Small Town, Big Hope

Chapter 6

Saturday morning came much faster than Emma expected.

She stood in front of her bathroom mirror with a curling iron in one hand, staring at her reflection like it had personally offended her.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

Bandit, who had planted himself in the doorway, lifted his head.

“I’m going to a seven-year-old’s baseball tournament. Not a date.”

Bandit blinked.

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

She unplugged the curling iron and ran her fingers through the loose waves she had spent far too much time creating. Normally, a baseball tournament meant a ponytail, sunscreen, sunglasses, and whatever T-shirt was clean enough to wear.

Today, apparently, she had decided mascara was necessary.

That had absolutely nothing to do with Jackson being there.

At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

The house had been painfully quiet when she woke up that morning. No Christian asking where his baseball socks were even though she had packed them herself. No Luke reminding her that the weather app said there was a twenty-percent chance of rain. No arguing over who had eaten the last Pop-Tart.

Just silence.

And Bandit.

Emma had thought she might enjoy sleeping in.

Instead, she had been awake before seven.

By seven-thirty, she had already made coffee, started a load of laundry, cleaned the kitchen counters, and checked the tournament schedule twice.

Apparently she had forgotten how to exist when no one needed anything from her.

She walked into the bedroom and glanced at the clothes spread across the bed.

Jeans.

A fitted navy T-shirt.

White sneakers.

Normal.

Completely normal.

She changed clothes, grabbed her purse, then paused when she caught herself checking the mirror one more time.

“Stop it.”

Bandit wagged his tail.

“You are staying here.”

His tail stopped.

Emma laughed. “Now you understand me.”

She gave him a treat, made sure his water bowl was full, and headed toward the door.

The baseball fields were already packed when Emma arrived.

Cars lined both sides of the gravel entrance, and families moved toward the fields carrying folding chairs, wagons, coolers, baseball bags, and enough snacks to survive several days instead of one tournament.

Emma smiled.

This part felt familiar.

Baseball had been part of their lives for years. There was something comforting about the sound of aluminum bats cracking against baseballs, coaches calling instructions across the field, and children running around in uniforms that were somehow already covered in dirt before the first game had even started.

She grabbed her chair from the back of the RAV4 and made her way toward Field Three.

Christian’s team was scheduled to play at eight-thirty.

It was eight-ten.

Emma scanned the parking lot instinctively.

No sign of Jackson’s truck.

She checked her phone.

Nothing.

They still had plenty of time.

She knew that.

But knowing something and convincing the anxious part of her brain to believe it were apparently two very different things.

She found a spot along the third-base side and began unfolding her chair.

“Christian’s mom?”

Emma looked up.

A woman about her age stood a few feet away balancing two folding chairs beneath one arm and a giant insulated bag over the other shoulder. She had dark brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail and sunglasses perched on top of her head.

Emma smiled. “That depends. What did he do?”

The woman laughed.

“Oh, I like you already.”

She dropped the chairs beside Emma.

“I’m Melody. Carter’s mom.”

Recognition clicked immediately.

“Carter. Number twelve?”

“That’s him.”

“Christian talks about him constantly.”

Melody smiled. “Trust me, the feeling is mutual. I know entirely too much about Christian already, considering I haven’t officially met either of his parents.”

Emma laughed.

“I’m Emma.”

“I figured. Carter told me Christian moved here from Little Rock with his mom and brother. Apparently they’ve already decided they’re best friends.”

“That sounds about right.”

Melody started opening one of the folding chairs.

“Carter came home after the first practice and informed me that Christian was the best hitter on the team.”

Emma shook her head. “Please don't tell Christian that. His ego is already difficult enough to manage.”

“Too late. Carter told him.”

“Wonderful.”

Both women laughed.

Emma immediately liked her.

There wasn't the awkwardness she sometimes felt meeting other parents for the first time. Melody had an easy way about her, like they had simply picked up a conversation instead of starting one.

A boy appeared beside Melody carrying a tablet and wearing large black headphones over his ears.

