Page 10

CHAPTER TEN

BABYSITTING

EMMA

W atching as Jax runs down the road toward his car, the reality of what I just offered hits me like a ton of bricks. The two pairs of eyes that find mine are filled with the sadness of their dad leaving so quickly, it hurts my heart to see these girls so sad, but they seem pretty used to this. So, I gather them up and we walk back to my car where I add their address to my GPS and turn the volume down.

“Kiddos,” I turn around and face them from the front seat, “want to navigate me to your house?”

“What’s navigate?” Alice asks at the same time that Mackenzie enthusiastically answers yes.

“Navigate means help me find my way,” I tell Alice with a smile, watching her eyes light up as she looks from me to her sister.

“I think I can help,” she says to Mackenzie, who takes her sister’s hand in hers and gives it a squeeze, reminding me again of my sister and me when we were that age.

“I know you can!” Mackenzie tells her.

With my navigational system silently giving directions, I follow Mackenzie and Alice’s guidance and get to the house and none of us thought about a key to the doors, but Mackenzie opens the gate and we hang out in the backyard while I figure out a way into the house, and think about dinner options. Thankfully, Alice has a head full of memorized phone numbers and once we narrow it down to the family members that are actually in town and not in Manhattan or halfway across the country, James arrives with a key to let us into the house.

Before leaving, James gives me the key, insisting that I keep it in case the girls and I need to leave the house for any reason. He says he doesn’t want us locked out, but I suspect by the glint in his eye and the upturned corner of his mouth that there’s a whole lot he’s not saying right now and I appreciate him for that.

“Emma, if there’s anything you need, at any time, you can call Mandy and me, we’ll be here.”

“Thank you, James.”

“Thank you, ” there’s a lot that remains unspoken. A heaviness in the air between us. “The girls need you. And he does too.”

“I think,” I hesitate, not sure how much to share with Jax’s brother, who I don’t really know all that well. “I think there’s part of me that needs them, too.”

I lock the door behind James and turn to find myself alone in Jax’s house. We just had ice cream but the girls are going to need dinner, and I suppose I am too. I stand in the space between the kitchen and living room, watching as Mackenzie stretches out in a chair with a book in her hands, and Alice does the same on the floor. Taking a few minutes to myself, I walk around the house and get the lay of the land – finding the bathroom and bedrooms before finding my way back to the kitchen and inspecting the fridge for dinner options.

“What do you girls want for dinner?” I ask, standing in front of the open fridge and surveying our options before stepping over to the pantry to see what else might be available, and what I could make enough of to have leftovers for Jax when he gets home. My eyes snag on some cans of soup right as Mackenzie shouts, “tomato soup!”

“With grilled cheese!” Alice calls from the living room.

“Do you girls want to help me get it ready?”

They agree and join me in the kitchen as we get soup warming on the stove and start assembling grilled cheese sandwiches to cook in a cast iron skillet that Mackenzie informs me is the grilled cheese pan. With bowls of soup and perfectly cooked sandwiches, we sit at the table together and for just a brief moment – in a silence filled only by the sound of spoons in bowls, the rustling of leaves outside the cracked open windows – I find myself wondering what it would be like to sit at this table, with these girls, all the time.

Shaking away the impulsive, inappropriate, thought, I focus on the conversation, and after dinner the girls help me wash dishes before we settle onto the couch with a soccer game on television and a soft, steady rain beginning to fall outside. My phone rings in my pocket and I gently extract myself from the sofa where I’m sandwiched between the girls, and accept the call from my sister.

“Hey Molly!”

“Emma!” For the first time in a long time, the enthusiasm in my little sister’s voice sounds genuine. “I got a job! A new one.”

“I didn’t realize you’d quit the old one,” I muse, wandering around Jax’s house looking for blanket fort supplies and hoping the girls will be on board with the idea of a movie in the fort later on.

“I did. It wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to do anymore so I put some feelers out and just found out I got the job. I had to call you first!”

“What’s the new gig?” I ask, stunned by the excitement in my sister’s voice. I haven’t heard her this happy to be writing in years.

“Beat writer. For Detroit! Emma, I’m finally a baseball writer!”

