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This time, I’m listening the girl I love pour her heart and soul into the sound. The lyrics hit differently as I picture Earl in his rocking chair on the front porch of the farmhouse each time Lennon singsmy old Kentucky home.
I don’t see a dry eye in the church.
Mine aren’t.
The last note dies. Lennon descends the steps to return to my side. As soon as she’s back in her seat, she grabs my hand again. The action loosens the fist that’s been squeezing my chest ever since I saw that ambulance. Assuages some of the fear that things between Lennon and me might never be the same.
A few words from the minister concludes the service. Our pew is the first to empty. I follow Lennon to the back of the church and outside into the heat.
Free from the echoey interior of the church, conversations pick up as attendees exit the building. Earl’s friends are the first group to reach Lennon. I step away, giving them space to talk to her alone. A middle-aged couple I don’t know are the next to exit, followed by one Ido.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask my parents when they reach me.
I told my mom about Earl’s passing when she called me a couple of days ago, but it never occurred to me she’d come to his service. Never mind my father. I think it’s been a full year since he’s set a foot in Landry.
“We wanted to pay our respects,” my mother replies, sweeping a hand across her brow to catch any stray blonde hairs. People are staring as they leave the church, and my mother’s worst nightmare is being seen looking anything but her best.
“Why?” I know my parents too well to think this is a selfless gesture. With them, there’s always an ulterior motive.
“We were visiting Landry for the Cup next week anyhow,” my father says. “Your mother suggested we move our arrival up. Louis tells me the filly has a real chance.”
I scoff. My father is a lot more interested in the money Winters Stables rakes in than the horses that garner it. He lets Louis, the trainer my grandfather held in higher regard than any of his blood relatives, handle everything related to the thoroughbreds.
“Lennon has a nice voice,” my mother states. I know what she’s doing, trying to shift the attention off the tension that’s swirled in almost every conversation my father and I have had for the past decade. “I had no idea she could sing so well.”
“Maybe if you’d ever put any effort into getting to know her, you would,” I reply.
“Caleb. Don’t speak to your mother like that.”
My jaw clenches to the point it’s painful.
“When are you leaving for Clarkson?” my mother asks, breaking the stiff silence.
“Soon. I have a weight session at four.”
“I can’t believe your coaches were all right with you staying in Landry after camp started,” my father comments. “It could look very irresponsible, Caleb.”
My mother jumps in. Probably sensing how close I am to losing my temper. “It was very thoughtful. Your father and I are just worried about how rash decisions might affect your future.”
My father doesn’t dispute her words, although we all know his definition offutureis different from the one my mother’s referring to.
There are two clear paths waiting for me after graduation next spring: baseball or business. My mother wants me to play. My father wants me to join his company.
“Her grandfatherdied, Mom.”
“I know,” she replies, patting her hair again. “And I understand you felt obligated—”
“It didn’t have anything to do with obligation. Iloveher.”
She sighs. Neither of my parents are well-acquainted with the concept of love. “You’re bothsoyoung, Caleb.”
“That’s what you said when I told you we were dating. It’s been almost three years. We’re only a year younger than you and Dad were when you got married.”
My mother swallows, then looks away. “It was a different time,” she states.
It’s a more passive response than what she’d really like to say. But she’s wary of pushing me on this topic. If it comes down to Lennon or my parents, my mom knows which side I’ll choose.
My father has no such qualms. We’re already at odds. He doesn’t have any desire to protect the happy family image my mother is so intent to curate.
