Left Field Love
: Chapter 38

I have no idea how I got myself into this.

Actually, that’s a lie.

I’m desperate for some small sign of approval from a woman who’s alternated between acting as though I don’t exist and demonstrating her mastery of the back-handed compliment. I know Caleb’s relationship with his parents is strained for reasons unrelated to me. I also know if he had to choose between me and them, he would pick me. I don’t want him to have to, though.

And that’s why I’m stuck in a gondola, next to a woman I’m sure strongly dislikes me, climbing up the side of a mountain. The cliff I’m trying to talk myself off of in my head is only slightly steeper.

I assumed Abigail Winters owns a chalet in Aspen for an excuse to wear faux fur and host fondue parties. Her invitation to ski this morning was a totally unexpected one. Caleb tried to insist on coming with us, but his mother said it would be a nice opportunity to get to know me. I couldn’t argue with that, and neither could Caleb.

So, here we are.

She hasn’t said a word directly to me since we left the chalet. Everything has been an instruction to someone else, to drop us off here and put our gear there. I’ve followed along, trying not to think about how I’m just as uncertain about skiing as I am about spending time with Caleb’s mother.

“We’re nearly at the top.” Abigail finally speaks, startling me. At this point, I figured she forgot I was even here.

Maybe I should have broken the icy silence first, but I’m not sure what to say to her. Part of me resents the disdain she’s made obvious. Part of me doesn’t want to say something stupid around her, because she’s Caleb’s mom and that will always mean her opinion matters to me.

“Great.” I aim for enthusiasm but fall short around apprehension.

“I know I haven’t been very welcoming toward you.”

It takes a minute for her words to register. She’s always hidden her contempt behind small snubs. If I ever confronted her about her behavior, I assumed she’d deny it and act like I was crazy.

“I grew up in Landry, Mrs. Winters,” I reply. “I’m used to it.”

“I’m not so heartless as to blame you for your parents’ shortcomings, Lennon. To be perfectly honest, I think the town’s perception of your family is quite ridiculous. Unfortunately, it hits a little closer to home for me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I respond.

“I know you don’t,” Abigail says, glancing out the window at the snowy landscape, then back at me again. “I think I knew we’d be having this conversation ever since I saw Caleb go over to you after Richard’s service. Austin was convinced you were a fling to Caleb from the first moment he told us you were dating. I knew better. Caleb could barely get the words out without grinning.”

At that, I smile.

“Austin and I haven’t had the easiest life together. There have been good parts. There have also been some bad parts. The worst was when Caleb was in fifth grade. Richard was gearing up for another run against advice and already having health issues. Austin traveled back to Landry a lot. On one of those visits, he…reconnected with an old high school classmate of his.”

Realization hits me like lightening. I connect the dots. “My mom.”

Abigail nods. Her lips are upturned, but they’re defined by sadness, not humor. “I know you’re not to blame for your parents’—for your mother’s—actions, Lennon. Like I said, I think the fact that others do is silly and short-sighted. But some of those actions nearly destroyed my marriage. My family. You’re a constant reminder of that.”

“Does Caleb know?”

“No,” Mrs. Winters replies swiftly. “He knows Austin and I have had our challenges. But not…” Cheating, I fill in. “I’m not asking you to lie to him,” she continues. “But I want you to know I’ve made my peace with the past now. The actions of two consenting adults are nothing you can or should atone for. I didn’t really believe your relationship with Caleb was temporary, but I hoped it would be, and I’m sorry for that. I was worried you would limit him. Keep him in Landry. But seeing you together yesterday and this morning… I’ve never seen Caleb happier. He won’t hesitate to choose you if there’s a choice to be made, but I never want it to come to that. Selfishly, I just needed you to know why I’ve acted the way I have.”

I nod slowly, trying to absorb the bombshell she just dropped on me. Did Gramps know? I’ll never be able to ask him. Maybe it’s for the best. My mother was complex, and her relationship with Gramps was just as complicated.

“Should we ski?”

I glance outside and realize we’ve made it to the top of the mountain. My head is still spinning from Abigail’s revelation.

“I’m a terrible skier,” I admit. “I got invited to go with a friend in seventh grade, so my dad tried to teach me out in the field with boards strapped to my sneakers. It didn’t help. Might have made me worse, actually.”

“Did you spend much time with your father growing up?” Mrs. Winters surprises me by asking.

“No.” I laugh. “Didn’t spend much time with him at all.”

