Thirty-One Letters

Seventeen

Grief doesn't have a plot.  It isn't smooth.  There is no beginning and middle and end—Ann Hood

Crack!

A small white ball with red stitching shot through the air, flying over nearly hundred feet out towards a field of green.  It landed unceremoniously amongst a pile of other identical balls scattered across the outfield and rolled to a stop near the chain fence. 

"Woo!" Penn crowed from the pitcher's mound.  "Nice one!"

Ty grinned at his younger brother from the plate and nodded at the last remaining ball in the bucket.  "Last one."  He lifted the bat from where he'd rested it on his shoulder. 

Penn's face settled into a mask of careful concentration.  He adjusted his grip and then went into a wind-up.  As he brought his arm down, the ball flew from his hand, spinning through the air towards Ty at the plate.  It was a perfect pitch, right down the middle.  Ty's bat connected with it easily and the resounding crack as the ball hit the wooden bat was more than satisfying.

It was practically musical.

They watched the ball soar through the air—Ty's farthest hit yet—and land on the other side of the fence.  It cleared the two-hundred-and-fifty foot marker and came to a gentle stop next to a young sapling that had been planted in the park.

"You're getting that one," Penn said over his shoulder as he picked up the empty bucket and went to retrieve the rest of the balls from the field.

"Yes, sir." 

But Ty didn't head for the outfield.  He walked over to where Hadley was sitting on the bench in the dugout.  She'd kicked her sandals off and was letting the red diamond dirt stain her feet as she drew patterns in the sand with her toes. 

"How's it going, Picasso?" He leaned against the fence and smiled crookedly.  His gray eyes were alight with happiness and exertion. 

Her S.O.S. text had arrived just as he and Penn were heading out for some batting practice.  While Penn preferred competitive lacrosse and Ty endorsed soccer, they both agreed on baseball.  Neither played it competitively but they both enjoyed the feel of the diamond and the dirt.  The smell of fresh cut grass and the casings of sunflower seeds littering the sand.

Hadley had invited herself along, jumping into Ty's truck with familiar ease moments after Penn towed her out of Beans! and away from that God-awful date.  Ty hadn't asked much about it, only using a raised eyebrow and her brother's name for explanation. 

They'd arrived at the diamond not long after and Hadley had settled herself onto the bench as the boys fooled around.  It was nice to relax in the sun, to drink in the heat, and listen to the sounds of laughter fill the air.  Even with her eyes closed, their laughs were easy to differentiate.  Penn's was young and bright, tinkling with excitement, but Ty's was softer, subtler.  A quiet chuckle here and there.  She could always tell when he found something exceedingly humorous, however.  Then, his laugh emerged in full, a throaty guffaw where he threw his head back and just let it out.

"Good," Hadley said.  She had to squint to see him clearly in the sun.  "I think a future career in art is out, though."

"I don't know.  People pay lots of money for really bad paintings.  They call it 'modern,' or something.  I mean, I bet I could get at least a hundred dollars for a white canvas with a blue circle on it."

She giggled.  "Probably.  What will you tell them the inspiration was when they ask?"

"I'll have them guess and then agree with them.  Even if they tell me something stupid like 'Blue is the colour of sadness and depression so you must have been feeling in quite a terrible mood when you painted it.'  The truth?  I just like the colour blue."  He winked at her.  "Those uptight snotty artsy people won't even know what's hit them when I come waltzing into town with that."