox was still standing.

Caleb answers on the second ring. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I reply.

“Is everything okay?”

“You can stop asking me that every time I call,” I tell him wryly. “I could just be calling because I want to talk to you, not because something is wrong.”

Caleb laughs. “Fair enough. Is that why you’re calling?”

“No. I called to ask why you’re not at home.”

“How do you know I’m not at home?”

“Because your truck isn’t in the driveway.”

A rapid inhale echoes across the line. “You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

“The spare key is under the front mat, if you want to go outside.” Muffled voices come through on his end. Now anyone could steal…What, your jockstrap? There’s laughter, then Caleb’s voice cuts through. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I don’t go inside. The summer heat isn’t terrible today, so sitting outside actually feels pleasant. I take a seat on the tailgate of the truck, tipping my head back to feel the sun warm my face.

Less than ten minutes later, I hear a car door slam. Caleb walks toward me, wearing a backward baseball cap and an adorably confused expression.

I don’t tease him with my decision. It’s been drawn out enough. “I enrolled this morning.”

Caleb stares at me, his face frozen with shock. He really didn’t think I would transfer. Nothing in his expression suggests this as an expected outcome. “You did?”

I nod. “And then I called a real estate office. The farm is going on the market first thing tomorrow. The realtor thinks it’ll sell fast.”

I know it will sell fast. Land in Landry is hard to come by. There’s high demand and low supply. And large properties close to downtown are impossible to come by. Those stay in families for generations. There will probably be a bidding war, despite the sad state of the buildings.

Caleb’s expression is carefully blank. He’s trying to gauge how I feel about this. How he should feel about this.

“What are you going to do about the horses?”

“They have extra space at the track now that the Cup has been run. I can board them there for the time being…then I’ll probably sell them. I’ll have plenty of money once the farm sells. But they deserve to live somewhere they’re ridden regularly. With a big pasture and lots of attention.”

Caleb shakes his head. “You love those horses, Lennon. And that farm.”

“Yeah. I do.” I inhale deeply. “But I love you more.” Caleb starts to say something, but I keep talking. “Gramps tried to convince me to sell the farm for years. He wanted me to do this. To leave Landry and go to a competitive college. I had to decide, and now I have. I need to come here without a safety net. To be scared of falling. To push myself out of my comfort zone.”

“Why does it have to be one or the other?” he asks. “Don’t you want to live in Landry after graduation?”

“I don’t know. But I know you don’t.”

Caleb curses and looks away. “Don’t put this on me, Lennon.”

“I’m not,” I insist. “But you said you’re serious about us. I’m serious, too. I came to celebrate, not fight.”

I slip off the tailgate and stand. “I decided, Caleb.”

He closes the distance between us, tugging me close to him. “I didn’t think you’d do it,” he whispers into my hair.

I half-smile as I recognize the words I told him once, a while ago. “Me neither.”

Caleb pulls back just far enough for me to see his face. “Will you move the horses to Winters Stables instead of the track? They’ll get ridden daily and go out in a big pasture. And you can think about it more, before you decide.”

I nod. “Okay.”

There’s a flash of relief on his face. Something that won’t totally change. If I’m being honest, I experience it too. I don’t have regrets about my decision, and I’m determined not to have them. But it was a big decision to make. Knowing I won’t have to put on a brave face for the sale of the horses I’ve known since they were foals is a relief.

“How long are you here for?” Caleb asks.

“Not long. I’ve got a meeting with the dean, a tour of campus, and then I have to drive back to Landry for the night feeding. I’m working at the paper tomorrow. And I have a lot to do over the next few weeks.”

He studies me. “You’re sure?”

I don’t need to clarify what he’s asking about. I nod. “I’m sure.”

It’s a relief, honestly, to have finally made a decision.

The Dean’s Office is cold. A blast of air conditioning permeates my clothes, forming goosebumps on my skin. I step toward the large desk decorated with a vase of daisies. A rotating fan sends their sweet, floral scent straight at me as I approach the stern-looking receptionist.

“Hello. Can I help you?” she asks me, glancing away from her computer screen.

“Hi. Yes. I’m Lennon Matthews. I have an appointment with Dean Williams.”

The woman nods, her stoic expression unchanging. “I’ll let her know you’re here.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

“Would you like some tea? Water?” she asks.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

She nods, then returns her gaze to the computer.

I glance at the paintings lining the walls before taking a seat on the very edge of one of the velvet topped chairs along the wall. I stare at the empty seats across from me and fiddle with the hem of my shirt. I’m wearing a nice pair of shorts with it, but I suddenly worry I should have worn a skirt. Or a dress. My advisor at Richardson Community College would regularly show up for our meetings in jeans and a faded T-shirt. This is much nicer than I was expecting.

“Lennon Matthews?”

“That’s me.” I stand and shake the hand of the woman who called my name. Her tight bun is paired with a friendly smile.

“Wonderful to meet you, Lennon. I’m Dean Williams.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I reply.

“My office is this way.”

I follow her down the hallway to a nondescript wooden door. The interior is elegant, filled with more oil paintings complemented by dark wooden accents.

Dean Williams takes a seat behind the desk that takes up most of the space in the room and gestures for me to sit in the chair angled across from her.

“How are you, Lennon?”

“I’m good, thanks. You?” I reply stiffly.

All of a sudden, this is becoming very real. Telling Caleb. Being on campus. Diving so deep into change, my comfort zone is miles above me and far out of sight.

“Good.” Dean Williams smiles. “Now that you’re enrolled as a student, you’ll receive a welcome packet in the mail. That will explain how to set up your student account, register for classes, and should provide you with all the information you’ll need to become a full-time student. If you have questions about any of that, I would be happy to answer them. But I really wanted to set up this meeting to check in with you. We like to do so with all of our transfer students, seniors or not. I know you requested an extension on your acceptance because of bereavement. I wanted to offer my sincere condolences and make certain you know there are lots of resources at your disposal to make this as smooth and easy of a transition as possible.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

“I’ve looked at your records, and you’re an exceptional student. I don’t anticipate that you’ll have any trouble managing the course load here or adjusting to a new academic atmosphere. The same is true for most of our senior transfers. It’s usually the social transition they replace most difficult. We hold events throughout the year to provide opportunities for transfer students to meet one another. I hope you’ll replace the time to attend them if possible. Do you know any current Clarkson students, by chance?”

“Uh, one.”

“Is he or she a senior as well?”

“He. Yes. We went to high school together.”

Dean Williams glances at a folder on her desk. I’m guessing it’s my file. “Landry High School?”

I nod.

“The only other senior student we have from Landry High School is Caleb Winters.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, and it must show on my face. For the first time in this conversation, Dean Williams is the one who looks unsure. “My husband is a big baseball fan,” she tells me, looking almost sheepish.

“Oh,” I reply. “Well, uh, yeah. I’m talking about him.” My nerves have dissipated, but I wasn’t expecting either Gramps or Caleb to come up during this meeting.

“I’m sure Mr. Winters will be a great resource for you,” Dean Williams states. “Our athletic teams are quite involved in campus life.”

I smile, awkwardly.

“All right. Well, let me run through a few logistics with you, and then I’ll introduce you to Samantha Bridges. She will be the one giving you your tour today. She’s a junior and a journalism major, so she should be able to answer any questions you have from a student perspective.”

“Sounds great,” I reply.

And just like that, I’m a student at Clarkson University.