“My father wasn’t around much either. Always off chasing the next business venture.”

“I wish that’s what my father was chasing,” I reply dryly.

She nods in understanding. Until a few minutes ago, I was certain there weren’t any secrets about my family in Landry. All our dirty laundry has been hung out for years.

The gondola’s doors slide open, revealing a black mat covered with snow that’s been condensed and carved.

Abigail exits first. I follow her lead, hastily looping the straps of my ski poles around my wrists. I was hoping these could be used to slow or stop. Everyone zooming down the slope seems to be using them to go faster.

“Ready?” Abigail asks, snapping a pair of goggles into place.

I swallow. “Yep.”

“We’ll veer left first, then tilt to the right, then back again. Nice and easy.”

She’s off before I say anything. I take a deep gulp of cold air, then shove off from the snow. Despite barely brushing the frozen surface, I’m in motion immediately. Wind rushes past, chilling my ears and making my throat burn. I hastily close my mouth.

The motion is smooth. It’s not the rocking feeling I typically associate with crossing the ground at this speed. It’s a glide, even and direct.

Abigail turns to the right, sending a spray of snow off to the side. My attempt to mimic her is nowhere near as graceful, but it results in me heading to the right rather than straight into the pines that line the edge of the groomed snow.

It becomes a rhythm. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right.

Down, down, down, until the trees lining the path disappear and we’re at the bottom of the mountain, staring at the massive lodge.

“Wow,” I say. I turn slightly, and a couple of handfuls of snow go flying off to the side. The spray makes me feel like a professional skier.

“You made it,” Abigail tells me. It’s hard to tell beneath her scarf, but I think she’s smiling.

“Yeah,” I pant. Residual adrenaline is warming my blood.

“Shall we go again, or get a drink inside the lodge?” Abigail asks.

Another run sounds like tempting fate. “I’m a little thirsty.”

This time, she definitely smiles.

We unclip our skis and clomp inside the lodge in the uncomfortable boots. It’s strange being inside such a formal, fancy atmosphere dressed in heavy snow gear.

“Table for two, miss?” A waiter wearing an actual tuxedo appears.

“Please,” Abigail replies.

“Right this way.”

He grabs two menus and heads for a corner table that overlooks the bottom of the mountain. Thankfully, it’s a short walk from the entrance. I’m less graceful in the boots than I was in the skis. Abigail makes it look effortless.

“I’ll be back shortly to take your order.” The waiter fills our glasses with water, then disappears.

I shrug off my jacket before opening the menu and surveying the contents. Lobster, caviar, venison, and steak are the first four menu options. I close it and take a sip of water.

Maybe I chose wrong. At least hurtling down the mountain, I didn’t have to make small talk. I’m bad at it under the best of circumstances. This isn’t those.

“What can I get you ladies?” The waiter has already returned. I guess the nicer the place, the faster the service.

Abigail glances at me. “Is noon too early for alcohol on vacation?”

Her tone is almost…teasing. I swallow and shake my head. “I don’t judge.”

Too late, I worry she’ll take the response as a dig. But Abigail’s expression doesn’t change. “A Bloody Mary, please. And some french fries.”

I blink at her. That’s about the last order I would have expected.

“Lennon?”

“Uh, I’ll have the same. Thanks.”

Abigail looks out the window as our waiter disappears, seemingly lost in thought. I fiddle with the hem of the tablecloth.

“You’re hoping to become a journalist?” she asks me suddenly.

“Yes,” I reply. “We’ll see. It can be a tough career to break into.”

She nods. “You will. Austin wasn’t the only one who read the article you wrote on Caleb in high school. You’re a very talented writer.”

“Thank you,” I respond.

“You two weren’t dating at the time?”

“No. I’d started to develop some feelings, but we weren’t dating.”

“Why not?” Abigail flushes as soon as she asks the question. Actually looks embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s none of business.”

“No, it’s fine. I, uh—” I look outside, then back at the table. “I was worried. I didn’t want to fall in love with him. Our lives were so different. He was Caleb Winters, this huge deal. I didn’t want to get hurt. To admit I cared just for him to leave and never look back.”

“That’s understandable,” Abigail says.

I nod. “It didn’t make a difference, though. Even knowing I could get hurt didn’t change how I felt. So I admitted it to him, still thinking we wouldn’t last. But he…”

“Looked back,” Abigail supplies.

“Yeah.” I smile. “He did. Has.”

