Home Field by Hannah Gersen Page A

and people from Joelle’s church. Stephanie emerged from the farmhouse to greet an older couple that Dean didn’t immediately recognize from a distance. Their white-gray hair was cut in similarly short styles and they were dressed somewhat formally in khaki and white, as if they were on safari.
    â€œIs that the Shanks?” Dean said. Even though Stephanie had been spending a lot of time with her grandparents, Dean rarely socialized with them. They usually didn’t come to Willowboro. Instead, Stephanie drove to Frederick or Baltimore to meet them. They had stores in both cities and lived outside Baltimore.
    â€œI told Joelle not to invite them but she insisted,” Geneva said. “I’ve never understood those people. The way they left Nic high and dry after Sam passed on. I think they blamed her. Like he wouldn’t have gotten sick if he’d married someone else.”
    â€œThat was a long time ago,” Dean said. “They probably just needed someone to blame.”
    â€œAren’t you forgiving.”
    â€œThey got Stephanie into a good college.” Dean wasn’t in the mood to hate the Shanks. He got up out of his chair. “I’m going to see if the boys are in the barn.”
    â€œYou are avoiding the Shanks,” Geneva said, pointing a finger. “The Shanks and Joelle.”
    He was avoiding everyone. He didn’t know what to say about his life anymore. He patted his front pocket, where he’d placed the napkin Laura had given him. She’d written down her number and handed it to him at the end of their conversation about physical therapy (for her boyfriend, who seemed perfectly healthy). She said to call her if he ever needed someone to talk to. And then she said she was sorry she hadn’t gotten in touch after Nicole died, that she didn’t know right away, and then when she did know, she didn’t know if she should contact him, because what could she say, she hadn’t even known Nicole, and anyway it wasn’t as if they’d ever had that kind of friendship, the kind that entailed phone calls, and then she had blushed and said again that she was sorry, really so sorry, and Dean had finally interrupted and said it was okay, because it was; in fact, it was a relief to know that she still thought about him, and even more of a relief to know that she wanted to talk to him.
    The gravel driveway that led from the farmhouse to the barn and down to the fields was flecked with sharp bits of hay. Dean picked one up and stuck it behind his ear, knowing it would make the boys laugh. But when he got to the barn, there was no sign of them. He stood in the darkened, cool space, savoring the dusklike feeling. Sunlight filtered in where the door was ajar, sending a stripe of gold across the beams. He became aware of the sadness inside him, an ancient, placeless feeling, and at the same time he felt marvelously alive. It had something to do with the smell of the barn, of the hay and the animals that slept there at night. It reminded him of his childhood and of his father, of the sweet through line connecting him to his past and extending to some unknown point in the future.
    Dean heard someone behind him and turned to see Joelle standing in the doorway. Her jeweled tunic was even more out of place in the barn’s soft light.
    â€œI’m just trying to find my girls.” She began to head back outside.
    â€œWait, Joelle, I wanted to ask you something.”
    â€œIf you’re wondering about the Shanks, Stephanie’s the one who wanted to invite them, not me.”
    â€œI don’t mind the Shanks.” He wanted to say something conciliatory, something to bridge—or at least start to bridge—the divide that separated them. But now that he was face-to-face with his wife’s younger sister, he could only think of how old and set in her ways she seemed. There was a hardness to her, a toughness. Maybe that was why Nicole