Fantasy, Loss, and Summer Love

Celia drew a deep breath and fell silent for a moment. Her body stiff. The muscles in her legs were hard as rocks. I sensed, rather than heard or felt something in her. A groan is not the right word. It was more like a soft, distant roar, emanating from somewhere deep within her. Like the ocean crashing against a distant cliff during a storm.

Celia’s legs straightened suddenly and shook almost violently. Her upper torso twisted and undulated. Her piercing cry might have deafened me but her thighs, tightly squeezing my head, muffled it. Her legs recoiled suddenly without releasing their grip on my head. My ears burned so badly it felt like she tore them off.

Celia had finally escaped my ministrations but not before I’d fulfilled my quest. My face was wet from my nose down. Celia was gasping for breath. Both hands were pressed against her sex, desperately trying to quell the sensations wracking her body. I’d tell you I was pleased with myself, but that would be understating how happy I felt. Celia had already given me so much. I was ecstatic about giving her what I could.

While Celia’s body slowly calmed, I climbed out of the pool and quickly dried myself. She was still trembling when I took her in my arms and carried her to one of the lounge chairs.

‘My god, Keith!’ she said softly. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘I thought you would enjoy it. You never hesitated to suck my cock. It was way past time to return the favor,’ I told her with a smile.

‘You didn’t mind? Being down there?’ she gasped, clinging to me tightly.

‘Why would I? I asked. ‘I’ve tried before but you always steered me away. Rather assertively.’

‘It’s just . . .’ her voice trailed off without finishing whatever it was she wanted to say. After a moment of silence, she asked, ‘Is it always like that?’

‘Was that your first time, Celia? No one has ever done that for you?’ Still trembling, Celia shook her head no. ‘Honestly, I have no idea. It was the first time I’ve done it, too. My ex-girlfriend wouldn’t let me. The first night we were together was the first time I experienced any kind of oral sex. It was so amazing, I had to return the favor.’

‘My husband wouldn’t go there. Actually, he wouldn’t let me take him into my mouth, either.’

‘My ex-girlfriend was kind of squeamish. She wanted nothing to do with oral sex. She never wanted a second round of sex, either.’

‘Keith, I don’t want to talk anymore. At least not now. Make love to me.’

We spent the next couple hours on that lounge chair. The pool house was locked otherwise we might have showered. We went for a quick swim instead. The night was almost gone when we got back to the house. The sky to the east was gray instead of black. A few wispy cirrus clouds low on the horizon had a faintly pink tinge. We went around to the back of the house when we found the front door locked.

Our return was awkward. My father was sitting quietly on the deck, having a cigarette. ‘Where the hell have you two been?’ he asked pointedly.

I could always tell when my father was angry with me. He wasn’t angry. Rather, I thought he sounded suspicious. I hesitated to answer for a moment. ‘We went for a walk,’ I told him. ‘I guess we lost track of time.’

Celia weighed in, trying to take the heat. ‘It’s my fault, Chet. I was feeling kind of down and wanted to talk. Keith was kind enough to listen. I haven’t really had someone close to my age I felt I could talk to since I moved here. Keith has become a confidant this summer. He’s a good listener.’

‘It’s not entirely Celia’s fault. I wasn’t in a hurry to come back,’ I said.

‘Celia, you should go get some sleep,’ my father said. ‘Keith, I want to talk to you for a minute.’

‘Okay,’ Celia said. ‘I’ll see everyone at breakfast.’

My father watched Celia go inside. Once she was in the house, he turned his attention back to me. ‘Where were you?’ he asked as he exhaled the last drag of his smoke, snuffing the butt out in the ash tray he held.

‘We found our way onto Tilton Meadows and walked most of the course while we talked. We sat by the pool for a while.’

‘You went for a swim, too. I can smell the chlorine.’

‘We did,’ I admitted.

‘Neither of you had a swimsuit. And your clothes aren’t wet.’

‘We didn’t have swimsuits,’ I admitted.

My father looked down at the deck and shook his head. ‘Should I be concerned about anything?’ he asked when he looked back up at me.

‘There’s nothing to worry about, Dad.’

‘I’m going back to bed. Try to get a little more sleep. You should get some sleep, too. The repair man is due at eight.’ We headed for the house together. When we got to the door, he stopped and looked at me before he opened the slider. ‘Does she look as good as I think she does?’ He asked.

I smiled. ‘Better, Dad.’

‘Watch yourself, son.’

‘She’s just a friend, Dad.’ I assured him. I hated lying to him. But I didn’t want him to worry. I was sure my mother would learn of when I’d come home. Where I’d been with Celia. And that we’d gone skinny-dipping.

‘Yeah, a friend you’ve seen naked,’ were my father’s last words.

My mother didn’t wake me until after ten. The house was already cooling; refreshingly cool air was blowing out of the duct in my bedroom.

‘Come out and get some breakfast while it’s still hot,’ she said from doorway. ‘The repairman left a little while ago. We should get moving if we’re going to the beach club.’

Celia had just sat down to eat when I got to the kitchen. She was already dressed for the beach club, wearing a coverup and shorts.

My father came in from the deck a moment later, carrying a cooler. ‘Eat up and take a quick shower. I want to get going soon.’ He took it to the kitchen and started packing it with food from the fridge. If he was upset with me about last night, I didn’t detect it. I wolfed down the last of the omelet left on the stove with a glass of orange juice, then left to get ready. Other than Mom and Dad talking about what we were taking to the beach club, there was no conversation while I was in the kitchen. The conversation on the drive was relaxed. I wondered if my father mentioned my late return. He sometimes cut me some slack when I pushed my luck.

There wasn’t much of a beach at the beach club, just a small sandy area on a large pond. It wasn’t appealing. The water was a muddy orange-brown. It had a slight rotten eggs smell, like the well water at the house. Fortunately, there was also a large pool and a kiddie pool. My parents led the way to an area under a large oak where there were several already-occupied picnic tables and a couple empty ones. Many of the people already there had been at the house. Unsurprisingly, Katherine was there. It wasn’t long before she was my constant companion. I could see Celia was amused at my exasperation. I did my best to be friendly but not too friendly. None of her friends were there until later, when her girlfriend Beverly showed up. I was going to be stuck with Katherine and her friend. Under the watchful eye of their parents. Not that they had much to worry about.

Dr. Chapman eventually convinced Celia to go for a swim. I was poolside hanging out with Katherine and Beverly. When Celia took her wrap off, almost everything stopped. The sleek, sapphire blue one-piece she wore was amazing. Katherine stopped talking midsentence. Only the little kids didn’t check her out. Dr. Chapman smiled like a kid that found his every wish under the Christmas tree.

I got something of a surprise later in the day. Katherine dragged me off to play catch with a Frisbee while Beverly was talking, arguing really, with her parents. While we were walking to an area devoid of people, she said, ‘I saw you late last night.’

I felt myself tense a bit but maintained my composure. ‘Oh, where was that?’

‘Tilton Meadows,’ she said simply. After a moment’s hesitation, she continued. ‘Beverly stayed over last night. My parents’ house is in Brookside, on the other side of Tilton Meadows from here. We snuck out of the house to go for a swim. We saw you and Celia at the pool. We were going to skinny-dip, too. But Beverly didn’t want to take her clothes off in front of people she didn’t know.’

If I hadn’t already been sweating profusely, I might have broken into a sweat. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Do your parents know you and Celia are . . . together?’ she asked.

‘Not yet,’ I said softly.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to them. But how come she’s hanging out with Dr. Chapman?’

‘We’re keeping things to ourselves for the time being. Celia’s our neighbor and a little older than me. Mom has tried to fix her up a couple times. This is one of those times. Celia’s playing nice for my mother’s sake. But she’s already told me she’s not interested in Dr. Chapman.’

‘It must be difficult to watch.’

‘I’m not enjoying it. In her case, I think she’s amused by the attention you’re paying me.’

‘You can relax, Keith. I knew you weren’t interested in me yesterday. I didn’t know why but I understand now. Celia’s gorgeous,’ she said softly. ‘And if last night is any indication . . .,’ her voice trailed off.

‘It’s much more than just involved to me, Katherine. ‘

‘I hope we can be friends when we get to school in September,’ Katherine said.

‘I don’t see why not. We’re not likely to see much of each other unless we make a point of it. Maybe we can have lunch or supper together sometimes.’

‘That would be nice. And it will help keep my father off my back,’ she said. Then she smiled. ‘Celia scared the shit out of Beverly last night. I was just jealous. Wishing it was me. It sounded like one hell of an orgasm!’ Then she snatched the Frisbee from me and ran off a bit before tossing it to me.

I felt much more at ease with Katherine the rest of the afternoon. She and Beverly left for the day at about four. We stayed until after we had dinner.

As dinner was being served, Dr. Chapman asked Celia if she was ready to go. She begged off politely, saying she wasn’t up for it. When he asked what her plans were for the next day, she whispered something to him. They walked off a short distance and spoke for a few minutes. I didn’t hear their exchange, but he didn’t look happy. He left immediately, without saying goodbye to anyone.

I was getting a plate nearby when Celia returned. My mother had an eyebrow up. ‘You’re not joining Harold for dinner?’ she asked.

Celia shook her head. ‘Not tonight, Dottie.’

‘I’m sorry. I thought you and Harold would like each other.’

‘He likes me well enough,’ Celia said.

‘What’s wrong? He’s always nice to the nurses at work. Not like many of the doctors.’

‘Of course, he is, Dottie,’ Celia said without elaborating.

‘You weren’t impressed with him?’ my mother asked.

‘He’s impressed enough with himself for both of us,’ was Celia’s reply. She had a grin on her face when she said it. I thought it was funny, too. Mom didn’t.

My mother said something to Celia, but it too softly for me to hear it.

‘Well, he’d never get any of the nurses to screw him if he wasn’t nice to them,’ Celia said. She didn’t raise her voice when she said it. But she didn’t whisper, either. Nearly everyone heard it.

My father nearly choked on his hot dog and turned away, trying to hide the smile on his face. Several people made no such effort. One of the other women in attendance, who worked with my mother, laughed heartily, then said, ‘I tried to warn you, Dottie.’

I never told Celia about my conversation with Katherine.

We went into Augusta on Saturday. After spending some time on the riverwalk, my mother and Celia went shopping together. My father and I found a brew pub and watched a baseball game while Mom and Celia shopped. We had dinner out in Augusta and then went back to the house. Everyone turned in early. Celia and I stayed on the deck a little later, but we didn’t go for another walk. It wasn’t something we discussed. We both knew instinctively that it might raise eyebrows and suspicions.