He looked older than the boys on Christian's team, probably around Luke's age.

He said nothing.

Instead, he handed Melody a bottle of water.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

The boy nodded and looked toward the field.

Emma noticed his shirt immediately.

A detailed picture of the solar system stretched across the front of it, each planet labeled beneath its image.

Luke would love that shirt.

“This is my oldest, Blake,” Melody said. “Blake, this is Miss Emma. Her son Christian plays with Carter.”

Blake looked at Emma briefly.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Blake.”

He shifted his attention back toward the baseball field.

“Where's Carter?”

“Warm-ups.”

“He forgot his blue Gatorade.”

Melody looked inside the insulated bag.

“I have it.”

“He said he wanted blue.”

“I know.”

“Not red.”

“I brought blue.”

Blake nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer.

Emma smiled slightly.

There was something familiar about the exchange.

Blake walked a few feet away and sat in the grass beneath a shade tree. Within seconds, his attention was completely absorbed by whatever was on his tablet.

Melody followed Emma's gaze.

“He's autistic.”

Emma looked back at her.

The words were matter-of-fact.

Not apologetic.

Not whispered.

Just information.

Emma's eyebrows lifted slightly.

“My oldest is too.”

Melody's face changed almost immediately.

“Really?”

Emma nodded. “Luke. He's ten.”

“Blake's eleven.”

For some reason, Emma felt herself smile.

It wasn't that she was happy another child faced some of the same challenges Luke did.

It was something else.

Recognition, maybe.

That quiet feeling of meeting another mother who might understand certain parts of her life without Emma having to spend fifteen minutes explaining them first.

“What are his interests?” Emma asked.

Melody laughed.

“Oh, Lord. How much time do you have?”

Emma grinned.

“That intense?”

“Right now? Space. Rockets. NASA. Weather patterns. Tornadoes for about three months last year, which was delightful because then every thunderstorm turned into a full meteorological briefing.”

Emma stared at her.

“No way.”

Melody raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Luke is obsessed with space.”

Both women looked toward Blake.

“Oh, this could either go really well,” Melody said, “or they could spend twenty minutes correcting each other's facts.”

Emma laughed. “Honestly, Luke would probably enjoy that.”

“Blake would too.”

The crack of a bat sounded from the field.

Melody glanced toward the players.

“Blake usually comes to Carter's games, but he stays over here where it's quieter. The bleachers can get a little loud for him.”

Emma nodded.

“Luke struggles with the noise sometimes too.”

She didn't have to explain why.

She didn't have to describe sensory overload or the way Luke sometimes covered his ears before Emma had even realized the environment had become too much.

Melody simply nodded.

“I keep an extra pair of headphones in my bag if he ever needs them.”

Emma looked at her.

Something about such a small offer hit harder than it probably should have.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Melody shrugged as if it were nothing.

“No explanations necessary.”

Emma looked down for a second.

Those three words settled somewhere deep.

No explanations necessary.

She couldn't remember how many times she had explained Luke.

To teachers.

To parents.

To relatives.

To strangers staring when he became overwhelmed in a restaurant or store.

Why he needed to know exactly what was happening next.

Why certain foods mattered.

Why plans changing at the last minute could turn an otherwise perfectly good afternoon upside down.

Why sometimes he needed headphones.

Why sometimes he needed space.

Emma loved talking about her son.

What she hated was feeling like she constantly had to defend the way he experienced the world.

“That's nice to hear,” she admitted.

Melody's expression softened.

“I know.”

And Emma realized she really did.

A familiar truck turned into the parking lot.

Emma noticed it immediately.

Her stomach tightened.

Melody followed her gaze.

“That them?”

Emma nodded.

“Yeah.”

Jackson parked several rows away.

Christian was out of the truck almost before Jackson had finished parking.

Even from across the lot, Emma could hear him.

“Mom!”

She laughed as Christian came running toward her in his uniform, baseball bag bouncing against his back.

“There you are.”

