Sunday Kind of Love (9 page)

At the plate, Hank also started slow, his timing off, rusty, the ball arriving faster than he expected. Jed pitched for his team, throwing gas. Hank looked blankly at the first strike, quickly past him and into the catcher's mitt with a crack. Somehow, he managed to foul off the second pitch, but then completely whiffed on the third, swinging far too late and eliciting a string of triumphant curse words from Jed that followed him all the way back to the makeshift dugout.

The next time, Hank stayed patient, more relaxed, wanting to atone for his earlier failure, and lashed a hit into the outfield gap. Running hard, he ended up with a double, causing Jed to let loose with more swearing, though this time there wasn't any humor in it.

The game went back and forth, one team scoring a couple of runs but then the other answering. After making another tough defensive play, Hank realized that for an hour or so, he hadn't thought about his father, Pete, or what Warren Foster had said to him. He was simply playing the game he loved, sweat dripping from his brow, shouting encouragement to his teammates, desperately wanting to win.

But then, in the top of the ninth inning, things began to unravel. With the score tied and two outs, the other team strung together a couple of hits, pushing across a run and taking the lead. With runners on second and third, and with Jed, their best hitter, coming to the plate, Skip walked off the mound.

“You're gonna have to get him,” he said, plopping the ball in Hank's glove.

“There's only one out to go. You can do it.”

His friend shook his head. “My arm feels like it's about to fall off. If I keep goin', he's gonna put us even farther behind. It's up to you.”

Hank took the mound and started tossing a few warm-up throws to his catcher. The first was off target but he soon began to feel more comfortable, the ball leaving his hand and quickly meeting leather at the other end of its journey. Hank did his best to ignore Jed as he stood off to the side, smirking.

“Let's see what you got,” Jed snarled when he stepped into the batter's box.

The first pitch was wide for a ball, but the second caught the edge of the plate. Jed kept right on grinning. The third toss felt good leaving Hank's hand, but it appeared to be just what the other man had been waiting for. Jed crushed it, the crack of the ball meeting his bat sounding explosive, and it sailed off into the afternoon sky. Hank whipped around, staring at it, willing it to go foul; by a miracle it did, drifting too far left and disappearing into the woods beyond.

“Another one just like that,” Jed told him. “I'll straighten it out.”

Hank rubbed his new baseball hard, feeling its raised stitches, trying to calm his nerves.

“Blow it by him,” Skip said; he'd taken Hank's place at shortstop. “Strike that loudmouthed asshole out!”

Hank toed the pitching rubber, staring at the catcher's mitt. He took a deep breath, went into his short wind-up, and let loose of the baseball, sending it whistling toward the plate. Jed's muscles tensed as he swung with all of his considerable might, his arms fully extended. For a moment, it felt to Hank as if time stood still, but then it raced forward, the ball arriving where it was supposed to, safely in the catcher's mitt, Jed's bat hitting nothing but air.

He'd struck him out.

Now Hank's team had one last chance to tie the score, maybe even go for the win. Things started poorly with two quick outs while Hank was still several batters away from getting his chance. Then their fortunes turned. A bloop single dropped in front of an outfielder. A wild pitch advanced the runner. Skip was up next and lashed a hard hit past the diving third baseman, allowing his teammate to race around the bags and just beat the throw home, kicking up a cloud of dust. They had tied it up. Yet another hit moved Skip around to third, ninety feet away from scoring the winning run. A walk followed, loading the bases.

And Hank was up to bat.

It was obvious to him that Jed was gassed, his arm tired from all the pitches it had thrown, but unlike Skip, he showed no sign of giving up the baseball; it wasn't like any of his flunkies was going to ask for it. Instead, he furiously kicked at the mound as if it had insulted him. Climbing up on the pitching rubber, he scowled toward the plate, not wanting to back down.

Just toss it up here and I'll do the rest…

“Knock it outta here!” Skip shouted from down the line.

Hank knew that this was his big chance. He could win the game. No matter what Skip said, he wasn't looking to hit a homer. All he had to do was make solid contact with the ball, and he felt certain that something good would happen. Keeping his hands loose on the bat, he watched as Jed went into his windup, came toward the plate, let loose, and—

The ball hit him in the ribs.

“Take that, you no-good son of a bitch!” Jed yelled.