Sunday, we stayed in. I basked in the central air conditioning, a luxury I wished we had at home. At five, Dad drove us to Augusta where we met Mr. Bogosian for our return home. When I watched my father and Mr. Bogosian talk, Mr. Bogosian was almost deferential to my father. I thought it was odd but I didn’t think too much about it at the time.

Once home again Sunday night, Celia and I returned to our routine. Something had changed between us, though. Our bond was stronger. We spent nearly every night together. We even began doing some things in public together, though we kept it low-key. We grocery shopped together. We went to dinner a few times in neighboring towns. We went into Boston twice where we were sure not to see anyone we knew. We spent the day on the Freedom Trail and had dinner in a nice restaurant on one trip. On another, we went to Fenway where we saw the Red Sox drop a game to the Kansas City Royals. We drove to Cape Cod the first Saturday in August and got a room in Hyannis for the night. We spent Sunday at Craigville Beach.

The night we were driving back from Cape Cod, Jerry and Rebecca saw us drive by them at an intersection. They were headed the same way we were and fell into traffic behind us. Jerry said they didn’t think anything of seeing us together at first. But when they saw Celia duck down and not sit back up, it didn’t take much to figure out what Celia was doing while I drove the last few miles home. Especially since, as Rebecca said, ‘Your driving got a little erratic.’

Celia finally said the words I’d been hoping to hear while we were making love the night we returned from the Cape.

‘I love you, Keith,’ she said breathlessly as we held each other at one point that night. She repeated it several times that night.

I was ecstatic when I heard it. I could finally voice a sentiment I’d been struggling to suppress since coming back from Georgia. ‘I love you, too, Celia. I think I have since the day we met.’ We stayed up almost all night, making love. It was a sentiment we each expressed regularly the rest of the summer. And every time we talked or saw each other after I returned to school.

I was a zombie when I went to work the next morning. Mr. Nelson interpreted my lethargy as being sick and suggested I go home for the day, offering to cover for me. I took him up on the offer and spent most of the day in bed with Celia. Mostly, we slept. Mostly.

Two weeks before Labor Day. My father called. ‘Ready to go back to school?’ he asked to open the conversation.

‘Looking forward to it,’ I assured him. Being away from Celia was going to be difficult to bear. I kept that to myself.

‘Do you think you can figure how to get there on your own?’ he asked. ‘Mom can’t get away; she has to work the holiday weekend. I leave for equipment checkouts at vendors on Wednesday and can’t get back until the Saturday after the holiday. I’m sorry but it can’t be helped. I wanted to see you again before school started.’

‘One way or another, I can get there, Dad. I’ll miss you guys, but I’ll be okay.’

‘Take your truck, if you have to.’

‘Maybe, but I probably can’t keep it at school. I had to apply for a parking permit for this year last semester if I wanted to have a car on campus this year. There aren’t many student-parking spaces. They go fast.’

‘See what you can do. Take a taxi. Hire a limo if you have to,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’ll cover the cost.’

‘That would make a splash,’ I laughed. There were kids who arrived at school in Mercedes Benzes. One I’d seen freshman year arrived with his parents in a Bentley. But I already knew who I’d ask to take me to school. And I was sure she’d be happy to bring me.

Celia took me to school. I wanted to close the door for some intimate time before she left but dropping me off was all that happened that day. It wasn’t long before we were both busy with school. We talked on the phone frequently. We had a weekend together in late September and two more in October. In November, I only saw her during Thanksgiving. I missed my parents that holiday, but I spent Thanksgiving Day with my grandparents, paternal in the morning, maternal later in the day. When I left my grandparents’ house for home, I went home first and called my parents. Then I went to Celia’s. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were spent with Celia in the guest room at my house.

My parents flew me to Georgia for Christmas break. I didn’t see Celia at all; I returned directly to school for the start of the semester, catching a ride from the airport on a shuttle bus the college provided. We talked regularly but couldn’t seem to coordinate any time together. My mother returned home a couple weeks before spring break while my father remained in Georgia to wrap up his project. Mom picked me up at school to take me home for spring break. I looked forward to seeing Celia, though I knew we’d have to be careful now that Mom was home.

When I got home, a minivan was parked in Celia’s driveway. At first, I thought she had family visiting. But then I saw the real estate agency sign posted in front of the house. A sold placard attached to it.

I was confused. My stomach flipped. A moment later, it felt like my guts had been torn out. My mother picked up on my distress immediately.

‘Is something wrong, honey?’ she asked.

My first instinct was to tell her everything was fine, but I knew she wouldn’t buy it. Instead, I asked, ‘Celia moved? I was looking forward to seeing her. Where did she go?’ My fervent hope was that she had just moved across town.

‘I don’t know,’ my mother replied. ‘The house was empty and there was an ‘Under Contract’ board under the For Sale sign when I got home.’ Mom was quiet for a moment. ‘I understand you and Celia grew close last summer.’

‘We did, Mom. I saw more of her than I saw of my friends. Mostly because of the summer work schedules we all had. Jerry and Rebecca were the only ones I saw frequently. It was weird being home alone all the time. Celia filled a void with you and Dad gone.’

‘Your father told me about your walk with Celia while you were in Georgia last summer.’ I heard the disapproval in her voice. ‘I hope swimming was all you two were up to.’

‘Mom, there’s nothing you need to worry about,’ I said. Especially now, I thought. I’m not convinced she bought it. Maybe she gave me benefit of the doubt. She had no reason not to. I’d never been a difficult kid. Never got in trouble. Did well in school. Sure, they weren’t always happy with me. But I was a good son, even if I wasn’t always an angel.

I felt lost for the entirety of spring break. I had no idea where Celia went. Or why she hadn’t said anything. She called only a few days before I went home for spring break. The last words we exchanged were, ‘I love you.’

Things didn’t get any better after I returned to school. I managed to make it through the semester without my hurt and anger interfering with my responsibilities. But I know my friends at school could tell something was wrong. I was better senior year, but I dropped some of my responsibilities. I relinquished my position as newspaper editor but stayed on as a sportswriter and returned to being a stringer for the local newspaper. I dated but didn’t make a connection with any of the girls I went out with. Katherine became my closest friend and confidant. She quickly figured out I wasn’t seeing Celia anymore, but we didn’t talk about it in any depth. No, I never slept with her. I think Katherine would have been receptive to an overture. But I couldn’t let go of Celia.

I knew what I wanted to do after graduating but struggled to find work. I worked as a stringer for almost two years, producing stories and photos for several newspapers and regional magazines around Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Rhode Island. Eventually, I caught on with a newspaper in southern Connecticut. I wasn’t happy there. I wanted to do something besides cover sports, but the editor wouldn’t give me any other assignments. Or consider any I proposed. Shortly before I turned twenty-five, my paternal grandfather came to my rescue, though not in a way I liked. He passed away.

In the weeks after my grandfather died, I learned more about him than I’d learned in my previous twenty-five years. My grandfather owned the company my father worked for. Something my parents knew but I didn’t. Dad never wanted to run the company. He was an engineer. Always wanted to be an engineer. He earned his way up through the company, eventually becoming head of the engineering department. He had the job he wanted. My grandfather began transferring ownership in the company to my father and me, when I was an infant. No one, including my parents knew that. When he died, I was already very wealthy and had no idea. My father owned two-thirds of the company. I owned the rest.

After taking stock of my situation with the newspaper I worked for, I decided it was time to change jobs. But not career direction. I still felt I had something to offer as a journalist and set out to make my mark. I sold my share of the company to my father and began looking for a smalltown newspaper. To buy, not just work for. My father was convinced I was crazy.

I bought an afternoon newspaper in a small Midwestern city, population about eighty thousand. One of the reasons I chose it was it was the only newspaper in an area with a population of almost a quarter-million people. My first meeting with the managing editor could best be described as tense.

When I first visited , only the managing editor knew I was coming. The first time I spoke to him on the phone, I told him not to announce the new owner was visiting. I wanted to remain anonymous. The first thing William Barrett did after he closed his office door behind me was hand me an envelope.

‘What’s this?’ I asked without opening it.

‘My resignation, effective the end of next week. I’ll stick around long enough to introduce you and show you the operation. I’m not staying. You can’t possibly know what you’re getting into and I’m not going to ruin my reputation by continuing to work here while you make decisions that cause the paper to fail.’

I tossed the envelope onto his desk. ‘You’re right. I don’t know what I’m getting into. Which is why I have no intention of taking over. Please stay and continue to run things. I’m only making two changes. And minor ones at that.’ When he didn’t say anything, I continued. ‘Mr. Barrett, I’m not qualified to run a newspaper. Sure, I edited a college newspaper for a while. But I’m not stupid. I’d be in over my head and my investment would quickly evaporate, along with all the jobs here.’

‘What exactly do you have in mind?’

‘One, I get added to the reporting staff. As you probably already know, I’ve been doing sports reporting. I want to branch out from that, but my former employer wouldn’t accommodate me. I’ll do sports, or whatever the editor I’m assigned to wants me to do. But I want to be allowed a little freedom to develop some of my own stories and given some other assignments. The appropriate editor can decide whether or not to print what I turn in.’

‘You want me to continue to manage the paper?’ Barrett asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Alright. The first thing I have to say is there’s no room in the budget for another reporter.’

‘Don’t pay me. I don’t need a salary. And even if I did, I’m familiar with the paper’s financials. It’s profitable enough to provide an income if I need it. If I make the cut, you can offer an appropriate salary when the time comes.’

It was obvious Barrett thought I was nuts. His jaw was working, grinding his teeth. I wondered if it was something he did under stress or habitual. And what his dentist had to say about it. ‘You’re serious about this?’ he finally asked.

I nodded.

‘You interfere with operations in any way, I’m gone.’

‘Understood.’

‘What’s the second change?’

‘The name of the publisher has to change with new ownership. Replace R. Thompson Meddle’s name with The Heywood Publishing Company. The incorporation papers have already been filed.’

‘Not you? You’re the publisher.’

I was getting a little frustrated. He wasn’t buying that I really wanted to remain anonymous. ‘Again, I prefer to remain anonymous. Only you’re to know who I am. I want to earn my way, not buy my way. I’m confident in my abilities and expect one day to be sitting behind your desk. But I know I need experience. All I want is a fair chance to prove myself. I wasn’t getting that and saw no chance it was ever going to happen. If I can’t make it, I’ll sell the paper and find something else to do.’

Barrett remained quiet for a minute. ‘I know your old boss. Frankly, Thomas Edgerton is an idiot. He wouldn’t recognize talent if it bit him on the ass. I read your stuff Keith Tobin, including some of the writing for your college newspaper and the work you did as a stringer, both while you were still in school and after. I looked at the college paper while you editor. You have some talent. I liked how you tailored your writing about the same event to the publication’s readership.’ He was quiet for a minute. ‘Everyone knows the paper was sold. What should I tell them? They’re nervous as hell. Almost everyone is worried they’ll lose their jobs.’

