The next morning, I come upstairs to find Tesa at the table with a computer and papers surrounding her.
“I thought I would work from home today, just in case Camri needed me,” she informs me. “Cereal is above the fridge if you want it.”
I reach above the fridge and pull down a box of cereal. Opening the fridge, I peer inside on a search for milk.
“Um. Tesa?”
She looks up from her laptop, raising her eyebrows.
“Why do you have five gallons of milk when only two people live here?”
“Actually, four people live here now,” she says, shuffling some of the papers. “Also, Caleb drinks milk like a baby cow.”
“I do not,” Caleb enters the kitchen with a bag over his shoulder. “Don’t believe anything she says, Logan. All lies.”
Tesa chuckles quietly to herself. “Yeah, right.”
Caleb dodges a chair. “I love you.” He kisses Tesa and then turns to me while walking back to the door. “But I don’t love you, though God does and that’s what matters.”
I mouth “ok” then send him an I-don’t-care shrug.
“See y’all tonight!” he shouts over his shoulder before he shuts the door.
I look back into the fridge. “So which milk do I use?”
“Just pick one.”
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I shove my AirPod securely into my ear then pace myself to a jog.
I normally don’t do runs, but I need to get out of the house. And I can’t trust the soccer field right now.
One mile.
Two.
Two and a half.
I take a turn down a small road.
Trees cover the sides of the road, forming an alley-type feel.
The pavement turns to gravel as I travel down the unused road.
A building brings the street to an end.
Cornerstone Orphanage reads the sign held above the road.
The orphanage definitely looked well cared for, not like the broken down shacks you hear about in stories.
I turn around to head back down the road when some yelling catches my attention.
I walk over to my left and pull back some tree branches.
A pack of younger boys were gesturing wildly to each other. One of them was holding a dilapidated soccer ball.
“He used his hands!” One of the boys shouts out.
“He was the goalie! Goalies are allowed to use their hands,” another chimes it.
“Miss Paula!” a boy walks over to an elderly lady sitting on the porch of the orphanage. “Are you allowed to use your hands in soccer, Miss Paula?”
“Sorry, lad,” the lady replies with a strong Irish accent. “Never paid attention to such games.”
“Oh,” the boy does not try to hide his disappointment.
“I promise they are allowed to use their hands! I saw it on television!” the boy holding the ball speaks.
I drop the branches back to their natural positions and walk around the fence toward the boys.
“The goalie is allowed to use his hands in soccer as long as he is inside the goalie box,” I tell the boys.
They all turn sharply to gaze at me.
“Who are you?” one asks.
“And what’s a goalie box?” another questions.
“I’m Logan.” I walk up to Miss Paula and shake her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, but I heard the yelling.”
“Not intruding at all,” she answers politely. “Do you know much about soccer? These boys have been asking me questions all day and I don’t seem to have any answers for ‘em.”
“I know some, yes. I play for my high school.”
“Will ya mind just showing ‘em the basics? I’ll make lunch for ya.”
“I wouldn’t mind at all. And lunch would be great.”
I walk over to the boys but freeze once I feel something attach to my leg.
“Do you know anything about writing stories?” a pair of sparkling blue eyes gaze up at me.
“Little Lily here loves writing stories. Haven’t been able to help her either. Never been good with English grammar.” Miss Paula motions to the young girl.
“I don’t know anything about writing, but I might know someone who does. I’ll get back to you on that,” I tell the little one.
“Yay!” she squeals with joy and runs to Miss Paula. “I’m going to be a famous writer someday, Miss Paula.”
“You bet you are!” She picks her up and carries her inside.
“Ok.” I turn back to the boys. “Where are your goals?”
The youngest one points to two sticks protruding out of the ground.
“That’s a start. But we are going to need another goal. Tow goals. Tow teams. Get it?”
The boys all stare at me dubiously.
“More sticks! Come one. Let’s go!”
That sends them into action searching for a set of strong sticks.
This is about to be an interesting day.
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