“Molly, I am so proud of you!” My voice cracks as my eyes well with tears. She’s been dreaming of being a baseball writer from the time she could understand and talk about the game. “You’re following your dream, it’s the best thing you can do.”

“What about you?” She asks, a pang of sadness lancing through me at the sadness in her words. “How’s your dream coming?”

Coaching is fulfilling, I love being a part of fostering a love for this game. I love watching the joy on the girls’ faces when they score or when they pass the ball and their teammate scores. Being a librarian is something I got thrown into, something I enjoy doing. But, my heart is drawn to the soccer field.

I know plenty of players who returned to the game after an injury like mine, men and women alike, who got healthy again and came back to the game. And that has always been my goal. That’s why I go out every Saturday morning and drill, why I still go to physical therapy to strengthen my knee and tendons and muscles. Why my agent is continually looking for opportunities for me to get back in the game.

“My dream doesn’t feel as reachable as yours, Molly.”

“How’s the knee been?”

“Okay. Gets tight every now and then, but that’s what physical therapy is for. I try to work it every week, and now that I’m coaching I get to use it even more than before. I haven’t told anyone yet, but there’s been an offer. Chicago wants me back.”

“Emma, that’s fantastic. Are you going to go?”

“I have until December to make that decision, but they’ve invited me to join a friendly in December, in Los Angeles. ”

“I’m proud of you for getting out there and coaching, Emma. It’s good for you to be around the game, and active. I hope you’ll say yes, and give this another shot. I also hope you’re getting out and meeting people, too. Now that I’m not there to pull you out of the house.”

“I am…” If you can count two trips for ice cream with Jax and his family as ‘getting out’.

“You’ve met someone!” Molly exclaims, and I can almost picture her bouncing up and down.

“I did not say that!” I protest as heat creeps into my cheeks. Jax is the father of one of my players, and two of my students at the school. I shouldn’t think about him that way. I can’t think about him that way. But, I’m standing here in his house, seeing little touches of him everywhere I look – family pictures with the girls, a sweatshirt of his draped across one of the dining room chairs, a pair of reading glasses on the end table near a leather recliner. I picture him in that chair with Alice on his lap, reading with her or watching baseball with her. Or sitting at the dining room table helping Mackenzie with her homework.

“Em, you still there?” My sister’s voice pulls me out of my distracted daydreams.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“So tell me about him.”

“I can’t right now,” I hedge, making my back toward the comfort of the living room. “I’m babysitting his kids.”

I end the call, cutting off Molly’s squeal, and toss my phone on the end table before sinking back into the couch with the girls.

“Miss Emma,” Alice grabs the remote from the nearby end table, “Aunt Nelope and Uncle Jake are going to be on soon, do you think we could watch them?”

“Of course,” I answer, and Alice changes the channel to find the first postseason episode of On the Field. “Who are you cheering for in the playoffs?”

“Seattle,” both girls chime. “It’s who Aunt Mandy worked for.”

“And Uncle Max plays for them,” Mackenzie tells me.

“He’s not really our uncle,” Alice sagely clarifies, “but he’s friends with Uncle Jake and comes to Thanksgiving every year.”

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Mackenzie asks since the subject has come up, leaning against my shoulder as she settles in with her book.

“I don’t know yet,” I tell her, trying to keep the sadness and uncertainty out of my voice. The last time Molly and I had a video call with Mom and Dad, they informed us that they will be taking a European river cruise for the stretch of time from Thanksgiving to Christmas. I’ve invited Molly to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas here, with me, and extended the same offer to Mom and Dad. They’re hoping to be here for Christmas. “I might just make dinner for myself at home. It’s still early though, I’ve got time to plan.”

The silence that follows my pathetic admission is overwhelming. Mackenzie leans forward and Alice does the same, the two girls looking at each other and at me. Mackenzie gives her sister a small nod, and Alice smiles, jumping off of the couch and racing to the kitchen. I hear the touchtone keys of the landline phone and then…

“Hi Grandpa, it’s Alice,” and by the time she’s off the phone, I have an invite to the Hutchinson Family Thanksgiving. Saying yes to that was an easier decision to make than the one my agent is still on me about. My phone buzzes on the end table with an incoming call from Scott, and I ignore it, not wanting to talk about the game or my injury, not tonight. Not here.