‘Tell them you’ve spoken with the new ownership. They’re happy with the paper’s current operations. The new owner is taking a hands-off approach.’

‘Then how do I explain you? My editors are well acquainted with the budget.’

‘Just tell them the new owners want to develop new talent and are investing some of their own money to do so. If anyone asks who I am after I leave today, tell them I came in for an interview and leave it at that. I’ll report for work the beginning of next month.’

‘I’ll have to figure out what to do with you. You’re not going to be easy to explain.’

‘You already know I can do sports. Dispatch me to cover local sports. I’ll turn in appropriate copy. The sports editor can print or not print if it doesn’t meet standards. The only sports coverage prints is major college and pro sports coverage from the wire services. Your local sports coverage has only been scores, game and individual stats. It might help circulation to expand local sports coverage.’

‘I thought you weren’t going to interfere with operations.’

‘It’s your editor’s call whether he prints my copy.’

‘Okay, Mr. Tobin. You own the paper. I can work with you. If you adhere to what you’ve told me.’

‘I’ll see you in three weeks. You should have sufficient time to arrange for my arrival. And Mr. Barrett, I expect to be treated like a new-hire reporter. I can take care of myself.’

I kept my word when I began work at . I suffered all the indignities of being the wet-behind-the-ears reporter with a grin, including being the gofer dispatched to pick up lunch sometimes. I covered high school sports, covered charity events, wrote pieces for the Style section. Some of it didn’t get to print, though nearly all of the high school sports I covered got at least a paragraph or two. I was pleased that Barrett had decided to take my suggestion that local sports get a bit more attention. I even heard a few people in town talk about the change when stopping for coffee on my way to work. I was right, too. It helped boost circulation a bit and reduced costs by eliminating the expense of some of the wire service stories.

I was given some leeway, some time to come up with a story or two on my own. One, about a high school kid that raised enough money to buy and equip a new ambulance for a volunteer fire department in an outlying town made it to print, with my byline, on the front page of the style section. And without being edited.

But it was because I covered a high school tournament basketball game on a Friday night that I made a splash at the paper.

One of the three city high schools was making a run in its class championship tournament. They opened the game with a 16-2 run and were blowing out a third-round opponent by thirty at halftime. Just before the buzzer to end the first half, I made a beeline for the restroom, hoping to beat the crowd. On the way, I saw a cop who was working the game, take a wad of cash from a high school kid and hand him a baggie which clearly contained drugs.

It caught me off-guard a little, and I made the mistake of pausing to watch. The cop caught a glimpse of me when the kid took off. I panicked and ran down a hallway, going deep into the school. One of the classrooms had its lights on. I ducked into it and locked the door behind me. A moment later, the cop tried the doorknob. When it didn’t open, he pounded on the door, hard. I was startled when I heard footsteps behind me. A teacher was at her desk, papers spread out in front of her, when I burst through the door.

She looked right at me as she walked past me to the door. I was terrified. Certain she was just going to let the cop in. I doubted there was any way he could justify an arrest. He’d likely give me grief about not belonging anywhere but the gym. But he’d know who I was and what I saw.

Instead, she opened the door and stood at it, blocking the way in. ‘Can I help you, officer?’

‘I saw someone duck down this hallway. No one is supposed to be in the school after hours. Did you see anyone?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’ve got a stack of exams on my desk I’ve been correcting. No one came in. I wouldn’t have heard anyone in the hallway unless they were making a ruckus.’

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ I heard the cop say.

The teacher closed the door and turned to me. ‘Hello, Keith,’ she said simply after a moment.

I was stunned. Her hair was cropped shorter, in a pixie cut. The wave was gone. Her hips looked a little wider. There was no mistaking who it was. But I still didn’t believe it. ‘Celia Heywood?’ I asked, pointlessly.

‘Contessori,’ she said. ‘I took back my maiden name. But yes, Keith. It is me.’

I couldn’t speak once she confirmed it was her. I just stared in disbelief. I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The same one I got when I realized she’d sold her house and moved away without a word. Without saying goodbye. Her last words to me were, ‘I love you.’ I was beginning to experience the same disorientation I felt when I knew she was gone forever.

‘Are you alright?’ When I nodded, she continued. ‘Are you in trouble? Why was that cop looking for you?’

I forced myself back to reality. ‘I’m okay. Just a little stunned. Yeah, the cop was looking for me. But not because I did anything wrong. I saw him do something he didn’t want me to see. Something that will send him to prison.’

Celia looked at me in a way I’d never seen from her. She’d always been pleasant. Friendly. Quick with a smile. Even before we became lovers. I didn’t see any of that. Her expression said ‘Go away. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk to you.’ Though she didn’t say any of those things. I wasn’t going to accept that. I was sure she already knew that.

A moment later, I heard a soft roar from the crowd in the gym. The cheerleaders were getting their crowds fired up for the second half. ‘I have to go back to work. Can you take a look and see if the cop is gone?’

She looked down the hallway and came back inside. ‘I don’t see him.’

‘I’m going back to work, Celia. But we’re going to talk at some point. One way or another. I deserve a few minutes of your time. When and where?’

She hesitated for a moment. ‘Do you know Becker’s?’

‘The coffee shop and bakery on Travis Street.’

‘Sunday morning. Is ten okay?’

‘I’ll be there.’

I ducked out the door and made my way back to the game. I didn’t see the cop. The trailing team made a run to open the second half. Closing the gap to only twenty points. But it wasn’t long before the lead was back to thirty. The bench played the entire fourth quarter and extended the lead. The hometown boys won by thirty-five. I left as soon as the buzzer to end the game sounded. I passed the cop on the way out. A few people got in my way as I went by, slowing me enough to read his name tag and get his badge number. D. Thomas, 303. He paid no attention to me.

It was after nine when the game ended. I went to the paper and tried to assemble my notes into a coherent story. But the shock of seeing a cop sell drugs to a high school kid, coupled with stumbling upon Celia, had me shaken. What should have taken about a half hour took two. I managed to get a passable description of the game together and put the copy in the night editor’s inbox. He’d review it as soon as he returned from wherever he was and make what changes he deemed appropriate, most likely truncating it to fit available space, then forward it to the composition department. It would be in the Saturday afternoon paper.

I went home but couldn’t sleep. Seeing Celia upset me. But witnessing a cop make a drug transaction both intrigued and terrified me. I sat in the dark at home for a couple hours before I picked up the phone and called Sally Parker.

Parker had been at for over twenty-five years. She covered local politics and the crime beat. Not that there was much local crime of interest. She was in her late fifties, divorced, with grown kids. Short gray hair, trending to white. She barely cracked five feet and was built like a fire hydrant. There were rumors she was a lesbian, but no one had ever seen anything to confirm it. Her ex-husband was the printing press supervisor. He never said anything about her. Good or bad. Ever. She had a biting, acerbic wit, could set a building ablaze with one of her glares, and frankly, scared the shit out of most people at the paper and at city hall. I liked and admired her immensely. She tolerated me.

‘What?’ she asked sleepily when she picked up the phone.

‘I need to talk to you, Parker,’ I said. ‘Soon. It’s important.’

‘Christ, Tobin, do you know what time it is?’

‘Instinctively, I looked at my watch. ‘Two-oh-eight,’ I said, not realizing how idiotic I sounded.

‘Dammit, I was asleep. What do you want?’

‘You’re the crime beat reporter. I stumbled onto something. I need your input.’

‘It couldn’t wait?’

‘Not really. It will be tricky and could get dangerous. Depending on what I find.’

‘You know where I live?’

‘Northwest corner of Boardman and Starr,’ I said. She lived on the second floor, over a little German deli.

‘Give me twenty minutes. Not a minute sooner.’ She hung up.

I got there in twelve but stayed in my car. A few minutes after I parked, the door that led up to Sally’s apartment opened. Maisie Evans, an attractive, never-married mid-forties woman that worked in the circulation department came out. She was wearing a housecoat under her light-weight jacket. Her hair was in curlers. She got in her car and drove off. I guessed the rumors were true. Not that I cared. I stayed in my car for at least another five minutes, though it felt like an hour.

I opened the street door Maisie had exited and started up a nearly pitch-black hallway, the only light was what leaked through the bottom of Sally’s apartment door and what little light intruded from the streetlights. Sally’s door opened before I got halfway up the stairs, but I didn’t see her.

As soon I entered her apartment, it smelled strongly of coffee. I called out for Sally and got an ‘I’m in the kitchen,’ response. Like I knew where the kitchen was. I followed her voice and the aroma of coffee. Sally was sitting at the kitchen table, a big cup of black coffee in front of her. She pointed at the seat across from her. I sat and watched as she put five heaping teaspoons of sugar in the oversized cup and added milk until the cup overflowed into the saucer under it. She didn’t offer a cup and I wasn’t about to ask for one.

‘What couldn’t wait?’ she asked as she stirred the barely beige liquid in front of her.

‘I was at the Tech-Belmont game tonight . . .,’ I began.

Sally interrupted me, holding her cup in front of her face. ‘I couldn’t care less where you were or why. Get to the point. What convinced you I needed to be awoken in the middle of the freakin’ night?’

‘I witnessed the cop working the game sell drugs to a high school kid.’

Sally’s gray-green eyes bored into me over the top of her cup. Her face went from sleepily annoyed to wide awake and listening intently in a blink. ‘Details.’

‘I made a beeline for the lavatory when the buzzer sounded to end the first half. I walked by a hallway and caught something out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look and saw a kid about seventeen or eighteen hand the cop a wad of cash and get handed a baggie stuffed with red, maybe orange pills.

‘Reds, most likely. Secobarbital. A barbiturate that’s a popular street drug. Dangerous stuff. Addictive. Do you know the cop’s name?’ Sally asked.

‘D. Thomas. Badge number three-oh-three.’

‘Did he see you?’

‘He caught a glimpse of me and gave chase. But I locked myself in a classroom. I doubt he got a good look. When I left the game, I was closer to him than I am to you. He was watching the crowd but appeared not to take note of me.’

Sally looked deep in thought. ‘Don’t count on that. If Patrolman Donald Thomas is selling drugs, he wasn’t about to let on he made you. Watch your back, kid.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘Where you going with this?’

‘He got a good-sized wad of cash from that kid. And gave him quite a few pills. I have a bunch of questions. Is he in it alone? If not, who else is involved? Are other cops doing it, too? How far up the command structure? Where’s the supply come from? How much business is he doing? What schools are involved? Was the kid a dealer or just a user? It was a big bag of pills.’

