Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“It was sad,” Meg agreed. “He needed to work through it, and I had to give him the time and space to do it. Maybe Tyler just needs time to work through this.”
“I don’t know,” I said miserably. “He seemed pretty determined when he left here last night. I got the feeling it was goodbye for good.”
Sylvia showed up a little while later, and I went through it all again, complete with more tears and soggy tissues.
After two pots of coffee, my sisters said they had to get going, but each of them hugged me tightly before they left. “Don’t give up,” Sylvia whispered fiercely in my ear. “If you love him, don’t give up.”
Frannie called and said she was so sorry she’d been unable to get away, but she was dying to talk to me. “Can you meet up later?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I do have tonight off.”
“Then come over,” she pleaded. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
I spent the rest of the day doing laundry, cleaning my condo, and trying not to think about Tyler. But it was impossible—everything reminded me of him, from the scent of his cologne clinging to my sheets to the bottle of whiskey he’d left on my kitchen counter. The toothpaste tube. The Netflix remote. The stairs. The couch. The bathtub.
I racked my brain, wondering what, if anything, I could have done differently yesterday to prevent Tyler from leaving.
But no matter which way I pulled at the threads, the end result was always a knot I couldn’t untangle. People would talk—it was a fact. And Tyler was still a hot news commodity. If people did figure it out, my life would be affected—and possibly Chip’s too . . . I could see the headline now. Baseball’s Hottest Head Case Has Secret Son.
We’d face social media blow-ups and news media scrutiny and judgment from people around town about the “scandal.” People would stare. They would gossip. They might say ugly, hurtful things that made me feel bad about myself.
Had Tyler been right to leave?
At one point, I sat down at the kitchen table to work on the toast I had to give at the retirement party, but I ended up reading the letter from Robin Carswell over and over again. Staring at Chip’s picture.
That grin of his took the edge off some of my sadness. If there was a silver lining in all this, it was that I’d still get to meet my son. I’d focus on that.
I opened my laptop and composed an email to Robin.
Dear Robin,
Thank you so much for writing me back. What a shock to realize we all live so close! I am very excited about meeting Chip, and I loved seeing his photograph and hearing about his interests. He’s so handsome, and it sounds like he’s also smart and kind and talented. You must be very proud.
I was so sorry to learn of Chuck’s passing, and I’m sure the last year has been difficult. If this feels like the wrong time to add to your emotional burden by introducing me to your son, please let me know. I do not want to make things harder for you.
If you would like to discuss things over the phone, my number is below.
Sincerely,
April Sawyer
I hit send and closed my laptop.
Twenty-Four
Tyler
As soon as I got back to my house in San Diego, I took a sleeping pill, crashed into bed, and slept hard. When I woke up, it was already getting dark outside. I dug one of Anna’s meal containers out of the freezer, microwaved it according to her instructions, and ate it sitting alone at my kitchen island.
When I was done, I took a shower, threw on some clean sweats, and fell onto my couch. I knew I should call my sister, and David Dean had been trying to get ahold of me too, but I couldn’t handle talking to either one of them yet. They’d only make me feel worse.
I sent Sadie a text saying I was sorry for leaving so fast and telling her I’d call her in a day or so. I sent one to David Dean apologizing again for the incident at the Jolly Pumpkin and saying I’d decided to return to California after all, so the school didn’t have to worry about their offer. I wished him well for the rest of the season and asked him to please tell the team how much I’d enjoyed working with them.
Every time I thought about Chip Carswell, I felt sick.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have, deep down, a kind of pride that he was my biological son. I did. I couldn’t help it. He was a great kid—smart, talented, strong, respectful, popular. What more could any father ask for in a son? But I wasn’t his father, and it felt wrong to think of myself that way. I’d forfeited that privilege when I’d walked away from him. From April. From the whole situation. I’d justified it the way I always justified everything back then—what mattered was my baseball career, and anything that threatened it had to be cut off at the source.