Hank stood there, staring, as hot pain began shooting across his side. They'd won the game, the winning run scored because he had been hit, but he didn't give a damn. Anger flooded him and Hank made no effort to hold it back. Instead, he embraced it. He was dimly aware of Skip shouting, still trying to play peacemaker, but Hank wasn't listening. Next thing he knew, he was at the mound, his fists flying, hitting Jed Ringer as hard as he could. A punch landed on his chin, then someone slammed into his back. Fortunately for Hank, not everyone who was rushing to join in the fight was there to hurt him. He kept brawling, so angry that he hardly felt anything. Incredibly, in the midst of the brawl, Hank was reminded of what had happened with Gwen.

Even when he won the game, he somehow ended up losing.

G
WEN LIFTED HER FACE
to the afternoon sun, reveling in its warmth. Three days had passed since she'd nearly drowned in the river, and every single one of them had been spent cooped up in her parents' house. It had been comforting having her mother close by, bringing her meals and anything else she might need, but it'd been a little suffocating, too. Finally, when she'd regained much of her strength, the urge to go outside and stretch her legs, to breathe fresh air, to be well and truly alone had become too powerful for Gwen to ignore.

“Are you sure you're feeling up to it?” Meredith had asked.

If I stay here one minute longer, I'm going to burst!
Gwen had wanted to scream, but instead she had kissed her mother's cheek and headed out the door.

Oddly enough, Gwen found herself retracing the steps she'd taken the night of her accident. In the daylight, she noticed things that hadn't been visible during the storm, like the Levitts' new garage and that Yvonne Walker had repainted her house, going from white to green.

Standing at the intersection of Maple and Roosevelt, she once again looked at the burned-down house she'd seen just after arriving back in town. Stan Nunn's home remained nothing but charred wreckage. Even after the downpour, the smell of burnt wood continued to cling to the air. Gwen thought about taking out her new notebook to write down a few observations, but in the end she decided against it. She didn't want to stay still for long.

Still, even as she continued on her way, her thoughts were slowly but steadily drawn away from her surroundings.

Gwen couldn't stop thinking about Kent.

Just as Kent had promised, he had called once he'd arrived back in Chicago and continued to keep his word the following night. He had rambled on and on, his voice rising with excitement as he overwhelmed her with the details of his court case. It was only at the very end of their conversation that he'd bothered to ask how she was feeling. But then last night, at the appointed time, the phone had stayed silent. At first Gwen had brushed it off, figuring that Kent was running late, that he would still call. Even her mother had joined in making excuses for him, declaring that whatever it was that was keeping him had to be important. Gwen wasn't so sure. In the end, the clock had kept ticking, the hour hand relentlessly moving forward, until she'd finally given up and gone to bed. When she'd woken this morning, Gwen hadn't been angry, not really, more disappointed.
This
was why she hadn't accepted Kent's proposal.
This
was why she worried about ever becoming a writer.
This
was why she sometimes wondered whether she would be the most important part of his life.

And then there was Hank Ellis…

Ever since her mother had told her to forget about him, Gwen couldn't help but do the opposite. She had plenty of questions and no answers. Why had Hank jumped into the raging river, risking his own life to save hers? How had he felt when her father ordered him out of their house? Had he really been responsible for his brother's death? Gwen even wondered what Hank looked like. In those hazy moments after he'd pulled her from the water, she hadn't gotten a good look at him before falling unconscious. She had continued to try to talk with her parents about him, but every question she asked was met with a frown or a short answer. Gwen could see that her father, in particular, was growing increasingly annoyed that she wasn't letting the matter drop.

“No daughter of mine needs to bother herself with a man like that!” he'd loudly declared before returning to his newspaper.

But for Gwen, it wasn't that simple. Her parents' evasiveness only made Hank
more
interesting, like a mystery she needed to solve. The writer inside her grew curious. She wanted to ask questions, to learn truths or, at the very least, to have a face to go with his name. Deep down, though, Gwen knew that she couldn't let go so easily.

She strolled down Main Street, glancing in store windows, waving to people she knew, genuinely enjoying her day. Gwen was just wondering whether she should stop in the diner for a bite of lunch when the door to the drugstore opened and revealed a very familiar face.

“Sandy!” she shouted with joy.