Christian wrapped his arms around her.

“You're late.”

Emma glanced at her phone.

“It is eight-seventeen.”

“We're supposed to be here early.”

“You're thirteen minutes early.”

“Coach said twenty.”

Behind him, Jackson approached carrying Luke's backpack and a folding chair.

Luke walked beside him.

Emma smiled when she saw him.

“Morning, Bug.”

“Dad stopped at McDonald's.”

“That sounds like Dad.”

“I got pancakes.”

“Good?”

Luke nodded. “They gave me three syrups.”

Emma glanced at Jackson.

“Three?”

Jackson shrugged. “Apparently I'm the fun parent now.”

A smile tugged at Emma's mouth.

“You've always thought that.”

“Because I am.”

For a second, it felt strangely easy again.

Too easy.

Emma looked away and noticed Melody watching them with the smallest hint of curiosity on her face.

“Christian!” someone shouted from the dugout.

Carter stood near the fence waving both arms.

“You're here!”

Christian immediately forgot that anyone else existed.

“That's Carter!”

He took off toward the field.

Emma laughed.

“I figured.”

Luke remained beside Jackson, looking around the crowded fields.

His shoulders were already slightly tense.

Emma noticed.

So did Jackson.

“You good, buddy?” Jackson asked.

Luke nodded, although Emma wasn't entirely convinced.

Then his attention shifted.

Across the grass, Blake sat beneath the tree with his headphones on.

More specifically, Luke was staring at Blake's shirt.

Emma knew exactly what had caught his attention.

Melody noticed too.

“That’s Blake,” Emma told him. “He's Carter's older brother.”

Luke continued looking at the shirt.

“He likes planets?”

Melody smiled.

“A lot.”

Blake must have realized they were talking about him because he looked over.

His eyes moved toward Luke.

Then toward Luke's backpack.

A small NASA patch Emma had sewn onto the front pocket months earlier was clearly visible.

Blake stood.

Luke didn't move.

Neither boy said anything.

Jackson glanced at Emma.

Emma gave the smallest shrug.

She wasn't touching this.

She had learned long ago that trying too hard to manufacture a social interaction for Luke was usually the quickest way to make him want absolutely nothing to do with it.

Blake walked closer.

He stopped a few feet away from Luke.

“You like NASA?”

Luke nodded.

“Yeah.”

“What's your favorite planet?”

“Saturn.”

Blake tilted his head.

“That's everybody's favorite.”

Luke frowned.

“No, it isn't.”

“Most people's.”

“What's yours?”

“Neptune.”

Luke stared at him.

“Why?”

Blake shrugged.

“Supersonic winds.”

Luke's expression changed.

Just slightly.

Interest.

“Over twelve hundred miles an hour.”

Blake looked at him for the first time like Luke had said something worth hearing.

“About twelve hundred.”

Luke crossed his arms.

“I know.”

Blake stared at him another second.

Then he smiled.

“Do you want to see something?”

He turned his tablet around.

Emma couldn't see exactly what was on the screen, but Luke immediately stepped closer.

Within seconds, Blake was explaining something.

Luke interrupted him.

Blake corrected Luke.

Luke corrected him back.

Melody leaned slightly toward Emma.

“Well.”

Emma watched the boys.

“Yeah.”

“I think we may have just lost them.”

Emma laughed softly.

For the first time since they had moved to Hickory Ridge, she was watching Luke talk to another child his own age without her arranging it, encouraging it, or worrying whether the other child would understand him.

He had simply found someone interesting.

Maybe someone who found him interesting too.

Emma felt Jackson move beside her.

She glanced over.

He was watching Luke.

There was a softness in his expression she recognized immediately.

“He made a friend,” Jackson said quietly.

Emma looked back toward the boys.

“Maybe.”

Luke said something Emma couldn't hear.

Blake laughed.

A real laugh.

Then Luke smiled too.

Emma felt something tighten in her throat.

“Yeah,” she said softly.

“Maybe he did.”