Page 123 of Running Home to You
While Charlotte meant her academic and career achievements, Kate thought of softball. She thought of captaining their small, scrappy team to a national championship. She’d worked tirelessly, willing them to the top, but she also hadn’t done it alone. None of it would’ve been possible without Abby during that magical senior season. Abby crushing home runs, Abby lightening the team’s mood, lifting Kate at her lowest, and encouraging her to reach her highest. Perhaps that’s why it wasn’t the new suits or long months of preparation that steadied Kate ahead of the trial. It was another letter.
Dear Kate,
I apologize for the delay in this long overdue letter. By now, you know that I’m okay. I’m so incredibly sorry that you had to worry. I asked Isla to tell you where I was as soon as I could, but my phone access has been restricted, and truthfully, when Igot it back, I didn’t think calling was the best for either of us. I’m writing to you 90 days sober.
Rehab, as you might expect, has left plenty of time for self-reflection, therapy, talking about feelings. All of my favorite things. I’ve had to face a lot of guilt and shame, my lesser qualities, my tendency to isolate or self-destruct when shit gets hard. I’ve also spent plenty of time reckoning with how that affected you.
In AA, we have twelve steps, and making amends with those we’ve hurt is a big part of them. I owe you more than a letter, but I’d like to start here.
I’m sorry for the times I pushed you away when you were the only one who showed up. I’m sorry for all you put in me, and I couldn’t give back. I’m sorry for the times I caused fights on the field and off it, for the times I ran and made you fearful, for the times I selfishly couldn’t get past myself to be more for you. I always wanted to give more and be more. I just couldn’t figure it out. No one really showed me how. But I’m trying now.
I fell in love with you back in college because you’re the kindest, realest, smartest person I know. The crazy thing is, everyone knows you’re all these things, but it doesn’t make them jealous or covet. I think that’s what it means to be a light in the world. To simply give when everything else is dark. You’ve given me so much of that light, taught me about it, shown me what it means. I never meant to dim it.
It’s no excuse, but I often doubted why someone with as much to give as you chose someone as empty as me. You were a light that shined in me and showed me something in myself. Something that I always wanted to be. The problem is that I rarely gave you light in return. Didn’t know how to make mine glow without you. I like to think I’m figuring that out now. Just maybe, one day, I’ll have some light to shine in you too.
We pray and talk a lot about God or a higher power here. Believe it or not, I’ve even given the Bible a shot. Too much time on my hands obviously. I’ve told you before, God never mademuch sense to me. I believe more wholeheartedly in the Church of Softball, but you’re right. They are strikingly similar in that requirement of surrender. In bowing to the unknowable. The Serenity Prayer almost sounds like an ode to the game itself. “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” Is that not the field’s mantra?
I gave the Book of Job a try. I still don’t completely understand it, though I do feel bad for that poor bastard. Perhaps I see myself in his suffering. He even has three annoying friends to pull him from the rut. His plea for death, his misery, losing everything, only to keep going against his will resonates too.
I think the part I like the most, the one I understand best, is the epilogue. “The Lord blessed the latter days of Job more than his earlier ones.” I pray that it’s the same for us. That your days ahead are better than what I’ve put you through. That you get everything you deserve and the things I couldn’t give you. I pray for it. If you only knew how often I talk to God about you.
As for me, I’m trying to take life slower. I always told you I never imagined a future for myself or knew what I wanted.
But now I at least know a few things that I want to be. I want to be someone who doesn’t need saving. Someone who doesn’t have to say sorry as often. Someone who one day might be worthy of someone like you. Though I doubt I’ll ever find another you.
I love you, Kate. I always have. You’re always going to be the one. But I also know that doesn’t mean I get to have you.
I hope you’re happy in your marriage and career and that one day I’m a wistful memory, an old teammate, a long-lost friend. And maybe we’ll even be able to smile about it.
Don’t forget to breathe.
Love,
Abby
It arrived the night before opening statements. Kate couldn’t blame her for poor timing, because she had no way of knowing. She read it once in tears, once in anger, and once in relief. She read it over and over, Abby’s voice in her ear like winds of the past. Her belief in Kate radiated through, championing her once again, even from afar. An unconditional love that Kate hadn’t experienced in another.
She pulled down the other letters too, her shoulder twinging as she reached for the top shelf in her closet. The same ligaments she’d strained during college but never severed. The pain had flared over the last months as she crouched over her laptop and the conference room table.
She rubbed out another spasm as she fumbled through the letters. Her same Abby. Healthy, safe, new. Kate frowned at how badly she wished to know this side of her. How badly she wanted to respond. But there was the trial, and there was Ryan, and despite the many strides she’d made for the case, she wasn’t quite ready to fight for all she might want. She’d fight for Marcus and the others instead.
Police held back protesters when they arrived for opening statements. Kate waded through the middle, rainbow flags on one side, Bibles on the other. She still didn’t like the cameras, but she answered a few questions, poised, rehearsed, looking at the right places. If she was anything, it was coachable.
Her hand trembled as the proceedings started. She’d served as co-counsel several times but never taken the floor as lead. Never had she faced the judge solo, mind going blank as she tried to remember her opening statement. And while Ryan watched on, it was Abby’s voice, the lines in her letter, reminding her to breathe.
“Your honor, at the heart of this trial is a simple question: Can an institution use its religious beliefs as a shield to deny others their constitutional protections? The defense will claim that the Constitution guarantees their right to freedom of religion. But it also guarantees the right to an education, to free expression, and to love openly.Those are the rights First Foundations Charter violated when it discriminated against the teacher and students behind me, stripping them of their dignity, and most importantly, their sense of belonging…”
She chugged through the rest of her opening statement, and her hand finally steadied during the defense’s rebuttal. The preparation, years of it, snapped into place. Even through the stumbles—the objections she lost, the redirect she missed and her co-counsel reminded her of, the cramp in her shoulder that never ceased—she felt stronger, more certain, more like the version of herself she always hoped to be.
“You’re like actually going to be famous,” Mick said over the phone.
They’d barely talked since the wedding. Kate blamed the trial but also hesitated because it felt like a step too close to Abby.
“No, I’m not.”
“Well, if there’s anything Shupe or I can do to help with wedding planning, just let us know. We’re on standby,” Mick said. “Have you guys set a date?”
“Not yet.”
