Page 74 of Small Town Frenzy
Griffin does a double take. “You met my brother?”
“Yes. Downtown. He was really nice. Talked to me about one of the available spaces.” They all groan in unison, causing my jaw to slip.
Christine laughs. “Sounds like Baylor. Did he get you to sign on the dotted line?”
“No,” I reply under a gentle roll of laughter.
Moving closer to me, Griffin sets Jacob, who’s still clinging to the empty basket, back on his feet. “He’s really good at closing deals.”
“No deals were closed today. At least, not with me.” When I see Griffin smirk, the gaffe I made glares like a beacon. This man closed a few deals himself last night on that back porch daybed of his. I wouldn’t be opposed to closing a few more after hours, except I can’t. No babysitter on duty tonight.
Griffin comes to stand next to me, his hand on Jacob’s shoulder like it’s natural. I don’t even think he realizes what he’s doing, and I know Jacob doesn’t mind because he’s still standing with Griffin like he’s his new favorite hero. My son looks up at me, and says, “Potty, Mommy.”
I look at Griffin. “Do you mind if I take him inside to use the bathroom?”
“No. Go right ahead. We’ll be here.”
Taking Jacob’s hand, I lead him toward the house. Conversation picks up behind us, but from the words I catch, it’s casual and jovial. When we enter the house, I do aquick scan, knowing we’re running low on time before he has an accident. I gesture toward the hall. “Come with me.”
The bathroom is tucked under the stairs. We slip inside, and I help unlatch his belt buckle. He takes care of the rest. I’m used to stark white and marble bathrooms designed by my mother. This bathroom is decorated in gold-hued towels with matching flowers on the shower curtain. A dark brown rug is situated over laminate flooring. Although the style has probably passed by a decade or more, the colors are warm, and it makes the small space feel cozy.
After a quick handwash, we return to the front of the house, but instead of going straight for the door, Jacob dashes upstairs. The fastest kid. Wonder where he gets it? It’s not from my Pilates-loving body. “No, Jacob. Come back. This isn’t our home.” Completely ignored, I huff. I glance at the front door, then back up to the top of the stairs, where he’s already disappeared. “Jacob?” I really don’t want to get busted like I’m snooping around the place, but this kid’s not listening to me.
I’ll be quick, retrieve him, and get out.
I dash up the stairs and stop on the landing to whisper-yell, “Jacob, come here right now.”
No response. “You’re going to get into trouble if you don’t come out here.” The sound of a small crash has me dashing to the farthest bedroom from the stairs. I push the door all the way open to find Jacob sitting on the floor with a baseball glove close to fitting on his hand. I whisper, “We can’t be in here, buddy. It’s not our house.”
“Glove.”
“Yes, it is.” I drop down to my knees to take it from him but then stop. Seeing him look so proud as he holds the leather in his hands has me wishing he could have it. Unfortunately, it’s not mine to give. I let him play with it a momentlonger when I notice a baseball card sandwiched in acrylic knocked over at his feet. I pick it up and run my finger over the front. Griffin was much younger but still sports a familiar smirk as he’s caught in action, throwing a ball.
“It’s my rookie card.” Griffin’s voice carries from the doorway, but there’s no anger attached to it. “Might be worth some money one day or, like me, left with no value at all.”
I stand and go to him. With the card still in hand, I glance down at it and meet his gaze again. “You have more value than a card ever could.”
“Tell that to the collectors.”
Poking him in the chest, I reply, “I’m telling that to you.”
He slides his hands around my waist before quickly retreating when his eyes land on Jacob again. Shifting around me, he sits on the floor, leaning against the bed, and pulls Jacob onto his lap. With a little tug here and an adjustment to twist the glove so it’s on correctly, he says, “Fits like a glove.”
“Was that your glove?”
“When I was his age. It’s just memorabilia my mom saved that’s collecting dust. He can have it if he wants.”
I set the framed card on the desk under the window and sit on the edge of the bed, my leg bumping up against his bicep. “We can’t take that.”
“Why not? It’s going to sit here, and the leather will just crack even more if it doesn’t get conditioned and used like it’s meant to be.”
Jacob hasn’t made a peep, sitting contentedly on his lap and playing with the glove. I rub Griffin’s shoulder, and say, “That’s very generous of you.” But as much as he wants to shrug it off like it’s nothing, I know what he’s doing. It’s not about being conditioned or used. It’s about giving his son a piece of his legacy, a part of him. Tears start to fill thecorners of my eyes, so I tilt my head back in a fruitless attempt to force them to return to where they came from.
It doesn’t work. One slips down, and another slides down the opposite cheek. I wipe them away with the inside collar of the shirt I’m wearing and then look around the room. Trophies line two shelves hanging on the wall next to the window, ribbons with medals adorning the bottom dangle from hooks underneath. A column of baseball bats lines the wall from ceiling to floor in one area of the small room. And cowboy hats for all occasions appear to float on the light blue painted wall facing the bed.
The bed. I actually laugh from the size of it, which feels so good after having my heart squeezed from the loft of what I’ve witnessed between them. “You don’t even fit on this bed, and you’ve been sleeping here?”
“I’ve been sleeping here because it’s the only bed I have.” He looks up at me behind him, and says, “Anything bigger wouldn’t fit in this room, so I make do like I always have.”
