He arrived about thirty minutes before the start of the championship game and took a seat at the end of the bleachers, a bottle of water dangling from his fingers, a bag of peanuts by his side. He saw a few people he knew, and although he waved and dipped his head in greeting to a couple of them, he made no move to walk over and talk to anyone. He still felt raw and unfinished, a loaf of half-baked bread. He hadn’t found his sea legs quite yet.
He passed the time waiting for the game to start by watching Leo Kendrick—on crutches now—throwing a football to some little boys who had crowded around him. He was sad to see that Leo’s dexterity had eroded a lot in the time Sam had been gone, and his toss was a little wobbly. The boys didn’t care; they were tumbling over each other, laughing as they wrestled for the ball, and then happily racing back to Leo, who had advice for the best way to tackle each other.
Once the game started, Sam felt more at ease.
The two teams vying for the annual crown were the Presbyterians and the Methodists, and it was a hard fought battle. Just as dusk began to creep in under the sun, the Presbyterians closed it out for the win, the second year in a row.
It had been a good game, a perfect diversion on that sunny afternoon.
Sam was ready to leave then, to head back up to his place and feed his horses, but the lady sitting next to him said that The Bricklayers, a local band, was going to play. Sam used to listen to the band when he hung out at the Rocky Creek Tavern. He liked them. It might be the only time he would ever have the opportunity to hear the band outside of a bar.
Sam kept his seat on the bleachers, nursing his bottle of water, waiting for the band to come onto the temporary stage. The scent of barbequed meat filled the air, making his stomach growl. People were milling about, claiming space with blankets and picnic baskets for the band’s performance.
Down on the field, Sam spotted Libby Tyler. It took him a minute to realize it was her. She was wearing a ball cap over her curly locks and a summer dress with a sweater. Sam and Libby had worked at the sheriff’s office together before he’d gone away. He’d always liked her. Libby was pretty, with silvery pale-blue eyes. More important, she was nice. She had never failed to have a smile for him, even during his darkest moments.
She’d hooked up with Ryan Spangler a couple of years ago, and right now, she was playing a game with Ryan’s two little kids. Alice and Max, Sam remembered—Libby used to bring them into the office sometimes. Cute kids. What were they now, five or six? Sam smiled as he watched her chase the children, then pretend to run from them, letting them catch her and tumble her to the ground. But then she would pop up and grab one, lift them in the air and swing them around.
They looked happy, the three of them, like they’d skipped right out of a holiday commercial. Sam didn’t see where Ryan was, and guessed he was manning a barbeque pit somewhere. Libby and the children scampered off toward the bouncy castles, and Sam lost sight of them.
He didn’t like to acknowledge it, but seeing a family like that made him feel a little sad. Sam had always imagined that sort of life for himself, but he’d lost sight of starting his own family in a bottle somewhere. The disappointment with himself, with what could have been, cut deep. It made him feel older than his thirty-two years.
A little later, the lights of the temporary stage came on, and Sam stretched his legs out long. The sun was beginning to sink behind the mountains. He was hungry, and figured he’d listen to a couple of songs then head home. A shadow or something caught his eye, and he turned toward it.
Libby Tyler was approaching him, carrying a plate laden with food. She was smiling warmly, as if she was actually glad to see him. When people around town said hello to him, they didn’t smile at him like this.
Libby climbed up the few steps to where he was sitting. “Hey, Sam Winters!” she said cheerfully. “You’re back, huh?”
“I’m back.” He could feel a smile curving the corners of his mouth. “How are you, Libby Tyler?”
“I’m great,” she said. “Couldn’t be better. But the more important question is, how are you?”
“I’m good,” Sam said, and was aware that for the first time in a long time, he meant it.
“I am so glad to hear it. I’ve thought about you, you know. I’d hoped things were working out for you.”
“Thanks,” he said. That word seemed inadequate for what that meant to him. Just to know that someone as pretty and warm as Libby was hoping for him made him feel like he had done something worthwhile.
“I brought you some food,” she said, holding the plate out.
“For me?”
“Yes, for you.” She grinned as he took the plate. “I saw you sitting over here by yourself, and you looked kind of hungry, so . . .” She shrugged playfully. “Seriously, you’ve been sitting up here all afternoon. You’ve got to be hungry. And this is excellent brisket.”
Sam was as surprised as he was appreciative. Touched, too. He missed having someone in his life to care about him. “Can’t say no to excellent brisket. Thank you.” He took the plate and picked up the plastic fork, taking a generous bite of the potato salad.