Jamie flopped into a chair. “Everyone knows? That didn’t take long.”
“Jenna called me this morning. I’m running too late to stop by there.” Leanna went inside and came out with a mug of coffee for Jamie.
“Thanks, Leanna.” One of the things Jamie loved most about his summer friends was that their doors were always open. They didn’t rely on cell phones and email to communicate. Even though he loved his work and he loved Boston, being at the Cape with his friends rejuvenated him in ways no place else, and no other friends, ever could.
“Leanna, do you know a guy named Steve Lacasse at the flea market?”
Leanna furrowed her brow and shook her head. “I don’t know the last names of people there, but I know a few Steves. What does he sell?”
“I assume baseball memorabilia, but I’m not really sure. He used to own a store called My Mom Threw Out My Baseball Cards in Orleans, and he closed it down a little over a year ago. I did some checking, and he works the flea markets, here and in Dennis, and sells his stuff on eBay too. I just want to have a conversation with him.”
“There are about three sports guys at the flea market, but I can’t remember a Steve. I’ll check it out when I’m there today.”
Kurt ran his hand through his thick dark hair. “There is the Steve with that yellow truck. He sells all sorts of stuff—records, books, fishing rods—but I’ve seen sports memorabilia at his booth too. He might be the guy to ask.” Kurt opened a document and perused it.
“You know, you’re right.” Leanna picked up a big, colorful bag and hoisted it over her shoulder. “He might at least know who the guy is. If you want, I can talk to him today and let you know what he says. What’s this for anyway?”
Just thinking of Jessica brought a smile to his lips. She’d been so beautiful last night, so open and honest with him, that as hard as it was to wait to become even more intimate, he was glad they were waiting. He already felt like this was the beginning of a much more meaningful relationship than those that he’d had in the past.
“It’s for Jessica. He sold a baseball on eBay that she thinks was her father’s when he was a boy, and she wants to track down the new owner.”
“Fate.” Kurt’s eyes never left the laptop. He continued typing. He was a man of few words, but this one had Jamie stumped.
“What do you mean?”
“Steve. My Mom Threw Out My Baseball Cards? I assume her father’s parents lost the ball somewhere along the way and this guy got it, maybe after it passed hands a few dozen times?” Kurt shifted his eyes to Jamie. “Think like a writer. Connect the dots.”
Until then it hadn’t struck him how ironic the name of the store was, given Jessica’s situation. “So it’s fate that he works here?”
Leanna kissed Kurt’s cheek and patted his shoulder. “I’ll see you later. I’ve got to run. I’ll talk to the Steves I know and specifically the Steve that Kurt mentioned, and I’ll text you after I do.”
“See ya, Leanna. Thanks.” Jamie turned his attention back to Kurt. He wasn’t a big believer in fate, given his parents’ untimely deaths, but he was curious about what Kurt meant.
Kurt leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “Fate. You know, something that’s destined to happen. The development of events beyond a person’s control. Jamie, look at me and Leanna, or Bella and Caden. Would you ever have put us together as couples? Fate, man. Jessica’s here, you’re here, Steve might be here. It’s all fate.”
Kurt went back to typing, and Jamie knew it must be nine o’clock.
Jamie thought about fate on the short drive back to Seaside. How could that be? Would fate have caused his parents’ safari vehicle to break down in the bush? Would fate have driven them into the bush without their guide that morning? Or placed the hungry lions there when his mother left the vehicle, he assumed to go to the bathroom? Would fate have put the video camera in his father’s hands as he filmed in the opposite direction and caught her screams as a backdrop to the beautiful scenery—or when the camera crashed to the ground and his father’s frantic footfalls and guttural, terrifying screams could be heard sprinting toward his dying wife? Against Vera’s pleas, Jamie had insisted on watching the video when he was in his late twenties. That video had taken the story of his parents’ deaths and made it real. He’d watched it over and over ten, twenty, maybe thirty times in a row—and then he’d buried the sights and sounds so deep he hoped they never resurfaced. But sometimes, when his mind was unoccupied, they did.