Sally stayed quiet for a moment after I stopped talking. ‘I was looking into rumors about reds being readily available in some of the area high schools early last year. Black beauties, too, which are a powerful amphetamine. But Bob Casey cut me off. Told me to drop it. It was a police matter. I shouldn’t be conducting their investigations.’

‘Why’d he do that? If the police aren’t investigating, isn’t it our responsibility to look into it? We’re supposed to serve the community.’

‘I wasn’t getting anywhere. So, I understand to some extent. But maybe that’s why I wasn’t getting anywhere. Or why the police department isn’t getting handle on it. Maybe I was looking in the wrong places. And the police are, too.’

‘Or maybe the police aren’t looking at all? Can we trust Casey? I don’t like him,’ I admitted. ‘There’s just something about him.’

Sally’s jaw was working a mile a minute. I wondered if she and Barrett had the same dentist. ‘I’d like to look into this, too. You want to work on it with me?’ she asked. I nodded. ‘Okay. Let’s keep this to ourselves,’ she said.

‘I have to tell Casey. He’ll be asking questions about what I’m doing.’

‘No. We keep this quiet. We don’t tell anyone.’ She ran her fingers through her hair. She looked drained and tired suddenly. ‘I don’t know how I’m gonna find time for this,’ she said.

‘Put in some extra hours. That’s what I’ll be doing,’ I told her.

Sally laughed at me. ‘I already put in seventy or more hours every week, kid. I don’t have any extra hours. I’m not a wet-behind-the-ears twenty-something trying to make a name anymore. I’ve got grandchildren that like to see their Granny. And I like seeing them.’

‘Isn’t there anything you can drop?’ I asked.

‘Maybe temporarily. But if I want to keep my info current and retain my sources, I need to be seen at the meetings I attend and places I go. And talk to people.’

‘Anyone you trust in the cop shop?’ I asked.

‘A few. But cops close ranks any time one their own is accused or under investigation. If we ask the wrong question, we won’t get a word out of anyone on the force.’

‘Even about a cop dealing drugs?’

‘It doesn’t matter what the accusation is. We find evidence of wrongdoing, print it, and it leads to the downfall of a cop, even a dirty cop, we’ll be pariahs. Not that I care. I’ve been a pariah before. But the blue wall goes up even for dirty cops.’

Sally and I made a rudimentary plan. She’d carefully learn what she could through her sources; I’d keep tabs on Patrol Officer D. Thomas. Watch who he associated with. Carefully. Though I’d been around town for a while, I wasn’t as widely known as Sally Parker. I could keep a lower profile. As far as I knew, no one in the police department knew who I was. I asked to use her bathroom and then headed for home.

My phone rang shortly after I got back to my apartment. All I managed to get out was ‘Hello.’

‘If you ever leave the toilet seat in my bathroom up again, I’ll make your life a living hell,’ Sally said, then hung up.

It didn’t take long to drift off once I stopped moving. But I didn’t sleep long. I woke from an erotic dream. Despite the cool temperature in my room, I was drenched with sweat when I woke. And had no clear recollection of the dream, just a hard-on and the vague sense Celia featured.

Despite staying busy all day with household tasks and chores, Saturday dragged. I had a first date that night with a woman named Sylvia. She was tall, maybe five-nine, athletic in build but with a more prominent chest than normally seen in women with her body type. Long, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, amazing legs that she didn’t mind showing off. The three times we’d crossed paths, she was wearing a short skirt. Short enough that she had to pay attention to her every move to maintain her modesty.

The first time was in the checkout line at the grocery store. She asked what I was making with fresh chili peppers. I couldn’t tell her because I had no idea. Just an undefined yearning for something spicy. We talked for a few minutes until it was her turn to check out. She smiled at me and waved goodbye just before she pushed her cart out the door. I saw her at a laundromat a few days later, and again a week after that. In both instances, we had more time to talk. I asked her to dinner before we parted the third time.

Now that the time was approaching and I’d seen Celia, I found myself ambivalent about having dinner with Sylvia. I wanted to cancel and reschedule but didn’t have a phone number for her. She was new in town and the telephone company hadn’t installed her phone yet. I wasn’t about to just stand her up. It was an experience I didn’t enjoy. I refused to do it to someone.

At Sylvia’s suggestion, we met at a small family-owned Italian restaurant. Unfortunately, the family that ran it wasn’t Italian. I found the food a disappointment, though Sylvia, a Nebraska native, liked it. The company was pleasant, and overall, the evening wasn’t the disaster I feared. The lady even indicated interest in a repeat in the near future. We never got together again, though I ran into her a few more times. Sylvia’s employer moved her again after only a few months.

I was up Sunday far earlier than necessary. Long enough that I ran five miles that morning rather than my usual two. By the time I left for Becker’s, I was edgy from too little sleep and too much coffee. The prospect of an unpleasant conversation weighed heavily.

Celia was sitting by herself in a corner when I arrived, a cup of coffee in front of her. I barely had time to say hello and sit before a waitress in her sixties arrived with a coffee pot and a cup. I declined the coffee and asked for orange juice. I ordered ham, egg, and cheese on a hard roll which got a blank stare; Celia told the waitress a bulkie and ordered oatmeal and a bear claw for herself.

I could tell Celia was nervous. Her eyebrows were knitted into a frown. ‘How have you been, Keith?’ she asked once the waitress was gone.

‘I’m okay. It took a while but I’m doing alright. How about you?’

‘I’m well. Busy with school and all.’

‘How did you end up here?’ I asked.

‘This is where I grew up. After I left, I didn’t have a job for a while. I needed to be near family.’

‘Your folks are here?’

‘A sister, a brother, an uncle, and my father. Mom passed away when I was in high school,’ she told me.

‘Why did you leave, Celia?’ I asked. I didn’t want our breakfast together to descend into an exchange of feigned pleasantries and awkward civility. I wanted answers.

‘It wasn’t easy, Keith. But it would have been too hard to stay . . . after,’ her voice trailed off. She didn’t look up from her coffee.

‘After what?’ I asked.

She hesitated. ‘After I lost my job. I couldn’t stay after that.’

‘You needed a job. I understand that. Couldn’t you have got by while you interviewed?’ I asked. ‘There were other high schools in the area. Was there a budget cut? Was the diocese having financial problems?’

‘There were several reasons why I couldn’t stay after I was no longer teaching. I needed to be near family.’

‘Celia, what aren’t you telling me? Why did you leave without telling me?’

Celia didn’t eat. Just stirred her oatmeal around. It had to be cold by now. My nearly untouched sandwich was. She hadn’t done anything but stir it. ‘Keith, I couldn’t stay,’ she said simply.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?’

‘I thought I’d see you before I left. But the house sold faster than expected. It only took a week. The buyer paid cash. They didn’t have to wait for a mortgage. When the sale was scheduled to close in early February, I decided it was better to just go.’

‘You had my phone number. You could have called.’

‘It was better I didn’t, Keith.’

‘The last thing you said to me was I love you. Didn’t you mean it?’ I regretted asking the question immediately. Tears began streaming down both cheeks. I reached over and lifted her chin. I barely got to see her eyes were bloodshot before she pushed my hand away and looked down to hide her face again. ‘What are you hiding? I asked. ‘Did I do something?’

Celia sniffled and wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘I couldn’t stay because I got fired for cause, Keith.’ Before I fully grasped what she said, she was up and running out the door.

I wanted to chase after her but there was the matter of the check, about six dollars. I quickly fished some money out of my pocket. All I had in my pocket was a couple twenty-dollar bills. I didn’t hesitate to drop Andrew Jackson’s picture on the table and gave chase. Celia was up the street, just getting in her car when I got outside. I bolted for my car and followed. At a distance. Eventually, she pulled into a driveway, got out and ran inside.

I parked just up the street and sat in my car for a minute, trying to figure out what to do. Something was very wrong. I needed to know what. And whether I had any part of it. She was so distraught I was afraid to make matters worse. I decided the only way things would get worse was if I wasn’t there for her. I wasn’t pissed at Celia anymore. I had a vague sense I should be pissed at myself, though no idea why. All I knew was seeing me again had upset her terribly.

I got out of my car, went to the front door and rang the doorbell. I heard the same chimes as at my parent’s house. A moment later, a man answered the door. He was about five-ten and lean. Looked used to physical labor. His complexion suggested he spent a great deal of time outdoors. His haircut was the Marine Corp drill instructor cut many men in my father’s generation favored. The very short hair on the sides was gray; the half-inch long hair on top of his head stood straight up and was still mostly dark but peppered with gray.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked, his tone was cordial, but he seemed exasperated.

Before I could say anything, a boy about four, maybe five, years old came to the door and tugged on the man’s pant leg. ‘Pop-pop? What’s wrong with Mommy? How come she’s crying?’ the boy asked, all the while, shyly looking up at me from behind the man.

‘I don’t know yet, pal,’ the man said. ‘Let me find out what this guy wants, then I’ll go check on your Mom, okay?’ The boy hid behind the man while he waited.

‘My guess is I’m the reason she crying,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know why, but I think I do now,’ I said looking at the kid, still peeking at me from behind who I assumed was his grandfather.

The man looked me up and down. I couldn’t get a read on him. I wondered if he might open the screen door and punch my lights out. If he did, I was sure it would be because I deserved it. Instead, he opened the door and stepped aside.

‘I suppose you should come in,’ he said. ‘I doubted this day would ever come. I hope I’m not going to regret it has.’

‘I hope so, too.’

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Keith Tobin.’

‘The sports reporter at ?’ he asked, sounding surprised.

‘The same.’

‘When she left this morning, she said she was meeting a friend for a late breakfast. I thought it was one of her old girlfriends. I should have known better. She’s been moody and withdrawn for a couple days.’ He led me into the kitchen. ‘Coffee?’ he asked.

I shook my head. ‘I just want to talk to Celia. I don’t want to make trouble or be difficult, I just want to help.’

‘How do you know my daughter?’ he asked.

‘She lived next door to me when she was a teacher at Bishop O’Malley.’

Surprised by that revelation, he gave me the once over again. ‘You didn’t know, did you?’ he asked.

I shook my head. ‘I had no idea. I can’t tell you how upset I was when I came home only to learn she was gone.’

‘Where were you before you got home?’

‘At school.’