“Here you ladies go.” The waiter returns, setting down two glasses filled with red liquid and garnished with celery and olives on the table, followed by a steaming plate of fries. “Anything else?”

“We’re all set, thanks,” Abigail replies.

Once the waiter is gone, she raises her drink and tilts it toward me. “Happy Thanksgiving, Lennon.”

Hastily, I pick up my glass. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Winters.”

She laughs. “Call me Abigail, please.”

I smile before sipping my drink. It’s good. Fresh and zesty, with a hint of spice. I can’t taste the alcohol at all.

“I took a journalism course my freshman year at Emory,” Abigail tells me as we dig into the fries.

“Really?”

She nods. “I decided pretty early on it wasn’t for me. I probably should have dropped it, but I was raised to believe that the worst thing you could be called is a quitter. So I stuck it out. Back then, I thought I’d have a few years on my own to try lots of things on for size. I met Austin, he proposed, and I knew I’d never have a career.”

“Did you want to?”

“I never thought about it. Richard was a rising political star; Caleb had just been born. It was easy to get swept up in being a Winters.”

“I’d imagine so,” I reply.

“You’ll replace out soon.”

“Caleb and I are a long ways off from that,” I say quickly.

Abigail smiles. “Caleb and Austin don’t have much in common. Caleb’s grown up into twice the man Austin will ever be. But they’re both charming and persuasive. It might come sooner than you think.”

She laughs at my expression, then asks me another question about Clarkson. And shockingly, it feels…nice.

The bedroom door creaks open quietly. A few seconds later, the mattress dips. I roll over, blinking at Caleb.

Everyone was gone when Abigail and I returned to the chalet. Caleb was hanging out with Jake and Colt, the St. Jameses had headed into town, and Austin had a meeting.

I came upstairs and worked more on my essay for the Fulright Fellowship application. At some point, I fell asleep.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You’re smiling,” he comments. “And your legs don’t look broken.” His hand runs up my leg, resting on the curve of my hip.

“We only went down the mountain once,” I confess. “But I survived.”

“Once? What time did you get back?”

I glance at my laptop. “About an hour ago.”

“You were gone for a while, then.”

“We went to a restaurant afterward.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. Your mom ate fries.”

Caleb chuckles. “Wow.”

“Also…she told me some stuff. About her and your dad.”

Up until this exact second, I hadn’t decided whether to tell Caleb about what his mom mentioned to me.

“What stuff?”

I pull in a deep breath. “She told me he cheated on her. With my mom.”

I’m expecting shock. Disgust. Anger. Not for him to calmly blink and say, “I know.”

“What? How?”

“I broke into the safe in his office once, sophomore year of high school. I was bored and we’d just had an argument. There was an old receipt in there for some fancy jewelry. And the delivery address was your family’s farm. Pretty easy to do the math. I knew what their relationship was—is—like. I’d be surprised if there haven’t been other women, honestly.”

“So you knew that was why your mom disliked me so much?”

“I figured that was part of it,” he replies. “But don’t let her use this as some get-out-of-jail-free card, Len. You’re not responsible for what your mom got involved in. It should never have mattered in the first place.”

“Your mom thinks you don’t know.”

“She’s always wanted to pretend like we’re this perfect family. I knew it would hurt her, knowing I knew. So I’ve never said anything about it.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” I ask.

“Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“It has nothing to do with us, Lennon.”

“We’re talking about our parents! It’s weird. Gross.”

“We’re totally on the same page there. But what does it change? Do you love me less?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you know what I’d say to your mom if I ever got to meet her when she was still alive?”

“Stop gambling at the track so your daughter and your father don’t end up broke?”

He chuckles. “No. I wouldn’t ask her about my dad, either. I’d thank her for being the person who brought you into this world.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I look away from him. “For fuck’s sake, Caleb. You can’t just say stuff like that to me.”

Caleb’s always been far better at expressing his emotions than I am, but it’s moments like these when I realize just how far out of my league I am with him in the romance department. I have no idea where he gets it from. His parents certainly aren’t a model relationship.

Caleb laughs and rolls onto his back. I climb onto him, settling on the center of his chest and listening to the reassuring thud of his heart.

“Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?” I whisper.

“What do you mean?” Caleb murmurs back.

“I mean that the first time I saw you, I never thought we’d end up here. Never thought you’d be the person I’d be lying beside almost eight years later.”

“Yeah, I think about it,” he murmurs.

I close my eyes and snuggle closer.