Page 59 of Tastes Like Watermelon Moonshine
The tailgate slams as I close it. I kick a clod of dirt as I walk back to my door and climb in. The blanket and picnic basket are still in the truck bed. I’ll just have Mom or Coach return the basket in the morning. I don’t want to see the disappointment in Raegan's eyes or face her dad’s wrath if I go drop it off.
I peel out of the field in a cloud of dust. Thankfully, I know my way to the main road without having to go near the Double C’s house or barns. I roll the windows all the way down and let the breeze dry the tears on my face. I turn on the radio, and the country station comes on.Try Losing One.Yeah, Mr. Country crooner… I did it. And it sucks.
I end up at the high school baseball field. No lights are on, but I know where the balls and bats are stored. The bucket of baseballs is heavy and pulls on my shoulder as I lug it to the batter’s box.
I sink into my stance and toss the ball up into the air. I can’t even see it, but it’s all muscle memory, and the clink sounds as the metal bat makes contact with leather and cork. The pinging sound continues as I tear through the bucket of balls. The sound and the feel silencing some of the chaos in the head and heart.
Groping around in the empty bucket, I realize that I’m out of balls. The bat thuds as I throw it down in the dirt and drop to my knees on home plate.
My chin quivers and the tears start again. “I’m sorry God. I’m sorry Rae. God, don’t take my sunshine away.” My cry is just a whisper now.
I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. I don’t know if I’ll ever talk to God again. I’m broken. Ruined. I’ve become the man I despise.
Raegan
My tears stream, unchecked.
I run until I stumble and trip under one of the oaks nearly in my parent’s backyard. My chest heaves. I brace a hand on the bark of the tree, and empty my stomach.
“No, God, no.” I cry out. I slump down, leaning my back against the tree. Pain stings its way through my consciousness as the bark bites into my back, but I don’t care. I deserve the pain. I deserve all the pain. All the punishments. I feel like a heathen. I didn’t stop us. I could have. I should have. But I didn’t. Me, the good girl. My friends and I were part of the virgin minority in high school. But I’m not. Not anymore.
I tilt my head back, and stare at the sky. “God!” I cry out. “I’m so sorry, God. I didn’t mean to.” I sniffle and wipe the tears away. “It was everything I imagined. But why didn’t You stop us? You could’ve helped, You could’ve stopped us. Where were You?” I pound the ground beside me with my fists.
I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my cheek on them, the tears rolling from my cheeks down my legs now.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here, crying. But I’m out of tears now, I think.
I wipe the tears away, and then I stand and dust off my backside. I guess it’s time to face the music. I hope my parentsdon’t hate me. It’s not like I went out and planned to have sex. But I didn’t stop us. I should have. Icouldhave. But I didn’t.
Mom is in the kitchen as I open the back screen door. She glances up from where she’s folding and stretching a ball of sourdough. “Hey, girlie.” When she finally notices my puffy face she wipes off her hands and rushes over to me. “Do you want to talk about it?” She probably just thinks I’m sad because of saying goodbye.
This is why I love my mom. She doesn’t assume anything. She just comforts her daughter. I don’t deserve it. My tears start up again. Dang it, I thought I’d exhausted my supply.
“I messed up, Mom.” I finally manage to whisper. “I messed up big time.” I gasp out. “We didn’t mean to, you know? It just… I wanted him to choose me over baseball.” I cling to her. Soaking her apron with my tears. Her hands rubbing my head and my back. She doesn’t question me. She doesn’t scold me. She just holds me. And when I finally tell her about the lemonade, and the sex, she cries with me, and comforts me.
Chapter 28
Raegan - The Present
Coachushersmeintohis and Ms. Rosa’s cozy Victorian house and the smell of cloves and cinnamon wafts around me to the tune of a Spanish Christmas carol. He makes a face at Grace which makes her smile and giggle before leading us back to the den where Ms. Rosa sits in one of the recliners, wrapped in an afghan.
“Get settled and I’ll bring out some cookies.” He presses a kiss to Ms. Rosa’s paper thin cheek. “Do you need anything, cariña?”
“Just a cup of tea.” Her eyes are still bright, but her voice is shaky. Not nervous shaky, more like a tired, run-down shaky.
“How are you, Ms. Rosa?” I settle Grace down with a few toys and situate myself in the other recliner.
“Same as always. God is sustaining me.” I knew it would be that answer. “Grace has grown. Getting bigger every day. I betshe’ll be walking before you know it.” Her eyes drift from Grace back to me. “Those early days sure fly by.”
I nod and swipe away the tear trying to make an escape down my cheek. Those days do go fast. Grace loves the freedom she has with crawling, and I miss holding her close and burying my nose in her hair all the time.
Coach pops back into the room with a plate of cookies, a mug of tea, and a large manila folder. “Do you need me to go over any of the papers?”
Ms. Rosa waves a hand. “I’ll call for you if I need you.”
I stare at the manila folder curiously. It’s much thicker than the one she usually brings. The one that contains all the financials and anything else we might need to go over.
“Now, before you say anything, you just sit and listen.”