He didn’t react openly, but his eyes flicked back and forth, suggesting he had some questions. ‘I’ll get Celia.’ He left me where I was and went upstairs. He came down a few minutes later. ‘She said she doesn’t want to see you. But I told her I wouldn’t let you leave until she came down. I asked what was going on when she came home a few years ago, but I couldn’t get her to tell me anything. Other than the obvious fact she was pregnant.’ He extended his hand, ‘I’m Bartolo Contessori, Celia’s father. Most everyone calls me Bart.’

It was nearly an hour before Celia came downstairs. She looked like hell. Red, swollen eyes. The sadness in her expression was more than I could bear.

Bart got up from the table. I can’t say we became friends in that hour. Though it was her decision to leave and not inform me, I had impregnated up his daughter. ‘I’ll take little Keith for a walk,’ he told his daughter before he left the kitchen.

I was a bit taken aback the boy’s name was Keith. ‘Talk to me, Celia. Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have done right by you. By us. I was in love.’

‘That’s why, Keith. I considered everything before I moved away.’

‘Except what I’d think. Or want. When did you know you were pregnant?’ I asked.

‘I suspected in September when I missed my first period. At first, I wasn’t worried. It happened sometimes. But when I missed the second, I got tested. I almost told you when you were home for Thanksgiving. I was going to tell you at Christmas. But your parents flew you to Georgia for the break. While you were away, I thought I’d tell you the next time I saw you. ‘What happened with your job?’ I asked.

‘In January, Monsignor Colter told me to stop by his office before I went home for the day. By then I was starting to show. He got right to the point. Said he’d heard a couple of the girls I taught talking excitedly because they thought I was pregnant. He asked if was. When I said yes, he fired me. Said he couldn’t have an unmarried pregnant teacher at Bishop O’Malley.’

‘Your students didn’t know you didn’t have a husband. Or did they?’

Celia shook her head. ‘I pointed that out. Students knew me as Mrs. Heywood. They didn’t know I was widowed. I didn’t discuss my personal life with my students. Or the staff for that matter. I’m sure the staff knew my husband wasn’t around, though. I never mentioned my husband and didn’t ever give anyone a straight answer if someone asked.’

‘You couldn’t fight being fired?’

She shook her head again. ‘There’s a morals clause in the contract I signed when hired. As far as the administration was concerned, single and pregnant violated the morals clause.’

‘Why . . .’ I began, but Celia cut me off.

‘Because I didn’t want you to quit school. I know you would have. Because you’re a good guy, Keith. You’d have felt obligated to support me and your child.’

‘I would have,’ I agreed quickly. ‘But I would have figured out how to finish school.’

‘Plus, I was terrified,’ Celia said. ‘Afraid to face your parents. They’d have had a fit.’

I wanted to argue her point but knew she was right. My father would have been pissed but nothing like my mother. She’d have killed us both. It’d be a toss-up who she’d have been more pissed at. My money would be on Celia bearing the brunt of my mother’s wrath. But I also know once she got past her anger, she’d be thrilled about having a grandchild.

‘When you crashed through my classroom door, all those feelings I had when I first learned I was pregnant came back. I didn’t know you were here. How long have you been here?’ she asked.

‘Over a year. I’ve been at your high school more than a dozen times.’

‘I’m sorry this happened, Keith. You should go now.’

‘Don’t I get to know my son?’ I asked.

‘No. I don’t know. I’ll think about it. Now go, I’ll be in touch when the time is right.’

‘Celia, I . . .’ I began, but she cut me off.

‘Go, Keith. Just go.’

I left. Reluctantly. Feeling empty and disoriented. I drove around aimlessly for hours, with no recollection of where I’d been. When I realized it was already dark, I was over an hour from home and needed gas. And I still had no answers. No clue how to deal with my feelings. I’d dated some after I thought I was over Celia. But no one held my interest long. By the time I got back to my apartment, I knew I had never got over Celia. I was still in love with her. As in love with her as I had been before she disappeared. It just made me feel worse.

I heard my phone ringing as I crossed the porch to my first-floor apartment. But by the time I unlocked the door, it stopped. I didn’t care. I doubted it was my editor. There were never any local sports to cover on Sunday. I went to the fridge. I only had a bite or two of breakfast and never had lunch. I needed to eat but had no appetite as I looked at the contents of my well-stocked fridge. I ended up grabbing a banana from the counter. But I just held it while I sat on my living room couch and stared off into space. I still had it in my hand when I woke up Monday morning.

The next three weeks followed the usual routine. Tuesday the high school had a game against a higher-seeded tournament opponent. The game went much the same way as the previous game. The team opened up a big early lead, built on it in the second half and won by nearly thirty. They were making for a good story, my account of the game got picked up by several other newspapers around the state.

Friday night they played in the quarter-final round against the defending state champs. A game in a much bigger gym than they were used to playing in. This time there wasn’t going to a be a blowout. The opposing team had two heavily recruited seniors already committed to powerhouse basketball colleges. Both eventually had short careers in pro basketball. It was a see-saw game from start to finish. Had it been for the state championship, it would have become legendary. The defending champs lost by three in double-overtime. On a shot that swished with two seconds left on the clock. Corky Bullard, a senior and rarely used sub who came in after the starting point guard fouled out, made both the winning basket and the foul shot. For the second game in a row, my account of a game got picked up by several newspapers around the state.

A week passed between the quarter-final win and the semi-final game. The semi-finals and the finals were being played in the state university’s arena. The semis on Friday night. The championship was scheduled for Sunday afternoon. The team I was covering played first Friday night. The arena wasn’t full, but the attendance was announced at over twelve-thousand. The train derailed for home-town boys in the first quarter. Early mistakes, including an inbounds pass right to an opposing player undermined their confidence. Three quick fouls by the shooting guard, the team’s top scorer, benched him halfway through the first quarter. They were down twelve at the half. They made a comeback to within three to open the second half. But several starters got in foul trouble in the second half and the shooting guard fouled out before the third quarter ended. The team ended up losing by eighteen.

After the game, I returned to the paper, wrote my story and dropped into the night editor’s inbox. I was still keyed up from the game when I got home. I made a quick sandwich, grabbed a beer and turned on the TV. My phone rang again less than a half hour after getting home.

‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling all day,’ Sally said.

‘I had some personal stuff to attend to this afternoon, Sally. And then I had a game to cover. I haven’t been home.’

‘Got something to write on?’

‘Hang on a sec.’ I retrieved my notepad and pen from my coat. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Graham Fordyce. Criminal defense attorney in the Pershing Building across from the courthouse. He’s active in local politics. He’s given me some off-the-record stuff in the past. We have an appointment with him Monday at ten in his office on the fourth floor.’

I wrote down Fordyce’s name and location, along with the time and day of the meeting. ‘What’s this about?’ I asked.

‘I talked off the record to some of the criminal attorneys in town. I got a call from Fordyce after he initially told me he didn’t have any knowledge of what I’d asked about. Turns out Fordyce has a drug dealer client that’s pissed. It seems not only did some local cops bust him, they’re taking over his business. He wants payback and he doesn’t trust either the local cops or the prosecutor. The Feds told the Fordyce it’s a local matter. He had to deal with the local prosecutor.’

It took a moment for it all to sink in. ‘Wait a minute, cops are taking over his business?’ I asked.

‘Client claims he was pulled over on his way into town. They confiscated the delivery he was going to make and took the money he’d collected from a previous customer. He says just enough to make a felony arrest was logged into evidence. The bulk of his delivery wasn’t. The cash he had was gone, too. He had a clean record, so he was able to make bail.’

‘Who’s the client?’ I asked, intending to jot down the name.

‘Don’t know. Fordyce wouldn’t tell me. Just said to be at his office at ten. It would be worth our while.’

‘I’ve got to tell Casey I’ve got something going outside sports. There’s not much happening for a couple weeks when the area schools start their spring seasons. I have an agreement that lets me pursue stories I develop outside sports. But he’ll want to know what I’m working on.’

‘Don’t Keith. Fordyce said to keep the meeting and what we’re doing to ourselves. Said we’d understand once we got deeper into our investigation.’

Monday couldn’t come fast enough. I didn’t go to the paper Monday morning. Instead, I went straight to Fordyce’s office. Sally’s car was parked on the street, where it always was, not far from the county courthouse. I didn’t want anyone wondering why I was in a building full of lawyers. I parked in the lot of a supermarket a couple blocks from Fordyce’s office. I made my way to his firm’s office by way of the building services entrance and took the stairwell instead of the elevator.

The meeting in Fordyce’s office lasted for several hours. His client, a well-groomed, middle-aged man didn’t look the part of a drug dealer. But it quickly became apparent he knew the local drug trade and all the players. He also knew the suppliers above him in the trade and their schedules. When Sally and I left Fordyce’s office, we had the names of a dozen major players and some of their lower-level distributors. Including eight cops.

Over the next two months, Sally and I got little sleep. Each of us spent time chasing drug dealers, always maintaining enough distance that we could observe but not be seen. As a sports reporter, I frequently used a camera with a telephoto lens. I got artwork capturing all eight cops exchanging drugs for cash, in every case either at a high school sporting event or at a place frequented by young people. Sally dug into the finances of the people we knew about and managed to acquire evidence that key players lived far beyond what their reported earnings could support.

Sally and I had been collaborating on our story, getting it written and debating when to go to print for several weeks when I got a phone call about a meet and large delivery involving the major local players. Sally and I scoped the location in advance and got ready.

We set up in a wooded area on top of a low bluff overlooking a well-lit parking lot in a city park that closed at sundown. At one am, a panel van pulled into the lot and parked. Over the next few minutes, a handful of other cars pulled in and parked. Sally and I were both flabbergasted to see two police patrol cars among the vehicles. It didn’t take long for the gathering to get down to business. As Sally took notes, I zoomed in and took photos. I captured clear pictures of several briefcases full of cash being opened, inspected, and exchanged. Then got artwork of cases of commercially produced pharmaceuticals transferred to the patrol cars and then bricks of marijuana loaded into three other cars. Within a matter of twenty minutes, everything was finished. The players got in their vehicles and departed.

We waited until everyone had departed before we said a word. Sally and I went straight to office. Normally, I turned my film over to the in-house lab to be developed. This time, I chased the night guy out of the lab. I wanted to keep the developed and printed photos away from any eyes other than mine and Sally’s. Once the film was developed and we had prints, we hightailed it out of the building.

Sally and I worked all night getting the first draft completed. Until that night, we had documentation on nearly everyone Fordyce’s client had given us. That night, we captured who we guessed was senior management. At least local senior management. We had artwork on two police patrol sergeants, two narcotics detectives, and the owner of a bar and club popular with the college crowd in town. But one player surprised us most. The one that appeared to orchestrate the entire operation. The one that put the cash-laden briefcases in his car, was none other than Bob Casey, city editor of .

