Left Field Love
: Chapter 7

When the numbers on my phone display a four and a five, I realize Caleb isn’t coming. I arrived at the field just before 5:30, again.

The smug satisfaction over having beaten Caleb here has long since faded; first I was annoyed, and now I’m smack dab in the midst of anger. Instead of being thrilled he stood me up, I’m pissed. Worse, I feel foolish. Caleb not showing didn’t even occur to me when I woke up extra early this morning.

The school won’t even be unlocked for another fifteen minutes. I literally have nothing to do except sit here and stew.

The parking lot fills slowly as the time ticks past. I should take advantage of the opportunity to accomplish something, but I’m too aggravated to focus right now. I just sit and stare out at the empty field, not really seeing anything in front of me.

Eventually, I leave the bleachers and head toward the entrance to the school. Andrew is walking along the sidewalk from the opposite direction. I march right up to him.

“I can’t do the article on Caleb. I tried. I really did. But I can’t do it.”

Shockingly, Andrew nods. I figured he’d freak out. Instead, he looks…understanding? “I get it, Lennon. I know where you’re coming from, but unless he tells you he can’t—”

“I told you this would happen, Andrew! The whole news staff heard me say it was a bad idea, but you insisted I do it.”

“Wait. What are you talking about?” Andrew asks.

“The interview with Caleb! I gave it a chance, and fine, he showed up the first time but this time—”

He cuts me off. “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” I reply. A trickle of unease interrupts the indignation when I see Andrew’s expression has turned somber.

“Senator Winters was rushed to the hospital last night. He died a couple of hours ago.”

“Oh.” That one syllable is all I can manage for a minute. “I hadn’t heard,” I add unnecessarily. I’m pretty sure my shocked expression already conveyed that to Andrew.

He nods grimly. “Needless to say, we’ll forget about the article for now. We’ll revisit it…later.” Andrew doesn’t expand on when that will be before continuing along the sidewalk, leaving me standing here.

News of Senator Winters’s death spreads like wildfire through the halls of Landry High. Everyone speaks in muted tones. Teachers offer amateur counseling services. A giant scroll of white paper is spread across three folding tables in the front lobby. A rainbow of scrawled condolences soon cover every inch.

I spend most of the day comparing the reaction to Senator Winters’s passing to my parents’ deaths, and I hate that I do. Loss isn’t any sort of competition. But I can’t help but compare the outpouring of support to the awkward condolences and subsequent shunning Gramps and I were subjected to.

Caleb isn’t back in school on Thursday. Or Friday. According to the rumor mill, he’s with his parents in the nation’s capital, attending some sort of memorial service being held there in honor of the late senator.

It’s announced a funeral will take place at the Winters’s estate on Sunday, so I know he’ll be back in Landry by then.

For years, I’ve wished Caleb Winters hadn’t moved here. But instead of appreciating his absence in English, I spend the class staring at his empty seat.

Sunday morning dawns dreary and overcast, matching my dismal mood. Wet weather always makes Gramps’s bad hip act up. After twenty minutes of hobbling around the farmhouse, he admits he won’t be able to attend Senator Winters’s funeral alongside what is sure to be most of Landry.

I was surprised to hear he was planning to go in the first place. As far as I know, my grandfather never so much as met the man. Caleb’s grandfather was like a legend; often discussed and rarely seen. It’s irrefutable he meant a lot to this town, so maybe that’s why Gramps was wanting to go.

Unfortunately, Gramps’s change of heart lands me in the uncomfortable predicament of deciding whether I should go. I thought the choice had already been made for me.

I deliberate for the entirety of the morning chores and my usual ride on whether I should go without him. A gathering of all of Landry’s snobs is ordinarily the last place I would choose to be, but I feel some strange compulsion to attend. Not going feels wrong, somehow.

Cassie replies to my text seconds after I send it, saying her family will pick me up on their way. Gramps seems surprised when I tell him I’m still going to the funeral. Over the years, he’s heard me complain plenty about Caleb. But he doesn’t ask why I’m attending, and I don’t offer up an explanation.

I own one black dress: a long-sleeved, sheath style. Paired with pantyhose, black flats, and a black cardigan, I look appropriately mournful. I hope. My bulky winter coat ruins some of the effect, but the moist air has a chilly bite that makes it a necessity.

After making certain Gramps is comfortable on the couch, I walk down the long driveway to wait for Cassie. Matthews Farm is a bit out of their way, so it will save some time, but the main reason I walk is I don’t want her family to see the rundown property. Once a majestic, maintained plot of land has become nothing more than a collection of buildings in desperate need of repair. If I had the time, money, or ability, there’s no shortage of pressing projects.

