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“So that’s it?” I leaned back in my chair. “After decades of fighting, you guys are just going to work together now?”

“I thought the big lunch we had at Angelo’s the other day went well.” He broke off a piece of his muffin and ate it. “I mean, I know I got a little carried away when Louis made the comment about pro baseball not needing so many games per season, but come on. We got along fine for the rest of the afternoon.”

I guess he was choosing to forget the part where they also argued about whether baseball managers should be able to challenge calls, or the part where they argued about the correct way to boil hot dogs in concession stands, or about whether stadiums should use a prerecorded version of the national anthem.

“Have a little faith, Eliza.” Dad stole a grape from my plate. “People can surprise you.”

I leaned forward as hope welled up inside of me, squeezing my heart. “So…so this means we’re not moving? No trip to Arlington or Philly this week?”

“Not unless you want to take a look at those schools. I want to do what’s best for you too. Even if that means moving.”

I sprang out of the chair and fell against him. My voice was muffled against his polo. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” He hugged me tightly.

I pulled away. “For what?”

“For reminding me that I don’t need to run away from my ghosts. I should honor them by staying and helping protect what they built.” He clasped his hands in front of him as I sat back down. “Watching you work in the theater, seeing the same joy on your face that I used to see on hers…it keeps your grandmother alive. Keeps her closer to here.” He tapped his chest. “I needed that.”

I rubbed my fingers over my tattoo.

Me too.

“I’ll always keep the light on for her, Dad,” I said. “Don’t you worry.”

The grass glistened with the morning dew in the outfield of Crowley Park, or now Fulton Park. Crowley-Fulton Park? Fulton-Crowley Park?

Reed sat on the rubber of the pitcher’s mound with his long legs pulled against his chest. The sun burned brightly above him, silhouetting his hair and shoulders. I couldn’t wait to tell him that we weren’t moving.

But it didn’t change the fact that he’d still be leaving. Tomorrow.

As if he felt me staring, he turned around and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I crossed the red dirt of the first-base line and sat next to him, intertwining my fingers with his. “Did you hear the news about my dad and your granddad?”

He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I heard it. Can’t believe they’re going to work together.”

“I know, right?” I leaned against his shoulder. “I’m so going to take videos and send them to you when they start arguing.”

“Or maybe I’ll send them to you.”

Send them to me? Why would he be sending them to me?

Unless…

“Dad’s retiring from the army.” He faced me. “And he and Mom want to move back here.” He paused, but I couldn’t speak. My brain was going a hundred miles a minute, and my mouth apparently couldn’t catch up.

“He’s going to be the one to work with your dad,” Reed continued, smiling. “And he wants to be around to learn the ropes of the farm for when Granddad finally retires—”

I cupped his face with my hands and kissed him so deeply that a prop box full of bulbs crashing onto a hardwood floor wouldn’t have fazed me.

“I was hoping you’d be happy about it.” He laughed softly and ran his fingers down my jaw, making the warm rays of the summer sun prickle against his cool touch.

Happy?

I was elated.

Ecstatic.