Sally and I debated how to handle getting the story to print. Sally was beyond angry. ‘No wonder I got nowhere last year. No wonder Casey killed the story as quickly as he did,’ she said. ‘I’m gonna wring that little bastard’s neck.’

‘How do we get this to print once it’s ready?’ I asked. ‘Is there any possibility Bill Barrett is involved?’

Sally laughed. ‘You kidding? Barrett’s a member of the Assemblies of God congregation here in town. Married to the same woman since he was twenty. He’s so straight you could use him as a ruler to draw a line. I’ve had dinner with him at a number of state press club dinners. The man drinks water. Doesn’t even drink coffee or tea. There’s no way he’d be involved in the drug trade.’

‘Then let’s take this to Bill. Once he reads it and sees our evidence, he’ll authorize printing the story.’

‘I hope I get to be there when he fires Casey. You haven’t been around long enough to see Bill blow his stack. He’s got this one vein on his forehead that throbs. I’ve only seen it twice. The last time was when he learned had been sold. His face turns beet-red. First time I saw it, I was sure he was gonna have a stroke.’

It took us another week to polish our story. Once it was finished, Sally and I approached Barrett as he was getting ready to go home for the day. Casey was already gone for the day.

‘Bill, we need to talk to you before you go home,’ Sally said.

Barrett sighed and sat behind his desk again. “What’s up, Sally?’ He looked at me and added, ‘I hope it isn’t some local sport’s scandal.’

‘No. Much worse than that,’ Sally said as I closed the office door. ‘I’ll let the kid fill you in. He got the first bit of info that got us started.’

I related how I’d witnessed a local cop working a high school basketball game transact a drug deal. He listened patiently while I laid out our investigation. Sally weighed in from time-to-time to detail her findings regarding cops that were living far beyond what their police salaries could finance.

When I was done, Barrett asked, ‘Why bring this to me? Casey’s the city editor. It’s his call. I can’t imagine he won’t let it go to print.’

I opened a folder and took out an eight-by-ten shot of Casey looking into a briefcase full of cash sitting on trunk of his car. The vein Sally had described appeared immediately. He reached for his phone.

‘Who you calling?’ Sally asked.

‘The chief of police. I’m going to arrange to have Casey arrested,’ Barrett said.

‘No, don’t,’ I said. ‘Let me show you something first. I took another photo out of the folder. Casey was looking into another briefcase of cash. All four members of the city police force that were there were all in the shot. All were clearly identifiable, two in uniform; I remember all were grinning and joking as Casey examine a briefcase of cash.’

Barrett put the phone down. ‘You don’t know how deeply the department is corrupted.’

‘No, we don’t. But there are at least eight patrol cops I’ve got info and artwork on. Plus, low-level brass and two narcotics detectives.’

‘We’ve got evidence of them all living far beyond what their police salaries will support,’ Sally said.

‘Sit. I’ll read this now. If it meets my approval, it goes into tomorrow’s edition.’ Barrett picked up his phone and dialed four numbers, an inhouse extension. ‘Harry, Bill Barrett. Have you started composition on the front page yet?’ He listened for a moment. ‘Okay. Hold off on it until I get back to you.’ Barrett listened for another minute. ‘Yeah, I know. But I’ve got something more important. I’m just going to proof it.’ He listened again. ‘No don’t call Casey. He’ll be featured in front page artwork. And Harry, not a word to anyone until you get the copy.’ Barrett listened again. ‘Just tell your staff there’s a breaking story. It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve done this.’ Barrett turned to us after he hung up. ‘I want you both to get out of town for a few days. If the state police can’t find you, they can’t pressure you to reveal sources.’

Sally surprised the hell out of me as I was leaving Barrett’s office. I heard her say, ‘Put the kid’s name first on the byline. He broke the story. He did most of the legwork. He took the risks.’

All hell broke loose in the days after the next edition hit the newsstands. The network affiliates sent trucks and field reporters. The state police and the Feds arrived in town the day after the edition hit the newsstands. I watched the network coverage on the TV in my parent’s living room. A dozen cops were arrested, along with what seemed to be most of the street dealers. I got to watch Casey perp-walked out of his home on national TV. The news report included an announcement that the chief of police submitted his resignation and the mayor accepted it.

Sally returned a few days before I did. The morning I returned to the press room I got a standing ovation. It embarrassed the hell out of me. I must have blushed, because laughter accompanied the applause. There was a stack of copies of the edition containing our story. One copy was open to the editorial page. Barrett penned an op-ed expressing dismay that a major criminal was in the paper’s employ and embarrassment that it took so long for the paper to ferret him out.

Once the school year ended, I had less to do. Sally stepped in as interim city editor while Barrett looked for Casey’s replacement. I got tasked with covering Sally’s beat until a new editor was hired.

It wasn’t long before everything returned to normal. Despite the drama often portrayed in movies about the news business and the exciting life of reporters, day-to-day, it’s mostly routine. Like any job, it can get repetitive. Sure, each day is a little different from the day before. But that’s true of any job.

One afternoon, I returned to the press room from a boring and overlong zoning board meeting. The big story from that month’s meeting was a developer requesting a zoning change that would allow a proposed development to be on half-acre lots instead of the current one-acre requirement. With the lot layout changes and additional road construction, it would increase the number of available lots by about one third.

There was always some noise in the press room. It was rarely loud and unruly. But there was always background noise that meant you had to speak up if you wanted to talk to someone that wasn’t right next to you. A few of the reporters still used old mechanical typewriters. Most everyone used electrics. There were no desktop computers yet. Those were still a decade away. And they didn’t reduce the noise. The accompanying dot matrix printers were loud.

One afternoon, I heard the usual press room buzz as I climbed the stairs. But when I entered the room, everything stopped. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. And everyone was staring at me. All eyes followed me as I walked to my desk, buried in an out-of-the-way corner. Far from anything anyone would want to be close to. I was next to the coffee pot. Which you’d think was a desirable location. But it often meant annoying interruptions because anyone that grabbed a cup felt obligated to have a brief conversation.

I was a bit disconcerted by the silence but ignored it. When I got to my desk, there was, as usual, a stack of pink message slips in the middle of my desk. I picked them up and started going through them. There was one from a high school baseball coach telling me he had an extra ticket to the Gladiators game, an independent minor league baseball team that played in another city about ninety minutes away. Did I want to join him? That meant he wanted to talk to me. Another was from the mayor. I knew he was going to gripe about a tidbit I’d written. When I got to the third message, I read it and looked around the room. Comically, the normal noise level resumed immediately. The note was simply a name, time, and local phone number. Mrs. Heywood and seven digits. She’d called just after I left for the zoning meeting.

I wanted to laugh but kept a straight face. I wondered what was going through everyone’s mind. No one knew they were already acquainted with the owner of . Except Barrett. He’d told anyone that asked that he only spoke with ownership on the phone. Had never met in person. I met with Barrett to discuss budget and finances occasionally, but we took great pains to make sure no one saw us together except on those rare occasions when I went to his office. There was no Heywood associated with Heywood Publishing. I’m not even sure why I picked it as a name when I took out incorporation papers. I folded the note, stuck it in my shirt pocket and got to work.

Several people came to get coffee over the next couple hours. All made what I’m sure they thought was a subtle attempt to find out how I knew the woman they assumed was the owner of . Everyone got the same from me. ‘I have no idea why Mrs. Heywood called me. I don’t know her.’ It was partly true. I didn’t know why Celia called. But the fact that she left her name as Mrs. Heywood puzzled me. Was there some hidden message?

Though I remained hopeful that I’d one day get to know my son, I doubted Celia would want to revisit our summer together. Her emotional distress the day me met for breakfast and I followed her home after she bolted was all I needed to convince me to stay away unless she contacted me. I half-expected it might be through her father that I’d get to know my son.

I sensed everyone in the press room was watching. Waiting for me to return Mrs. Heywood’s call. I was also sure, whoever took the message saw it was a local number and tried to dig into it a little. If they got anywhere, they’d come up with the name Contessori, adding to the mystery. If they dug into the Contessori’s, they’d learn the number belonged to a self-employed carpenter whose teacher daughter and grandson lived with him.

I waited to call Celia until I got home. Her father answered.

‘Hi, Mr. Contessori. It’s Keith Tobin, returning Celia’s call. At least I assume she called. The message I received at work was just this number and Mrs. Heywood.’

‘She did?’ He sounded surprised. ‘I’m sorry Keith. She left a few minutes ago with Keith. They were going to the playground in the park down the street.’

‘Thanks. Please tell her I returned her call,’ I told him.

‘Wait a second,’ he said. ‘Are you still at work?’

‘No, I’m at home.’

‘What’s that number? I’ll give it to her. If she still wants to talk to you, she won’t have to bother you at work.’

I rattled off my home number. ‘She can call me at home or at work. Whatever she’s comfortable with.’

‘I’ll tell her.’

My phone rang at nine. I was half asleep, lulled by mindlessly watching the systematic green-yellow-red light sequence on the traffic light visible from my living room while the TV droned in the background. ‘Tobin.’ I said without thinking.

‘Did I wake you?’ Celia asked.

‘No. I was just spacing out watching the traffic light at the corner.’

‘Maybe I should try that when I can’t sleep,’ she said. Her tone was light-hearted. A far cry from when I last saw her. ‘Are you available for breakfast Saturday?’

‘Where?’

‘Let’s try Becker’s again,’ she said. ‘Nine?’

‘I’ll see you then.’

‘Nine Saturday, then.’ She hung up.

Celia was late Saturday morning. I was considering leaving when she hadn’t arrived by nine-forty. But I was hungry. I decided to eat before leaving. I motioned to the waitress. When she arrived, she said, ‘Gave up on her?’

I ignored the question. ‘Can I have ham, egg, and cheese on a roll, orange juice. Do you have pignolis? I’m in the mood for a pignoli.’

‘We do. Just one with breakfast?’

‘One with breakfast and a half-dozen to go.’

Celia arrived just as my sandwich and cookie were delivered. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said sounding a little harried. ‘My car battery was dead this morning. It has been a problem for a few days. My father already had one in the garage; I just had to wait for him to replace it. Plus, Keith wasn’t happy about me leaving for some reason. He usually spends Saturday morning following his grandfather around in the yard. I try to do the groceries Saturday morning so it’s not unusual for me to leave for a bit. Sometimes I take him with me when I go grocery shopping. He wanted to come today.’

‘I thought you’d changed your mind about coming. I was hungry so I ordered.’

The waitress returned. ‘Can I get you something?’

‘Just coffee. Wait, what’s that?’ she asked, looking at my cookie.

‘A pignoli. You’re Italian and don’t know what a pignoli is?’

