Long Shot by Hanna Martine Page A

and at first he didn’t recognize it, since it was so unusual for her. “Aimee said you won the overall three years in a row while I was at college.”
    His eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, to the expanse of field spreading within that small rectangle. He could still hear everything Jen had described in her memories, but underneath that, even stronger in his senses, came the sound of the laughter and ball-busting between competitors, his longtime throwing buddies. He could still feel the power and exhilaration as his muscles worked and threw the various heavy implements. And if he turned his head just so, he could still see Da, sitting on the edge of the athletic field border, Jen at his ankles.
    “I did,” he said, then he parked and got out of the truck.
    Jen slid out after a second or two, having to use the running board to step down. “Let me ask you, did you ever throw at the bigger games across the state?”
    “For a couple of years. Much tougher competition, took me away from work too much. The AD’s a good friend of mine.”
    “AD?”
    “Athletic Director. Handles all the heavy events at each games.”
    “Ah.” She hoisted that giant purse higher up on her shoulder and turned in a circle, her lips together, assessing.
    Not for the first time, he saw what she was seeing: an oddly shaped patch of semiflat land, riddled with holes and dirt patches and weeds, dotted with outbuildings that maybe at one time might have been handsome stables for 4-H livestock shows or other events that might have drawn crowds from all over New England. Now they tilted to one side or another, their wood walls weathered, creeping vines covering any sort of character.
    He pointed to the biggest barn. “This is where they keep all the stuff for the games. The tents and tables, the big castle and stuff.”
    She turned to him, eyebrow lifted. “I’m sorry. Castle?”
    He wiped at the corner of his mouth and glanced away. “Eight or nine years ago DeeDee made this huge fake castle. It looked like a kid’s art project. I think it was supposed to give authenticity or something.”
    Jen looked horrified, covering her mouth with a hand, then recovered quickly. “Did the attendees like it?”
    “Maybe the first year.”
    “And then?”
    “Then it turned into a cartoon, and the non-local attendees all but ran across state.”
    “See? You did know how it’s changed.”
    “Maybe a bit.”
    She dug into her bag, her whole arm disappearing, and pulled out a small key ring. “Let’s go take a look.”
    After it was unlocked, he lugged open the barn door on dry and screeching rails. She set down her expensive-looking purse right there in the dirt and edged deeper into the barn. Leith followed, popping open a stubborn crate or moving the bigger ones when she couldn’t do it herself and asked for his help.
    She was talking to herself, as he’d spied her doing last night through the kitchen window. She was utterly absorbed, her hands moving like she was conversing with a colleague. There was something endearing about it, but something also equally frustrating, because she wasn’t back in some office in New York. She was in a barn. In Gleann. With him. And though he wasn’t expecting a laughfest or the immediate comfort they’d had ten years ago, he didn’t think he’d be on her pay-no-mind list.
    She was perusing the back corner when she made a sound of surprise.
    “What is it?” he called.
    “Come take a look.”
    He wove around disorganized piles of, well, crap to join her in the corner. There, tucked between some crates, was a dirty blanket, filthy pillow, a red baseball cap with a partially unraveled potato chip logo, and an empty pack of cigarettes.
    “Homeless person?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “Maybe.” The valley did have a few.
    She wandered back to her purse and pulled out a slim, light laptop, plopping it down on a nearby crate. He liked the way she curled her hair behind her ear and tilted her head so it