Page 28 of Run Home

“I’m sorry. I should have thought ahead about how to handle the photographers at the entrance,” Adrian says once we enter the grand ballroom of the convention center. The enormous space is filled with circular tables covered with linens, stemware, and ornate floral centerpieces.

We follow an usher to our assigned table. Patrons were able to donate extra money to share tables with the athletes here—Adrian from the Crowns, players from the men’s and women’s soccer teams, plus two athletes from the football team.

“It’s fine,” I assure him, keeping my voice low. “I’ve been to events with Griffin before. It’s easy to slip back and let them get photos of you.”

Something flickers in Adrian’s expression when he looks at me, but he turns to the approaching usher. We’re shown to a table near the front of the room, where a stage and small dance floor are set up. There’s only one older woman sitting at the table when we approach, and Adrian immediately sits next to her and introduces himself. I take the seat beside him and listen as the woman shares her name.

“I’m Marcia Donnelly,” she says, holding out a hand to Adrian. He lightly holds her hand between both of his as she adds, “My husband bought these tickets six months ago when they went on sale. He passed away two months ago, but I knew that he would want me to still come. So there will be one empty seat at our table.”

“Marcia, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Adrian says, still clasping her hand. “What was your husband’s name?”

“Harry,” she answers. “He loved Kansas City sports. He played baseball back in his day, and he was a season ticket holder for decades. He would have been so excited to meet you. I have to confess that I don’t really know anything about you or the team. Harry loved baseball, and I just loved Harry.”

My heart clenches, thinking about the similarity to Griffin and Danae, but also with the sorrow and loneliness that Marcia must be experiencing. I’m lost in trying to fight off the sadness and don’t hear what Adrian says in response.

Next thing I know, Marcia gestures at me and says to Adrian, “Well, you must introduce me to your beautiful wife now.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “Oh no. We’re not married. I’m Sam West—my older brother Griffin used to the play for the Crowns. Adrian and I have been friends for years now.”

I glance at Adrian and his stiffened posture. A shadow passes over his face before he smiles at Marcia and says, “You’re right, though—she does look beautiful.”

Marcia murmurs apologies and compliments me on my dress as the usher returns to our table with a couple close behind him. Adrian stands to shake their hands as they introduce themselves. I follow suit when he introduces me, quickly announcing my status as Griffin’s younger sister. They seem well acquainted with the Crowns rosters and easily draw the connection between Adrian and me. He smiles broadly, cracking jokes, flawlessly playing the role of spotlight athlete.

When the final couple seated at our table arrives, we stand to repeat introductions, although they already recognize who I am. The husband spouts off ten stats about Adrian’s career with the Crowns, reminding me of Jason. There are stars in his eyes as he talks, so when they sit down in the chairs to my left, I tug on Adrian’s elbow so he’ll bend his ear to me.

“Why don’t we switch seats? I think he’ll be talking over me to you all night, so why don’t I chat with Marcia?” I whisper.

He nods, and we swap places before sitting down. Shortly after, the servers come around the tables to pour glasses of wine and bring the salad course. The couples at the table listen intently to all of Adrian’s stories, and he fields every prying question with finesse.

For my part, I scooch a little closer to Marcia and ask her, “Would you mind telling me a little bit about Harry? If it’s too much, I totally understand. But if you’d like to tell me what he was like, I would love to hear about him.”

Marcia’s eyes light up, and she instantly starts telling me all about Harry’s love for baseball that began with collecting baseball cards as a child. “You know, honey, that’s how he made his money to start a business. He sold some mint-condition rookie cards and made enough to put the down payment on a loan to open our carpet store. We got in the market right before the big wall-to-wall carpet boom and made out like bandits,” Marcia says with a girlish giggle. “Then he sold the whole thing before hardwood floors came back in style.”

“He sounds like quite the savvy businessman,” I say. A server whisks away our empty salad plates, and another seamlessly puts entrées in their place. I lean back to Marcia and ask, “Did you work at the business too?”

“Oh yes, I did. It was almost always only the two of us in the store. We ran lean to keep more of the revenue,” she replies. “I kept the books and did all the ordering. We hired a little boy from the neighborhood to help clean up all the carpet samples at the end of the day, so I made sure to get him paid too. It was only a plate of homemade butterscotch cookies and a little cash under the table since he was too young to officially work,” she tells me with a wink.

Although I’m aware of Adrian’s voice and laughter talking with the rest of the table, I spend the duration of the meal focused on Marcia. She tells me more about how she and Harry met, how they spent their golden years of retirement—traveling at first, then enjoying a slower pace at home in Kansas City—and eventually circling back to his passion for the Crowns.

I notice that Marcia hasn’t mentioned any children, so I ask her, “Who do you spend time with now that Harry has passed? Do you have people who visit you?”

She waves a hand. “Now don’t be worrying that I’m lonely. We didn’t have any children, but I live in a retirement community and see my neighbors any time I want to. And there are some activities like bingo and a quilting group that meet at the clubhouse. It’s not so bad.”

There’s a hollowness in her eyes, though, giving away the truth that she might be a little lonelier than she’s letting on. How could she not be? Her husband of nearly sixty years passed away—the man she clearly adored.

“Well, if you’d be open to visitors sometime, I’d like to come over and hear more of your stories. I’m about to have my own business as a hair stylist, so maybe you could give me a few entrepreneurship tips. And I’d especially like to try some of those butterscotch cookies, if you still make them,” I say.

Her posture perks up, and she gives a short nod. “It’s been a while since I made a batch, but I know how by heart. Maybe I could even teach you the secret recipe.”

I lean in conspiratorially. “I love the idea of secret recipes, and I don’t have any of my own. I’d be thrilled if you’d teach me yours.”

The event emcee takes the stage, calling everyone’s attention to the program. Servers glide between the tables removing entrée plates and passing out desserts as the emcee casts the vision for the night.

“We’re going to hear from each of the athletes representing their Kansas City teams, and each one will be live-signing and auctioning off one of their jerseys in addition to our other auction items. All funds raised for the Youth Sports of Kansas City Foundation get divided out to support various athletic programs around the city giving underresourced youth a chance to train at the same elite levels as their peers who have more funds at their disposal.”

The first athlete is introduced—the starting goalkeeper for the women’s soccer team—and the crowd’s attention is fixed on her as she shares the story of coaches who impacted her as a young girl.

“You seemed to have quite the interesting conversation.” Adrian’s voice is low, right beside my ear. A shiver runs down my spine from the warmth of his breath against my bare skin.