‘No one in my family baked. Cooked, yes. But not bake. I’ll have one of those,’ she said, turning to the waitress.

‘Bring two for her,’ I told the waitress. I looked at Celia. ‘If you’re anything like me, you won’t want to stop at one.’

‘How’s fame treating you?’ Celia asked.

‘Infamy is the word you’re looking for. The cops don’t like me. You wouldn’t believe the looks I get when I see a cop at city hall. I get the impression it’s not because I wrote about some dirty cops but because it brought down their chief. So, what’s up?’

‘I think it’s time you met your son. My father said it’s not fair to keep him away from you. I agree, but I have mixed feelings, Keith.’

‘What do you want to do?’ I asked.

‘How about supervised visits? Well, not supervised but accompanied. Either me or my father.’

‘Okay. At your home?’

‘Neutral ground. At first at least. Why don’t I meet you at the Travis Street Park? Keith likes the playground there. Especially the swings and the see-saw.

‘Okay.’

‘One more thing. I don’t want to tell him you’re his father yet. Let’s see how things go first.’

‘What should he call me?’

‘Mr. Tobin was my first thought. But I’d rather keep it more informal. How about Keith? I can make a thing of the coincidence of your first names.’

‘Alright. How are you going to explain spending time with me?’

‘He asked about you after your visit. I told him you’re a friend of the family we hadn’t seen in a long time. Almost like an uncle. Most of the time I’ll be with him. If I have something to do, my father will bring him,’ Celia told me.

‘How did you explain I upset you?’

‘I told him sometimes Mommies cry when they’re worried about something. I assured him I was okay and someday when he was a little older, he’d understand. He asked if I was crying because of you. I told him no.’

‘When?’ I asked.

‘When what?’

‘When can I see him?’

‘I’ll take him to the park this afternoon. Can you meet us there at three? We can bump into each other. We always take a walk first. When he gets bored, we spend some time at the playground. Like I said, he likes the swing and the see-saw. The monkey bars, too, but I get nervous when he climbs up to the top.’

I met Celia and little Keith at the park. At first, Celia and I walked, mostly in silence though we talked a little. We were both uncomfortable, I think. The boy ran around, burning off energy. Eventually, he wanted to go to the playground. At first, he played with some neighborhood kids about his age. Eventually, he wanted someone to push him on the swing. I volunteered. Celia watched from nearby, talking with a couple mothers she seemed to know.

He asked questions continuously while I pushed him on the swing. How did I know his mom? Did we go to school together? Was I a teacher, too? Where did I live? When I avoided a question, or my answer didn’t make sense, he didn’t let me off the hook. Eventually he asked a question that caught me off-guard. ‘Are you going to marry my mom?’

I saw Celia’s attention to our conversation perked up when she heard that. I gave what I thought was the most sensible response. ‘Your mom and I are old friends. I like her a lot, but I don’t think she wants to marry me.’

‘You won’t know if you don’t ask her. Don’t you want to marry her? My mom is really pretty. You should ask her.’

‘You’re right, I won’t know if I don’t ask.’ I smiled at him. ‘I think if I ask her today, I’ll never get to push you on the swings again.’

‘You better not ask. I like the way you push me. Mom doesn’t push me as high as you do. She’s afraid I’ll fall off.’

I grabbed the swing when it came back to me and held it, slowly lowering him to where the swing naturally hung. ‘Your mom says you like the monkey bars. Me, too. Can I go on them with you?’

He looked at me funny for a moment, then shrieked with laughter. ‘You can’t go on the monkey bars! You’re too big. You’re a grown-up. Grown-ups don’t go on the monkey bars.’

‘Sure they do. Some grown-ups are part monkey. Wanna see? I’ll race you over there!’

The little guy took off like a shot. It wasn’t difficult to catch him, but I stayed behind him. It wasn’t a race; I just didn’t want him to start climbing unless someone was with him. He climbed and moved around on the bars like he was born in the trees. He was amazingly quick and agile. I spent a half-hour just chasing him around the bars. It was easier for him to maneuver his little body. I had to contort and squeeze myself through in most places.

‘Wanna see me do the rungs?’ he asked, pointing to a horizontal ladder about seven feet above the ground.

‘Okay. But wait until I get there. Just in case you can’t hang on all the way across.’

‘Pop-pop says the same thing. Did Pop-pop tell you not to let me do it by myself?’

‘No, I just want to be there to catch you in case you fall. Can’t have you get hurt the first time we play together.’

He waited impatiently for me. As soon as I was in alongside him, he swung out and started hand to hand across the rungs. He made it about halfway across before he couldn’t hold on any longer. I caught him and lowered him to the ground. He was giggling hysterically when I put him down.

‘What’s so funny?’ I asked him.

‘You tickled me. Just like Pop-pop!’ He didn’t stay put. He took off for the slide nearby, climbed the ladder, plopped his butt down and pushed himself off. ‘Your turn. I wanna see you go down the slide, too!’

I climbed the ladder and sat. My backside was too wide for a slide designed for kids. I managed to slide down but not nearly as fast as Keith did. ‘Sorry, buddy. My butt’s too big for the slide,’ I told him.

‘Pop-pop can’t go down it, either. Mom won’t even try,’ he laughed. ‘I think she’s scared.’

I left that one alone. I wasn’t about to tell him his mother’s butt might be too big for the slide, too. Under any circumstances.

After we’d played for a while, Celia called out, ‘Keith, it’s time to start back to the house. Pop-pop will start dinner soon.’

‘Are you having supper with us?’ the boy asked me.

‘Not tonight. I’ve got some things to do. Can I come play with you again sometime? If it’s okay with your mom?’

‘Can Keith come to the park with us again, Mom?’ he asked his mother.

‘We’ll see. He’s a busy man. He might not be able to come all the time but maybe he can come sometimes.’

We walked back our cars. Celia said goodbye with a smile. Keith gave me a high-five. ‘You’re almost as good on the monkey bars as me. I hope you can come again soon so you can push me really high on the swings!’

‘Any time you like, just give me a call.’

I got a call from Celia that night telling me she was happy with the way our playground time went. I told her I was sorry her son asked if I was going to marry her.

‘Don’t worry about it. He asked about you on the way home. I told him the same thing you did. We were old friends. He’s very excited about you. He thinks you’re more fun than the other grown-ups he knows.’

‘I had fun, too. He’s a good kid,’ I told her.

‘A bit too smart for my peace of mind,’ she told me. ‘I’ve got to go. I’m tired and still have some things to do before I can go to bed. I’ll call. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

It was two weeks before Celia called again. Our second play date went much the same way as the first. Keith had fun, though I think I enjoyed myself more than he did. After one more two-week gap, it became a weekly thing. During one of my visits with Keith in the park, I found myself surrounded by other kids about the same age, all gathered for Keith’s fifth birthday. I had a blast, though I was embarrassed at not having a card or a birthday gift for him. But Celia told me she felt it was too soon for me to be giving him gifts. And the boy didn’t seem to care. He was just happy I was there to have cake with him.

I was at the last regular season high school baseball game a few days after an afternoon with my son and his mother, when I heard a kid in the stands yell out, ‘Hey Pop-pop, there’s Keith!’ I scanned for Keith but didn’t see him or his grandfather. A moment later, I felt a tug on my pants leg.

‘I’m down here, Keith!’ Bart was right beside him. He was smiling but I’m sure it was more for his grandson than for me. ‘Hi, Keith!’ the boy said. ‘What are you doing here?’ Before I could answer, he started talking again. ‘Pop-pop took me to see a baseball game. I’ve never seen one in person before. Only on TV with Pop-pop. How come you’re here?’

‘I like baseball, too! But for me it’s work, too.’

‘It is? How come it’s work for you?’

‘I’m a reporter for the newspaper. I write about sports.’

‘Pop-pop reads the newspaper every day. I can read a little but there’s not enough pictures in the newspaper. I can’t read that many words.’

‘Would you like me to read one of Keith’s stories to you next time I see one?’ Bart asked his grandson.

The boy looked up at me. ‘I write pretty good, Keith. Plus, I’d be excited to know you’re having my stories read to you,’ I told the boy.

‘Will you, Pop-pop?’

‘Sure, pal. I’ll read about this game to you when I see the story,’ Bart said. ‘Okay? C’mon, pal. Let’s get you a drink.’ Then he looked at me and said, ‘We’ll be right back.’

I turned my attention back to the game. The local high school I was covering was set down in order while I talked to Keith. When Bart and Keith returned, I couldn’t take my attention from the game immediately. The visitors hit back-to-back doubles, scoring a run. The next batter walked, followed by a strikeout. The fifth batter, a lefty, went with an outside pitch for a triple down the left field line. That was followed by another single. The inning ended when the sixth batter hit into a 6-4-3 double play. What had been a one-run lead for the local boys was now a three-run deficit. It didn’t get better. Bart talked to me a bit while the local boys were up. They went down quickly. The visitors recorded three outs on five pitches. When the visitors began the next inning with a double, a single, and a home run, the coach decided it was time to change pitchers.

Bart had Keith situated nearby with a carton of chocolate milk and a box of animal crackers. ‘I know you’re working but can we talk, too?’ he asked.

‘What’s up, Mr. Contessori?’

‘I’m a little worried about my daughter. She dutifully goes to meet you with Keith. The day before she’s riding high. The day she’s bringing Keith to see you, she’s a nervous wreck,’ he said.

‘I don’t know what to tell you. She seems fine when we’re at the park. We talk a little, but I’ve been spending my time with Keith.’

‘She finally admitted to me you’re his father. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Why else would she bring a five-year-old to hang out with an adult man? For that matter, why would the adult man want to hang out with a five-year-old that wasn’t a relative?

I shrugged.

‘Are you going to ask her out?’

The question surprised me. If anything, I’d have expected him to tell me to go away. ‘I would. But I don’t think she’s interested in me anymore. I love seeing Keith. But it’s been hard seeing her, Mr. Contessori.’

‘Stop the mister stuff. It’s Bart. Keith, my grandson adores you. My daughter is a nervous wreck about you. I think, she realizes she screwed up when she moved back here. That she never should have left you behind. Now she doesn’t know how to fix it. I think you need to make an overture at some point.’

‘I’d like to. But I’m leery of hurting her. She was badly shaken when I ran into her at her school. I couldn’t believe how upset she was the first time we met at Becker’s.’

‘Trust me, Keith. If you ask, she’ll accept. Maybe not the first time. But if you’re persistent . . .,’ Bart stopped. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything about it, but I overheard her talking over coffee with one of the other neighborhood mothers. Do you know, Liz Billings?’

‘No.’