A shiny car pulls up a few minutes after I reach the mailbox. Josh gives me a wide grin when I climb in beside him, and Cassie’s parents greet me warmly as well. Every time I’ve interacted with them, they’ve both been perfectly polite, but I can’t help recalling the echo of their angry voices when we left for Marcus’s party as they say hello.

Cassie smiles across her brother at me.

It’s a five-minute drive to the massive wrought-iron gates that mark the entrance to the Winters’ estate. I’ve driven past the imposing ingress countless times on trips into downtown Landry. Like everything else in this town, location is a status symbol.

The properties closest to the center of town are some of the largest; claimed by those who settled here first and wanted to stable their horses close to the racetrack. All the properties surrounding the immediate downtown area, including the high school and racetrack, are owned by those who can actually trace their family lineage through our tiny town’s history.

Ironically, it’s the only way Caleb Winters and I are on equal footing when it comes to our families.

I thought the front gate of the Winters’ farm was ostentatious, but all it does is mask the majesty of the rest of the property. The tree-lined driveway winds and weaves for at least a mile before depositing us in a cobblestone circle comprised of light gray slabs of stone scrubbed so clean they gleam. Cassie’s dad parks half in the shadow cast by the main house.

Main house, because there’s more than one residence.

It’s obvious which one the Winters family lives in. Columns soar upward, framing the white front porch, the white front door, and the white shutters that frame every front-facing window.

Everything is white.

The house stands out like a drop of snow amongst the greenery that rolls out like an emerald carpet in every direction.

The second house is smaller, but not by much, and no less grand. The basic architecture is identical to that of the main house, only without some of the additional, more ornate details, like the front porch and scrolling columns. It looks like it could comfortably house at least a dozen people, and I’d be surprised if it doesn’t. I can only imagine the number of employees it must take to not only run a farm of this size, but to maintain the impeccable condition it so clearly is in. I barely have time to care for seven horses while neglecting every square inch of our property.

Last I heard, the Winters housed close to a hundred horses, and I know from personal experience pasture grass doesn’t look so green and plush naturally. Especially in winter.

There are a few groups of people milling around on the cobblestones, but everyone else seems to be heading behind the main house. Cassie’s parents and brother follow them, and she and I trail behind.

“This place is insane,” she whispers to me. “Can you imagine living here?”

“No, I can’t,” I reply honestly.

We round the side of the house. My eyes widen when I catch a glimpse of the crowd. The backyard is expansive, but it’s not nearly large enough to accommodate everyone. Two sides of the yard are buttressed by split-rail fencing, and those who weren’t able to claim one of the hundreds of folding chairs that have been set up have already taken spots along the wood to lean against.

Uniformed attendants are setting up more chairs on the paved patio connected to the back of the house, so Cassie and I follow her family over there. Her parents grab two of the few remaining seats. Cassie, Josh, and I all sit down on the stone wall that encloses the periphery of the patio.

Josh lets out a low whistle as he takes in the view. “This is crazy,” he remarks. “I thought people hated politicians.”

Silence suddenly falls, and everyone who was fortunate enough to claim a seat quickly takes it. A minister clad in a black robe walks toward the lectern that’s been set up, closely followed by Caleb’s parents. Then a woman who looks to be in her fifties, who I’ve never seen before.

Caleb appears last. He’s wearing a black suit that’s perfectly tailored. I can only see his profile, not his expression.

The minister thanks everyone for attending and then begins speaking. I tune most of what he says out, more interested in people-watching.

Until the minister’s gravelly voice is replaced by a familiar one.

“My grandfather was an important man. A proud man. He cared about this community. Where he came from. What legacy he wanted to leave behind. If you asked him why he decided to go into politics, he would say it was because he wanted to contribute something back to a place that had given him so much. That when he left Landry for college is when he truly appreciated all that it had given him. I thought it was just a soundbite one of his aides came up with during his first campaign.”

Polite laughter ripples through the crowd.

“But once we moved here, I understood what he meant.”

I frown at that, but everyone else looks enchanted.

“My grandfather did a lot of incredible things,” Caleb continues. “For this country. For this state. For this town. But no matter what happened with his career, what he loved most was the land we’re standing on now. He was never happier than when he was sitting in his study or watching one of his horses win the Landry Cup. Those moment are always how I’ll remember him. How he would have wanted to be remembered. Thank you all for coming. I know it would have meant a lot to my grandfather.”