“Grandpa and Grandma start planning for Thanksgiving as soon as school starts, and now you don’t have to worry about it!” Mackenzie says with just a hint of triumph in her voice.

Well, I guess my plans have been made for me.

After On the Field’s pre-game show, and before the start of the baseball game, I send the girls down the hall to change into their pajamas so that when bedtime rolls around we’ve already taken care of part of the routine. As I listen to the sound of the girls down the hall, I’m reminded of growing up with my own sister; the nights that she would sneak into my room and crawl into bed with me so we could read under the covers at night, or nights that we’d sneak down the stairs and watch whatever baseball game Dad was watching as quietly as we could.

“You have to do pjs too, Ms. Mitchell,” Alice insists.

“I don’t have any with me,” I tell her, lifting her up to put away the mugs we used for our meal. “And when we’re not in school, you can call me Emma.”

“Daddy keeps pajamas here for anyone who needs them,” Alice takes my hand and leads me down the hall toward the linen closet situated near the bathroom. “He has some for Aunt Jenna and Aunt Nelope ‘cause sometimes when they stay with us they need extras.”

Alice opens the closet door and I find not only a stash of pajamas, but a basket filled with pads tucked onto the bottom shelf of the closet next to a heating pad and electric blanket. If I didn’t already know what a thoughtful man Jax Hutchinson is, this confirms it. It doesn’t take long to find a pair of flannel pants and long sleeve tee shirt to change into before joining the girls back in the living room.

“Hey Al, you know what I’m thinking?” Mackenzie shoots her sister a conspiratorial smile.

“What?” Alice excitedly asks, practically bouncing on her toes.

“A blanket fort!”

“Yes! Blanket fort!” Alice pumps her fists in the air and before I can ask how I can help, they take off down the hall and come back with an overflowing laundry basket, stuffed to bursting with sheets and blankets. The girls start taking things out and separating them into piles before getting to work.

“Ms. Emma,” Alice hands me the corner of a heavy sheet and I notice a grommet attached to it. “Can you put that up there?”

Alice points to the top of the built in bookshelf unit that houses the television in the middle and shelves of books on either side. With the assistance of a small step stool, I give myself a boost and find two removable adhesive hooks on either side of the built-in, and it’s a no-brainer that the grommets on the sheet attach to these hooks. Once I’ve attached both corners of the king sized sheet, Mackenzie stretches it across the room toward the sofa. I’m worried she’s going to run out of fabric, but there’s more and more unfolding from the original sheet.

“Dad made it for us,” Mackenzie says with a grin. “Isn’t it awesome?”

“It really is something,” I tell her with a laugh and smile of my own as she secures the end of the double king size sheet by tucking it into the couch cushions.

“Time for the walls, Al,” Mackenzie motions to her sister who grabs a few bits of what appears to be a lighter material, and she shakes them out, unfolding and securing them with velcro to the “roof” of the fort. I stand in awe of the blanket fort creation and Alice welcomes me inside as she fills the fort with a mismatched collection of fleece blankets and throw pillows. And I can’t help but admire the stitching on the center seam connecting to the two sheets, the choice of sheer fabric for one side wall, and a dark, star patterned cotton for the other.

So much thought went into the design and making of this fort for these girls, and not one bit of it surprises me. This is the Jax that I know, or at least the Jax I’m getting to know. The Jax that I want to know more about. While the girls settle in for the first inning of the baseball game, I pop popcorn in the microwave and fill up a big bowl of it, before handing the bowl to Mackenzie and crawling into the fort beside the girls who snuggle up beside me.

As the game wears on, the girls grow drowsy, moving closer and closer to me on the pillow and blanket covered floor, before eventually dozing off beside me. When the game ends, I don’t have the heart to wake the girls, so I turn it off and find a soccer game, turning the volume down just enough to hear the game but not loud enough to disturb them. Taking the crocheted blanket from the couch behind me, I carefully pull it down and spread it over the three of us before closing my eyes and letting the lullaby of soccer sing me to sleep.