‘Redhead. Pretty but a little wide in the stern. Has twin girls, also redheads. The girls are about eight, I think.’

‘Okay, yeah, I’ve seen her. Celia didn’t introduce us.’

‘She won’t. Liz’s divorced. Her ex-husband is a pilot. Had a thing for the stewardesses on his flights. Liz asked her to introduce you. Celia has been putting her off. I asked Celia if she was going to introduce you to Liz. She said, and I quote, “No way. He’s too good for her.” I think my daughter is still in love with you.’

‘I have to think about it, Bart. I don’t know if I can go through what she did to me again. I’m still not over it.’

‘Keith, my daughter hasn’t gone on a single date since she moved home. And I know she’s been asked. It’s often a man asking for her when I answer the phone and it’s for her. What’s that tell you?’

‘Okay, Bart. I got the picture. All I can do right now is think about it.’

‘Just tread carefully. She’ll come around.’ He turned to go to his grandson. Then he stopped and turned back to me. ‘Do me a favor?’

‘Sure. If I can.’

‘Don’t knock my daughter up again unless you marry her. I ain’t getting any younger. It’s all I can do to keep up with Keith. I won’t survive having a second grandchild running around the house if she remains a single mother.’ He wasn’t smiling.

I returned my attention to the game and work. It wasn’t fun to watch. The local boys got hammered. When the game ended, the score was 17-3. Every pitcher that entered the game got lit up. There was one bright spot, though. In desperation, the coach finally put in a kid brought up from the junior varsity squad. He pitched two innings and gave up only two walks, a single and one unearned run. The run scored because the infield botched a sure double play ball.

I thought about what Bart had told me. Almost constantly. With high school sports wrapping up, my sports beat was going to be confined to occasional coverage of the local American Legion baseball team. It was a good team, drawing players from a dozen area towns. My reporting was going to focus on local politics and the court appearances of the cops involved in the local drug trade. Bob Casey had tried to cut a deal. But the prosecutor’s cut deals with some of the street-level dealers. Casey and all the cops were going away for long prison terms.

In early July, I met Celia for breakfast on a Sunday morning at Becker’s. By agreement, she hadn’t brought Keith along. For the first time, Celia seemed relaxed when she arrived. We began by talking about Keith and how much he was enjoying our Saturday afternoons in the park. The boy had asked his mother if I was really a grown-up or just a big kid. I had already decided it was time to do something besides spend time with him at the playground. I told her I bought a Wiffle ball, bat and a tee for it. The next time we got together we’d try that. I also planned to bring a newspaper and read one my articles to him.

Over the course of July, I got to spend more time with Keith, including some weeknights. Rather than go to the park, we decided to go to the movies one Saturday when it just too hot to be outside. We took him to a matinee that day in late July. An afternoon of old movies and cartoons. He seemed to enjoy it all. The boy was in awe at Superman’s powers, though he’d seen on TV. Like most kids, his favorite part of the afternoon was the cartoons. He seemed to enjoy a Bugs Bunny and Taz cartoon most.

For the first time, I was invited to join Celia and Keith for dinner at their home that day. We stopped at my apartment briefly to pick up my contribution — a carton of chocolate milk for Keith, a six-pack of beer for Bart and big Keith, and a bottle of Chardonnay for Celia. Celia and Keith were going to wait in the car, but Keith needed the bathroom. I ushered them in, showed Keith where the bathroom was and went into the kitchen to pack the beverages into a cooler on the counter. Keith finished up in the bathroom and joined us in the kitchen as we were ready to go.

‘Mom?’ he said, ‘who are those people in the picture of me when I was little?’

Celia looked at me curiously then asked the boy, ‘What picture?’

Keith led the way into the living room and pointed to the mantle over the fireplace. I had an assortment of framed photos of one parent or another and me, mostly taken when we were on vacation during late adolescence and my teens, that my mother insisted I take with me when I moved. One was a professional, colorized formal pose of all of us taken when I was about two. I was stunned. I never noticed the resemblance between me at two and this five-year-old boy. I hadn’t given the photo a thought; probably hadn’t even looked at it when I unpacked it after I first moved in.

‘That’s not you,’ I told him quickly. ‘That’s me and my parents when I was little.’

‘You look just like me,’ Keith said.

I looked at the photo. ‘A little,’ I agreed, though it might as well have been a picture of the boy. ‘But my hair is dark. Yours is light. You’ve got brown eyes; mine are blue.’

Keith cocked his head, ‘Yeah, I guess we don’t look exactly the same.’

Celia had been holding her breath, but relaxed when Keith turned away from the photo and asked, ‘Are we going to the park now?’

‘Not today. Keith is coming to our house for supper. Pop-pop is going to cook hot dogs and hamburgers in the backyard.’ Celia turned to me, ‘Ready to go?’ she asked me.

I gestured toward the door.

We had a good time that afternoon and evening. I felt a sense of family developing as we ate at the picnic table under the huge maple in the backyard. Talking, exchanging stories, laughing. It was more fun than I’d had in a long time. We sat outside under the tree well into the evening.

Keith eventually fell asleep sitting on his grandfather’s lap. Celia got up to take him up to bed but Bart waved her off. ‘Sit,’ he told her, ‘I’ll get him to bed.’ The boy stirred for a moment, when Bart stood, but his eyes drifted closed again.

Celia and I continued to talk after her father and son went inside. For the first time since our first summer together, she was truly relaxed in my presence. She wore a smile most of the evening. Quite some time passed before we realized Celia’s father hadn’t rejoined us.

‘I wonder what happened to your father,’ I said.

‘I know exactly what happened,’ Celia said. ‘He left us alone on purpose. It’s been obvious for some time he thinks I belong with you.’

‘Does it make you uncomfortable?’ I asked.

Celia’s answer was a bit of a surprise. ‘No,’ she said simply. I let her answer pass without saying anything. After a few minutes of quiet between us, she said, ‘I’ll be right back,’ and left me alone while she went into the house. She returned a few minutes later. ‘Keith is sound asleep. It looks like my father went to bed, too. Let’s go for a walk,’ she added, extending a hand toward me.

I took her hand and stood. Once I was on my feet, she let go. We’d been seeing each other while I spent time with Keith for several months, now. It was the first time we’d made physical contact since Thanksgiving break during by junior year in college, more than five years earlier. The warmth of her hand in mine, brief as it was, unsettled me. All the feelings I had for her rushed back in a flash. I wanted to take her into my arms and hold her. But I didn’t know how she’d react.

We walked in silence toward the park, only a hundred feet or so down the street. There were two lighted fields where softball games were being played by two groups of middle-aged men, some with beer-bellies. The teams on the field we were a raucous group, shouting encouragement to teammates, laughing. A few good-natured curses and insults were exchanged as we approached. A long, foul ball, far from any of the players, landed near us and stopped rolling near Celia. She picked the ball up and threw it to the approaching right fielder, still well away from us. She threw the ball effortlessly. The player caught the ball in stride, stopped, and nodded at her, turned, threw the ball to the first baseman, and ran back to his position in rightfield.

‘Hey, Ted!’ he yelled, ‘Your team should recruit that lady to replace you. At least she can throw.’

The players on both teams laughed. ‘But can she hit like I do?’ a man, apparently Ted, responded.

Celia spoke for the first time since we started walking, ‘Probably as well as most of you old farts,’ she yelled.

They all laughed; several players greeted her by name as we walked by, but most remained focused on their game. Beyond the fields was a rose garden. The rose bushes had been trained onto heavy wire arches. A small plaque at the base of each arch listed local war dead from WWI, WWII, and Korea.

Celia led us to a little alcove in a wooded area past the rose arches. She went to a bench and sat, patting the bench next to her. Though she didn’t say anything, she sighed when I sat and leaned against me. While I relished the contact, I was also a little uneasy about it. Feeling her lean against my arm was uncomfortable. I took a chance and put my arm around her. Celia wriggled a little. At first, I thought having my arm around her bothered her. But she was trying to get comfortable, rather than get me to take my arm away.

We sat together in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds coming from the softball games off in the distance. I’d like to tell you we sat under a starlit sky, but we didn’t. The night was overcast, uncomfortably warm and muggy. The kind of night when your clothes stick to you and no matter what you do, you can’t escape the humidity’s grip.

‘I don’t know, Keith. It was all so clear when I moved away. I had no job. I was pregnant. My boyfriend was still in college and younger than me. I just knew it was a bad idea to stay,’ she said after we’d been sitting for a while. ‘Now it’s all muddled. I have so many doubts. Did I do the right thing? Was it a mistake? Did I do it for the wrong reasons? Was it just because I was afraid of what your parents would say to me?’

‘I never had any doubts,’ I said. ‘I didn’t want you to stay just because you were sleeping with me. Yeah, I really liked that part of us. But there was more to us than that. I thought you made me whole. Made me a better person, somehow. And I thought I was part of you. When I came home for spring break, and you were gone? I was crushed, Celia. I just couldn’t accept someone else lived in your house. I never got to be friends with them. My parents are friendly with them, but not friends. My mother still says it feels strange not having you next door. Did you know she thought of you like a daughter?’

Celia wriggled again. She was warm against me. I loved feeling it, despite the evening’s heat and humidity. I didn’t dare move; afraid she’d move away from me.

‘I was afraid to admit my father was right about my husband. Dad thought Terry was a shithead from the start. Now, I hate to think my father has been right about you since the day he met you,’ she said. Celia looked up at me. ‘Why do I get the same thrill I got five years ago?’ I took that as a signal she wanted a kiss. I’ll never know. I never got a chance to act on it.

A brilliant flash of lightning lit everything blindingly bright. A loud, sharp crack announced a deluge. The rain was ice cold. Celia jumped up from the bench but stopped. Didn’t take a step. Like me, she probably couldn’t see a thing.

When our vision returned, we headed back to the house. The softball players had gathered their equipment and were scrambling for their cars when we got to the ballfield. We walked briskly. There was no point in running; we were already drenched. We changed our mind halfway across the ballfield when it began to hail. The pea-sized balls of ice stung. Now it was time to run. The footing was tricky when we crossed the road. Like trying to walk on a floor covered in marbles. We both came close to falling several times.

Celia knew the front door would be locked and didn’t have her keys. She led us around the house to the covered back porch. I stayed on the porch while she went inside and got towels. When she returned, we dried ourselves while we watched hail come down until the yard was completely covered in tiny pellets. The hail, and the rain, stopped just as suddenly as it started. When it stopped, a change in the air was immediately apparent. It was noticeably cooler.

Celia looked at up at me and said, ‘I think it’s time I go to bed. Keith will be up early, like every morning. Just once I’d like to sleep past six on a day off.’