Page 7 of Wildest Dreams

Laundry and stuff?Really? I am so lame.

“Okay.”

But I don’t leave. I just stand here. I think I’m in shock. He raises his eyebrows but I still don’t move.

“Is the house okay?” I ask.

He grins and looks out over the property. “It’s perfect. Better than I’d even imagined.”

“Great! I’m glad you like it.”

He nods. Again with the awkward silence.

“Alright, well, I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing. Are you able to get back in? I have the spare key if you need it.”

“No, the front door is still unlocked. I need to remember about the back door next time.”

“Great! Well, you have my number, so if you need anything else, call me.”

“Thank you. I will.”

I turn to walk back to my car. I want to run, but that seems a little dramatic.

“Kendall!” he calls from behind. The sound of my name coming from his mouth makes my heart stop. I turn and he’s jogging towards me.

“Yes?” I say in a voice more high-pitched than I’d intended. When he approaches, I’m struck again by the fact that he’s Pierre Chatham, of all people. I haven’t been to the grocery store in ten years without seeing his face on some magazine cover at the register.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share what happened,” he says. “I’m a little embarrassed, to be honest.”

“Oh! Of course. I won’t tell a soul.” Except Patsy. I’m definitely telling Patsy.

“Please don’t share my phone number either. I’ve had to change it so many times—it gets old.”

“I totally get it. You can trust me.”

“Thank you.”

“If I don’t see you again, good luck with your movie!”

He smiles and nods. I turn and walk to my car, knees shaking. When I get in to pull away, I look up to see him standing in the same spot. I wave, back out of the driveway, and leave. In my rearview mirror, he’s standing by the road, watching my taillights.

* * *

Patsy will kill me if she finds out I kept this from her for more than five minutes, but I don’t want to tell her over the phone. The first thing I do is go home and make myself look halfway decent with a shower, makeup, and real clothes.

Then I head to the baseball fields. I don’t even have to ask where she is. With five boys, she always has at least one playing ball on a Saturday in early summer.

I park in the full lot and immediately see Patsy’s middle son, Buck, running between the fences, his pants covered in red dirt. He sees me, stops what he’s doing, and comes to give me a hug. I ask him where his mom is and he points me in the right direction.

The ball park is a diamond of four baseball fields with a concession stand in the middle. It’s always crowded in the late spring and early summer. There’s not much else going on in Magnolia Row on a Saturday afternoon.

I walk to the bleachers where Patsy is sitting on the top row. She’s with her mother and has her youngest son, Hunter, on her lap. She waves when she sees me, but looks confused. I motion for her to come down, so she gives Hunter to her mom, then makes her way to where I’m waiting. In the background, a loud crack from a baseball bat startles me and the crowd begins to cheer.

“Kendall, what are you doing here?” Patsy asks. Today’s look is what she calls “casual Patsy”: Magnolia Row High t-shirt, cut-off shorts that show off her tone, tanned legs, and floral flip-flops.

“We need to go somewhere quiet.” I grab her and pull her towards a picnic table at the edge of the park.

Her face drops. “Are you okay?”

---