Page 41 of Until Now
Wow. As I turn onto the property's tree-lined entrance, it’s like everything became brighter, more colorful, just about perfect. The hills of Tennessee are green and lush. The late summer season is incredibly beautiful this year. I half expect there will be chirping birds escorting us in.
There are still flowering Dogwoods in pink and white, and as we pass, the sunlight coming through makes a kind of Disney animated film look.
“I love this place,” July says. “We have so many good memories here.”
“When Atticus, their son, made the big leagues he had this built for his parents,” Wes says, taking his seat next to me.
“What a gift,” I say, taking in my first view of the house.
Impressive. There’s a sweeping lawn that practically looks painted on. It’s perfectly manicured. But there’s nothing fake or cold about this place. A brick circular driveway leads to the front steps of the expansive wraparound porch of a white two-story Southern-style home.
Lime-green and purple hydrangeas follow the lines of the house, front and side. Groupings of trees are everywhere. As I turn off the engine, a dog looking through the front door's side window begins to bark.
“I see the Colonel!” July says, standing up. Before anyone can add a word to the discussion, the dachshund goes into protection mode, intent on protecting the Swift’s from unknown threats. Who are these people? Can they be trusted?
Within a few beats, a much bigger, older dog peeks through the window.
“There’s O.G.! Oh my God, I love that dog,” November says.
I engage the door and the steps. The front door of the house opens, and a good looking older couple steps out. She’s got a streak of silver in her long hair, and her husband has a head of thick white hair. He carries a drink in his hands and lifts it in a toast to the arriving guests.
“Oh my God, Boone has your drink ready,” Wes says, laughing.
My passengers pile out and greet their hosts in warm embraces. I take up the rear.
“You must be Maxen, welcome! I’m Lucinda, and this is Boone.”
“Glad Dominique brought you, son. She’s very special to Lucinda and me. I don’t think she’d ever choose a man that didn’t pass muster with us, so be warned. We’re going to be watching every move you make.”
Lucinda shoots me a little wink letting me know Boone’s messing with me.
I take the drink passed. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be sure to behave.”
“Well, that won’t be any fun, honey!”
Dominique slips an arm through mine.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” July says, gesturing to the front of the house.
Lucinda offers a welcoming smile. “Come in. We’ve still got some time before we have to leave for the game.”
* * *
Being inside the Swift’s suite at the ballpark is something cool. This is how the other half lives. No. Not half. That’s being too generous. Hardly anyone gets this kind of experience. I’m controlling my Memphis Maverick’s madness, trying to keep my shit together as I appreciate the view, food, and company. Wish I had my new Maverick’s t-shirt. There won’t be another chance like this. But the playoff hat that everyone here was gifted just took over first place as my favorite.
It’s awesome to have one son as the catcher, one as his agent, and a son-in-law as the announcer. And Boone’s career as a player started it all. This is one happy baseball-loving family. It shows in everything they do. I am impressed.
I haven’t met Atticus or Sawyer yet, but Brick and I have hit it off. He and Dominique have a good relationship. I can tell they like each other. His wife, January, is a good match. For a sports agent handling the business of multi-millionaires daily, he is a down to earth guy. The fact his wife is in the same industry must make for some interesting conversations.
Charlotte, Atticus’ wife, sits with their daughter, Mallory. Next to them, Bristol Swift, Boone’s only daughter, and wife of the announcer, Sawyer Tom.
There are six kids in different stages running around the suite. I was introduced, but at this point, three drinks in, I can’t remember who belongs to who. All I know is they are scarfing down the marinated shrimp as if they haven’t eaten in a month. If Bing and Hunter were here, they’d join them.
But the two people I am kind of obsessed with are Boone’s parents, Grandma Birdie and Grandpa Davis. It’s easy to see where the family love and sense of fun sprang from. They are funny as hell. Playful in your eighties is a good thing to aim for. And the whole thing is mixed with an old Southern sensibility I love. Grandma wears pearls and a dress to the ballgame, and her husband is in a bow tie with the Maverick’s colors.
It’s down to the last out. Hell, it’s now or never. Either they win in a down to the wire game, or they crash in flames. I notice no one has taken a sip of their drinks in the last ten minutes. It’s too nerve-wracking.
“That ump! That was a strike!” Grandma Birdie yells.
