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I closed my eyes, because it was the only way to stop myself from making an absolute creep out of myself and staring.
A few seconds later, I heard a small chuckle. “Did I catch you napping?” Nola was tilting her head and looking down curiously at me when I opened my eyes.
“Thanks for coming,” I said stiffly.
“Sure. Griff always bugs me to come here, but I usually can’t make myself brave the Manhattan traffic. I’m glad we came, though. It’s beautiful out.”
I nodded, trying not to dwell too long on the gentle curves of her face that were catching the morning sun—the pink softness of her lips.
“So,” she said, smoothing her dress across her thighs. “Your season starts in a week, right? At least that was what my phone said when I looked it up.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“And you’re going to play now?”
I nodded.
“Damon and Chris must be happy.”
“Chris is always happy. And Damon is relieved. I think the only thing that actually makes him happy is his family.”
Nola looked thoughtful. “It’s kind of hard to picture some people as family men.”
I couldn’t tell if she was talking about Damon or myself. The question felt like it hung in the air, almost an accusation. Where is his mom? Was it you who screwed things up? Why isn’t Ben happier?
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees and my hands clasped between them. “Families aren’t for everyone, I guess.”
“No.” Nola’s voice sounded so heartbroken and her eyes had gone distant. I realized she’d taken my careless words in an entirely different way.
I wasn’t sure what to say and found myself sitting quietly, grimacing toward the kids.
“Sorry,” Nola said suddenly. She ran a finger across her cheek, and I couldn’t be sure if she’d been crying or was just scratching an itch. Nola sat up a little straighter, putting on what looked like a slightly forced smile. “You can tell me I’m being nosy and to mind my own business if you want, but can I ask what the story is with Ben’s mom?”
“You’re being nosy,” I said. “But I want you to have all the tools you might need to help him, so I’ll allow it. Ben’s mom is Ally Callaway. And—”
“Wait. The Ally Callaway? The country singer?”
I nodded. “She wasn’t when she got pregnant. She was my high school girlfriend who liked theater and singing cover songs on the internet. Ben was an accident, but I was ready to take on the responsibility and she wasn’t. I said I’d take care of him, regardless of what she wanted to do. And she handed him off, then went away to chase her dreams.” I shrugged a little. “Part of me always wondered if she’d regret it eventually. Want to come back and see how he turned out.”
“She hasn’t even seen him?” Nola asked.
“She does call sometimes. The last time was Christmas, and she wanted to know if he knew who she was. I told her the truth. I wasn’t going to tell Ben shit about her unless she wanted to commit to being part of his life again.”
“What did she say?”
“She hung up.”
Nola sat back, eyes drifting toward the boys. “Poor little guy. Maybe that’s why Griff and him have clicked so naturally. They both got abandoned in their own ways.”
“Your parents…” I said.
“You’re being nosy,” Nola said with a sad little smile. “But I’ll allow it. It was a car crash. I was excited because they finally trusted me to babysit him. I had to beg and beg for them to let me watch him while they went to dinner. They gave in at the last minute, and sometimes I wonder if—”
“Don’t torture yourself with that.” I didn’t remember putting my hand on her thigh, but at some point, she’d put her small hands over mine as well and dug her fingers into my palm. I wrote it off, tossing it to the back of my mind as a natural need for contact when people dredge up the darkest corners of their minds.
Nola nodded twitchily, rubbing at her eye. This time she was crying, and I hated myself for being careless enough to ask her such a sensitive question.
“I think,” I said, talking, ironically, without thinking—talking because if I didn’t find a way to make her feel better, I’d be cradling her in my arms next. I’d be running my fingers through her scarlet hair and across her back, doing whatever I could to ease her pain. “If you spend too much time in the past, it becomes your present.”
She swallowed noisily, nodding again.
My eyes were on Ben, and a half-formed thought made me wonder if that was where my son was. In those moments of withdrawal, was he trying to explore a past he didn’t know? Was he just bumping around in the dark, searching for the half of his parents he knew was missing?