Sandy Pedersen was her oldest, dearest friend. She hadn't changed much since the last time Gwen had seen her. Sandy was short, with expressive green eyes, auburn hair that barely touched her shoulders, and a smile bright enough to rival the sun. But there
was
something incredibly different about her, a detail far too obvious to miss.

She was very, very pregnant.

Sandy's large belly strained so hard against the buttons of her blouse that it looked as if they might pop off at any moment. Even though her mother had told her that Sandy was expecting, Gwen was still surprised. But Sandy's bulging stomach didn't deter her from excitedly wrapping her arms around her old friend.

“Gwen!” Sandy exclaimed. “I heard you were back! I'm sorry I haven't come over or called, but…” she said, then stepped back to show off her belly. “I have a lot on my plate these days.”

“I can see that,” Gwen agreed, unable to look away.

Seeing her interest, Sandy said, “You can touch it if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

Sandy laughed. “Don't worry. I won't crack like an egg!”

Not quite able to believe Sandy's claim, Gwen gently placed her hand on her friend's swollen belly. It was harder than she expected, almost like stone. Imagining that there was a baby in there made Gwen smile.

“Pretty crazy, isn't it?” Sandy asked.

Gwen could only nod.

Just then, something pushed against her fingers. From the inside. Stunned, Gwen yanked her hand away. “What…what was that?” she asked in amazement.

“A kick or a punch,” Sandy answered matter-of-factly.

“Does that happen often?”

“All the time. When I'm trying to sleep, when I eat, even walking down the sidewalk.” Sandy rubbed her stomach with affection. “He's a feisty little bugger.”

“It's a boy?” Gwen exclaimed.

“Well, there's no way to know for certain,” her friend admitted. “But John's convinced. Every time he talks to the baby, he calls it ‘Junior.' He's bought baseballs, army men, popguns, every last thing a little boy could dream of playing with.” Sandy smiled mischievously. “Imagine his surprise if it's a girl.”

The mention of her husband made Gwen realize one other thing that had changed. Her friend was no longer Sandy Pedersen; her last name was now Fiderlein. When Gwen had left for school at Worthington, when she'd begun to make a life for herself in Chicago, it wasn't as if time had stood still back in Buckton. Sandy had gotten married, started a family, done all the things she'd talked about doing when they were girls.

But while Sandy's dreams had come true, Gwen doubted that either of them had expected their friendship to drift apart. When Gwen had originally left town, they'd sworn through tears that nothing would change, that they would write and call every chance they had, and, for a while, that's just what they did. But with time, the letters and telephone visits grew less and less frequent. Learning of Sandy's pregnancy from her mother had been another sign that they were no longer as close. But now, seeing her old friend again, Gwen felt as if all the distance between them had vanished, disappearing like so much smoke. For that, she couldn't have been happier.

They moved to the bench in front of Al Lemon's shoe repair shop so that Sandy could get off her feet and sit in the shade of the awning. There, Gwen pressed for details about her pregnancy: if she'd had any unusual food cravings, how she had decorated the baby's nursery, whether they'd chosen a name, and if she was nervous about giving birth. Sandy answered honestly, her responses peppered with laughter. It was obvious she was excited about becoming a mother.

“Enough about me,” Sandy finally said. “I want to know what it's like living in Chicago! Is it like the movies and magazines make it out to be?”

Gwen shrugged. “Maybe not
that
exciting.”

She talked about her time at Worthington, what it was like to live among so many people, how she'd eventually gotten used to the noise. She spoke of meals eaten at fancy restaurants, the bright lights up and down Michigan Avenue, and even what it was like to push her way onto a crowded train car. She talked about her apartment in the city, rented after she had graduated, small but cozy, a home of its own. Finally she talked about Kent, about how they had met, his important job, and that her parents adored him.

Sandy leaned closer, her voice lowering. “Is he handsome?”

Gwen nodded, a little embarrassed; she didn't want her friend to think she was bragging. “So is John,” she added.

The truth was, John Fiderlein and Kent Brookings couldn't have looked more different. Unlike Kent, who was prim, proper, and always impeccably dressed, Sandy's husband was big and boisterous, with broad, muscular shoulders, a man who didn't mind getting his hands dirty.

