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Understatement. I had to fish the suit I’m wearing out of a cardboard box because Lennon sorted the clothes I brought over from my parents’ right along with her grandfather’s things. She hasn’t stopped moving in days. Stacking, sorting, cleaning, piling. The bags beneath her eyes suggest she isn’t sleeping. And I know she’s hardly eating.
“Yeah,” I agree.
“You’re headed back today?”
I nod.
I don’t know what else to do. Staying this long was risky. If I wait much longer, I’ll be jeopardizing my spot on the team. You don’t miss training camp. Not as an inexperienced freshman, and most definitely not as the starting pitcher and team captain.
The days I’ve already missed required me to stare down a couple of ultimatums from the coaching staff. I’d stay—for her. Lennon is more important to me. But she doesn’t want me here. She’s made that clear. So I’ll give her space, if that’s what she needs to grieve.
Colt is silent as I watch more people walk by. Most of the pews are already full. I hope Lennon notices the large turnout. Landry may have its share of snobs, but Earl Matthews was a good man. He spent his whole life in this town, racing horses and raising his daughter and granddaughter.
“I should head in,” I tell Colt. Reluctantly. I’m dreading the service. And how I’ll have to leave, right after it ends.
“Yeah, okay,” he replies. “Luke and Jake are almost here. We’ll see you after.”
I nod, then start down the central aisle. Lennon is up ahead, standing just to the right of the altar. Her face is blank as she listens to something Eliza Gray is saying. Cassie Belmont is next to her.
Cassie spots me first. Her eyes widen, prompting Eliza to look over as well. Neither says anything as I reach them. Lennon’s friends clamming up around me used to be amusing and somewhat flattering, but right now it’s the last thing I’m thinking about.
“We’ll see you later, Lennon,” Cassie says, then pulls Eliza away.
I’m guessing they think this is a reunion of sorts, not that we’ve only been separated for the last half hour. While her grandfather’s friends have come by to help with the horses, Lennon hasn’t had anyone over since Earl died. She’s shutting everyone out, not just me.
We stare at each other for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry.” Lennon surprises me by speaking first. “For leaving without you. For lots of things.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I reply. Now isn’t the time or place for a deeper conversation.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Caleb,” she tells me, right before she steps forward into my chest.
I freeze at the unexpected contact, the first she’s initiated between us in days. I bend my head to kiss the top of hers, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo.
Rich organ music suddenly bellows through the church, putting a stop to any of the soft chatter that’s been taking place.
Lennon pulls back but grabs my hand. I follow her to the front pew and take the seat next to her. There’s no other family to sit alongside, but a few older men I recognize from stopping by Matthews Farm fill in the rest of the row.
One of them is Tom Stradwell, the owner of the local paper where Lennon has worked for the past few years. He gives me a nod of acknowledgement, which I return.
Lennon’s staring straight ahead at the minister climbing the few stairs to the altar. She’s still holding my hand, and grips it tighter once he starts speaking.
I listen to the sermon, but I’m not absorbing any of the words being spoken. My knowledge of what is planned during this service is limited to the little I overheard on Lennon’s end of phone calls over the past few days.
I have yet to open the pamphlet I’m clutching in the hand Lennon isn’t holding. Instead, I’m thinking about the conversation I had with Lennon at my grandfather’s service. When she told me what she had or hadn’t contributed at her parents’ funerals, I never imagined I would be the one sitting beside her at her grandfather’s.
As a teenager lusting after Lennon Matthews, I pictured the easy moments. Taking her to prom and getting to second base at one of Marcus’s field parties. Not the hard ones, like watching her say a final farewell to the man who raised her.
Lennon’s fingers slip free from mine, and she slides out of the end of the pew. Her spine is straight and her steps sure as she heads straight for the pulpit.
I’m not sure what she’s doing.
I get my answer as soon as she reaches the microphone.
The familiar strains of Kentucky’s most famous melody pour out of the organ, soaring through the air to collide with the sloped ceiling and stained glass. Nostalgic notes vibrate the wooden pews and floor as Lennon starts to sing, her clear voice blending and weaving with the instrument’s accompaniment.
I’ve heard this song dozens of times. Most of them, I was slouched in a seat in my family’s private box at the track, counting down the minutes until we could leave and I could take off a stiff suit.
