Page 38 of The Fall Classic

She holds her mug up to her lips and wraps both hands around the mug the way she always does, unbothered by the heat, and I find myself watching her the way I watch a good pitch—trying to understand the mechanics of something so effortlessly beautiful.

“You seem unconvinced,” I tell her.

“I’m going to need more,” she admits.

“The boy is a monster,” I say.

“Why do you think he’s a monster?”

“He only comes to her when he needs something and ignores her when he doesn’t. That’s not how you treat someone you love.”

“I see what you’re saying.”

“But?”

She purses her lips. “But it makes the Tree happy to give.”

“Should she have to give him her whole self? What does she get back?”

“She gets the knowledge that she made someone happy.”

“Is that enough?” I ask.

Georgie pauses, like she’d never imagined it couldn’t be. And I use that pause to further my argument.

“She waits for him for years between visits, and he doesn’t even think about her until he wants to use her,” I say.

“Who’s to say she’s waiting that whole time? She could be living a whole life—free in the wind, no cares, plenty of birds and squirrels to keep her company.”

“That’s hardly canon.”

She chuckles. “True. It might be my hope for her.”

“So you think she lives a full, beautiful life and replenishes herself every time he’s gone? Maybe when it’s just apples, but what about when it’s branches? And then her trunk?”

Her phone rings before she can answer.

She pulls the phone out, looks at the screen, and the color in her face drains.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” she says, swiping her finger across the screen as she walks off quickly toward the trees.

She doesn’t get far enough away, though. I can’t hear all the words, but I can hear what happens to her voice—the way it becomes higher, more solicitous. Her shoulders hunch up in a way they never do when she talks to me. She says yes twice and sorry once, then she promises she’ll be right there before ending the call.

When she turns around, she’s still reassembling her features.

“I’m so sorry. That was—that was work. I have to go.”

“No problem,” I say, standing up and reaching for her mug. “I can give that to Alma. I have more time than you have.”

Her eyebrows rise, and she blinks down at my outstretched hand. “Oh. Thank you.”

“I travel tomorrow for an away series,” I blurt before she can run off to work. We only got seven minutes, not the forty we’ve been getting. Seven minutes is not nearly enough with Georgie. “I’ll be gone Monday to Monday. Can we get together when I’m back?”

“Of course. I’ll be here at nine AM.”

“No, I mean like food. A real date.”

Her smile grows slowly, but it almost overtakes her face.