Caleb steps away from the lectern, and the minister’s voice replaces his. “That concludes the service. The Winters family would like to invite you all to remain for some light refreshments. There will also be guest books circulated for any messages you’d like to convey or memories you’d like to share.” The service ends, my view of the lectern obscured as attendees rise from their seats to mill about.

“Did you know Caleb was giving a speech?” Cassie whispers to me.

“No, I had no idea.”

“Weird his parents didn’t speak, no?”

“I guess.” Truthfully, I know nothing substantial about Caleb’s family. Whether he’s close to either of his parents.

Cassie’s no longer paying attention, busy scanning the crowd instead. “I see Shannon and Eliza.” She waves. “Let’s go say hi.”

“I’ll come replace you guys in a few minutes. I’m just going to grab a drink,” I tell her before weaving through the crowd over to where the refreshments are spread out.

I fill a glass with lemonade and head toward the periphery of the nearest field. There’s a gray filly grazing only a few feet away from the fence. I lean against the closest post to study her. I hold my hand out, but the filly doesn’t venture over. She trots to a fresh patch of grass, tossing her mane haughtily.

“Is the whole town obsessed with horses?” I turn to see Josh walking over toward me. “No one here seems to want to talk about anything else.”

“Pretty much.”

“They are nice to look at,” Josh states. “Is this one old? He’s all gray.”

I laugh. “You don’t know much about horses, huh?”

“Nothing.” He grins.

“I’d guess she’s about two,” I inform him. “Wrong on both counts.”

“Tell me something else,” Josh says.

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

“You came.” A new voice joins our conversation.

I look to the right, and Caleb is standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks.

“Yeah.” My voice comes out too quiet, so I clear my throat. “I’m really sorry, Caleb. About your grandfather.”

“Thanks.” That’s all he says in response.

A heavy pause stretches between us, exacerbated by the sound of dozens of conversations happening around us. Moist mist swirls, coating my skin and infusing some texture into my ordinarily straight hair in what I hope is a flattering way but probably is not.

Josh senses the awkward tension, taking a few steps away. “I’m going to grab some food,” he states, before disappearing into the crowd.

Neither Caleb nor I say anything once he’s gone.

I can’t think of anything to say besides bringing up how our last conversation was not exactly a cordial one.

He takes a couple steps closer. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” I interject, cutting off his apology.

“I would have called to say I wasn’t coming, but I don’t have your number.”

I figured—understandably—that Caleb had totally forgotten he was supposed to meet me Wednesday morning. The knowledge he didn’t isn’t entirely welcome, causing an uncomfortable twinge in the center of my chest.

“Your speech was nice.” Caleb scoffs. I think it’s in response to my words, so I feel obligated to explain them. “I judged what people said to me after my parents died. But it wasn’t because I knew what they should say instead. I still don’t, obviously.”

“He was a dick.” The words are so quiet, I barely hear them.

“What?”

“My grandfather. He was a dick.”

“Oh.” I look away, back at the gray horse. I know I should follow that solitary syllable with more, but I’m too busy processing the curveball Caleb just threw at me. Why didn’t he just say thanks?

His honesty draws a little of my own out. “At least you tried,” I offer. “I didn’t—couldn’t—say anything about my dad. I just tossed some dirt. And that was that. I didn’t say anything. True or made up.”

I feel Caleb’s eyes on my face, so I keep mine fixed on the gray horse moving steadily away from us. “What about your mom?” he asks.

A long exhale of air rushes out of my mouth as I run a finger along the top of the rail. The white paint is flawless. There’s not even a small chip. “I read a poem. I was too young to come up with anything else, and it—losing her was different. She didn’t choose to go, you know?”

“Yeah,” Caleb says softly. “I know.”

And then he reaches out and rests his hand on top of mine. An electric jolt travels up my arm and shocks my entire system. It’s the accidental brush of our fingers amplified times a thousand. Because this isn’t accidental. It’s purposeful.

Heat spreads throughout my entire body, making my lungs tighten and my heart pound erratically.

“I should, uh, I told Cassie I’d be right back.” I pull my hand away, gnawing on my bottom lip.

Caleb nods, his face impassive. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “You’ll see me.”

“Okay.” I feel off-kilter and confused. Unsure. It shouldn’t be this difficult to have a conversation with Caleb Winters.

I turn and head back into the throng of people in search of Cassie.

Leaving him standing there.