Eternal

ALEC

“She’s gonna choke,” Paisley says around a sip of soda. “She always chokes.”

“You mind your mouth now Paisley Anne,” Mom admonishes. “This is your sister’s first year playing. We’re here to support here.”

“Support her when she chokes,” Paisley says under her breath.

I put a quelling hand on her shoulder and her mouth snaps closed. I don’t think Paisley will ever totally heal from Tana’s accident—it’s written in the fabric of her life now, part of her story. But I do know I’ll be there with her every step of the way to make sure she knows she’s not alone—that she’ll never be alone.

“There she is,” Mom says and sits up straighter in her chair. “Let’s go #7! Knock it outta the park!”

This time, Paisley keeps her mouth shut. Progress.

“Alright, Gem!” I shout over the din of cheers, coaches, and chants from her team. “Keep your eye on the ball. If it’s there, you hit it hard. You got this!”

She looks so small out there with the other girls. I want to run and put my arms around her, protect her and maybe hide her away so she won’t ever face the possibility of messing up. But she’d probably hit me with the bat, so I hold my ground and my breath as the pitcher winds up. The first pitch comes in wild—a ball. I let out a breath. Goddamn this has to be more stressful for me than it is for her.

The chants from the dugout increase in volume as the next pitch comes in—a strike. I suck in a breath and shout, “That’s alright, honey. Next one is yours.”

“Let’s go, Gemma!” Mom shouts.

Paisley is sitting forward in her seat, her eyes unwavering from where her sister is crouched over home plate. When it comes down to it, Paisley would step in front of a bus for her sister—or in this case, a softball.

The next two pitches are wild again and then she swings at one that’s too low and misses. Full count. I really wish they let people drink at these things. It would help my damn nerves. I don’t know what’s worse—enduring your kid facing the potential for failure, or facing that potential yourself. I haven’t heard from Tana yet. I hope she’s still coming.

“Full count,” yells the umpire.

“You got it, Gem. Come on girl!” I yell.

Gemma takes a steadying breath at the plate looking all too vulnerable. All I want to do is scoop her into my arms. My shoulders are somewhere around my ears by the time the pitcher releases the ball. Gemma swings and connects, the ball driving toward shortstop. Gemma stares, uncomprehendingly until Paisley shouts, “GO! RUN Gemma, run!” and then she’s off like a shot toward first. Shortstop misses the ball, but it’s scooped up by left field and who chunks it at second to cut Gemma off. But it doesn’t matter. Our girl made it safe to first.

“Woooo! Yay, Gemma! You go girl! Great job!”

The feminine shout has me spinning to my left and I find Tana with her hands cupped around her mouth, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her hair is up in a sloppy bun, and she’s covered in cat hair and doesn’t have a lick of makeup on. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look more beautiful.

“You came,” I choke out. I guess a part of me hadn’t been sure she would.

“She really got that one good,” Tana says. “Wow, that’s incredible.”

I unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Yeah, uh, my captain Zeke’s been practicing with her a little. He played pro ball a long time ago.”

Paisley turns to say something to me and notices Tana. Her mouth falls open and her eyes bug out. Tana freezes, probably afraid Paisley may have another outburst like the one at her party. But then Paisley is jumping to her feet, her chair falling over, and she throws herself bodily into Tana’s arms. Tana gives a hiccupping cry of surprised delight, and her arms go around Paisley’s shoulders. Beside them Penny is jumping gleefully.

“I’m so sorry!” Paisley wails. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t want you to go again. I missed you so much. I promise I’ll do better. Just please come home.”

Tana’s shocked gaze meets mine. I smile gently at her and lift a shoulder. Such is the life surrounded by women. It’s a chaotic tornado of emotional outbursts. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You don’t have to do anything better,” Tana says gently and kneels in front of Paisley. “You didn’t do anything wrong—aside from not telling anyone where you were going. You should always let someone know where you’ll be because you about gave your father and I a heart attack. And if he has a heart attack, we’re in big trouble because I’m not the one who can bring people back to life.”

“I promise it won’t happen again,” Paisley says tearfully.

“That’s good.” Tana pulls Paisley back into her arms, her eyes falling closed as they embrace. I don’t know if she realizes that her body goes soft, curving around Paisley. Her expression does too, like she’s holding onto something she didn’t know she was missing. “And you don’t need to apologize. We’re all doing the best we can. I don’t blame you for having a hard time.”

Paisley tightens her hold on Tana and they sway there, holding each other for a long time. My heart swells looking at the two of them and for the first time since the accident, it feels almost whole again. The only thing missing is Tana promising to be in my bed every night until they tear us out of it.

When Paisley finally lets go and straightens, wiping her eyes, Gemma is on third base, having been walked through the next two batters. Mom herds Paisley back to her chair with a knowing wink in my direction.

I turn back to Tana with pleads, promises, and okay a little begging on my lips, but she’s throwing herself into my arms before I get the chances to breathe a word. Her lips capture mine and she presses her body full against me. My hands go around her waist to hold her up and I swear I’m not ever going to let her go.

Somewhere in the distance, a cheer goes up over the crowd followed by guffaws of laughter and shouts. Vaguely, I hear someone shouting Gemma’s name, but it takes me a minute to pull myself away from the heaven of Tana’s lips. When I manage to, I look up to find Gemma’s coaches yelling at her and Gemma is running away from third, off the field, through the dugout and around the bleachers. Her face is red underneath her helmet and tears are streaming down her cheeks.

She sprints to us and throws herself into our embrace and Tana is laughing, her arms squeezing tight around the both of us. Then Mom and Paisley are slamming into us too until it’s one big pile of women with me at the center.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Amidst it all, I say to Tana, “So does this mean you’re coming home?”

She reaches up with her free hand and lays it on my cheek. “If you’ll still have me.”

I can’t stop the responding grin. The relief I feel is overwhelming. I look at the girls who are clutching each other and smiling so big I’m pretty sure I can count all their teeth. “What do you say, girls?”

“YES!” They shout simultaneously.

Then, as the game continues around us and the girls start hugging and jumping up and down, I kiss Tana again, and it feels like the first time all over again.