Sandy laughed. “I don't think you'll see John's face on any movie posters,” she said, “but he managed to steal my heart all the same.”

“He'll make a wonderful father.”

“He most definitely will,” her friend said, beaming as she rubbed her swollen belly. “Do you think you and Kent will get married?”

This was the very question Gwen had been struggling to answer. She considered opening up to Sandy, telling her about Kent's proposal, about how she wanted to become a writer, even about how she was willing to give up a man as wonderful as Kent if that's what it took to achieve her dream. But she couldn't do it. Instead, she smiled and nodded. “We'll see.”

“I'll be praying for you,” Sandy said.

Just then, as Gwen forced herself to match her friend's smile, a thought struck her, one she was unable to keep from voicing.

“What do you know about Hank Ellis?” she asked.

Sandy's expression soured, much like Gwen's mother's had. “Why are you asking about
him
?”

Gwen took a deep breath. “Because the other night, I had an accident…”

Starting from when her notebook had been blown out of her hand, she spoke of her harrowing time in the river. As Sandy listened, Gwen recounted how she'd been terrified, certain she was about to die, only to be miraculously pulled from the raging water.

“It wasn't until the next morning that I learned who had rescued me,” she finished. “It was Hank.”

“Are…are you all right?” Sandy managed.

“I am now,” Gwen answered. “But if it hadn't been for Hank, I have no doubt that I would've drowned. He saved my life.”

“I believe you, of course I do,” her friend said, “but it sure flies in the face of what everyone in town says about Hank.”

“Because of what happened to his brother?”

Sandy nodded somberly. “Before the accident, most folks in town likely didn't pay Hank much mind. He was always nice enough, but more quiet, something of a loner. But Pete was special,” she explained. “Everyone adored him. For him to die like that, especially after what happened to his mother, it caused people to turn on Hank. Now, most can't stand the sight of him. After all, it was his fault Pete died.”

“That would explain my father's reaction.”

Her pregnant friend's eyes narrowed. “What did he do?”

Gwen related what her mother had told her—that Warren had insinuated Hank might have been responsible for her misfortune, and that her father had eventually thrown him out of the house.

“That's terrible!” Sandy exclaimed. “Even with what happened to his brother, that doesn't mean Hank isn't capable of doing good. Saving your life is nothing short of heroic!”

Gwen was relieved to discover that she wasn't the only person who thought so. “I just wish I'd had the chance to thank him.”

“What's stopping you?” Sandy asked.

“My parents would be furious,” Gwen replied. “They made it perfectly clear that they don't want me to have anything to do with Hank.”

“It's not like you're going to marry the guy! He saved your life! The least you can do is tell him that you're grateful.”

“Do you really think I should?” Gwen asked, thinking about how angry her father got at the mere mention of Hank's name.

But Sandy didn't seem concerned. She nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely,” she said. “It would only be polite.”

Her friend's certainty began to grow on Gwen. “I suppose I could look up his address in the telephone directory.”

“He and his father live off Miller's Road,” Sandy added helpfully.

Gwen could see how it would happen. It was simple, really. She would go out to Hank's home, thank him for what he'd done, offer her condolences for Pete's death, and tell him that she was sorry for her father's rude behavior.

That would be that. There was only one problem.

Somehow, she had to convince her father to let her borrow the car.

When Gwen pushed open the door to the Buckton Bakery, she felt like a little girl again. Everything was just as she remembered, as if she'd been there only yesterday. Three glass display cases were lined up side by side, showing off the day's delicacies. On the wall behind, loaves of bread were arranged to catch a customer's eye. A brass cash register sat at one end, its keys worn smooth from decades of being pressed.

But the most familiar thing of all was the smell.

She recognized the richness of butter, the sweetness of sugar, the unmistakable hint of chocolate, a whiff of spices, all wrapped in the warmth of the ovens. Everything mixed together, creating an aroma that made her mouth water.

“Gwennie!” her father shouted as he stepped out of the back room. Flour dusted his hair and clothes. A smudge of chocolate darkened the corner of his mouth, evidence that he'd been sampling his work, trying to get the recipe just right. Even though Warren was messy, Gwen happily embraced him when he came to her with his arms wide. “Now ain't this a surprise! I didn't expect to see you up and about so soon,” he said. “You sure you're feelin' up to it?”