A/N: Hi-di-ho, Cardinal fans! This is College Baseball TMI. Before we begin, we have a big thank you for the talented professionals who make up the staff at Stanford TMI. If you don't use Stanford TMI, you were robbed. We're your hosts, Biff Roberts and Rob Bifford. This week it's finally time to talk about the collegiate summer baseball leagues. Each summer, colleges and universities send off their most promising young baseball talent to play in leagues spread around the USA and Canada. While the number of teams and leagues fluctuates, this year there are 46 different leagues in operation. The oldest, by far, and the most prestigious, is the Cape Cod League, founded in 1885, composed of ten teams located in towns along the Cape Cod peninsula in Massachusetts. Other leagues vary in the number of teams, how long they've been operating, and how competitive it is to get an invitation to play. One thing all the leagues have in common is that they use wooden bats like professional baseball instead of the metal bats used in college. This gives the players and the people scouting them a chance to see how well they hit with, and pitch to, wooden bats, so they can better gauge their potential ability to play professionally one day. It is typical for each league to provide local host families who will have one or more players live with them over the course of the summer season. College players can't be paid or receive any financial support, so they have to pay a nominal room and board fee to cover their host family's costs. Players are also responsible for their own travel costs. The length of the summer season varies from league to league with most beginning in early June and finishing by mid-August, at the latest. Typical events like all-star games and playoffs are a part of many leagues' schedules. Some leagues have other unique events to draw fan interest. For example, the small five-team Alaska Baseball League features the Midnight Sun Game which is played late at 'night' on the longest day of the year. This only scratches the surface of the entertainment you can expect to see watching collegiate summer baseball and possible future hall of famers in the making. That's all for now, folks! I'm Rob Bifford. And I'm Biff Roberts. Signing off until next time when we have more TMI for you.
A/N1.5: Sorry that this chapter has taken me so long to get out. It's been a crazy few months. To paraphrase Casey, real life liver got mixed with my Chuck fanfiction peanut butter. Yeah, really. Blech!
A/N1.75: Since it has been a while, remember that Chuck gave Sarah some gifts at the end of the previous chapter, including a charm bracelet with a significant backstory.
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. I make no money from Chuck. My aleck is smarter than I am. It's still not back from summer vacation and it's well into HallowThankMas. What a slacker.
Chapter 44 – P.S. I Love You
Tuesday June 18
Chuck sat looking out the window next to him, watching the tarmac begin to blur as the Delta Airlines jet gathered speed in preparation for takeoff. It was early, just past 7am and he was still tired, having slept badly. Even now, he was conflicted. Excited for the chance to live out his dream of playing on the Cape. Sad to be leaving Sarah for so long. Already lonely, he sighed wistfully.
"Is it as bad as all that?" A kindly voice asked.
Startled, Chuck looked at the elderly man sitting next to him in the first-class cabin. The voice must belong to him. "Excuse me?"
"You sighed. And it didn't sound like a sigh of happiness or contentment. The trip is just beginning. Whatever task takes you back east. And you're already sad," the old man smiled sympathetically.
"Well-," Chuck hesitated.
"Tell me to mind my own business, if you want. I won't be offended. It's just that you seem awfully sad to be starting out on a journey. I usually see people's sadness when the journey is over and their regular lives are about to take over again," the man commented with a slight shrug.
"You're right about that. I am sad because I'm leaving my girlfriend for the summer. But excited at the same time," Chuck explained. "You see, I'm going to Cape Cod for the first time to play baseball. One of my dreams, but when I was dreaming it, I didn't have a girlfriend. Now I do."
"Ah, now I begin to understand," the old man nodded sagely. "And does this girlfriend of yours approve of you going off to play baseball?"
"She said she does," the younger man admitted. "But I know she's not looking forward to us being apart for so long."
The man hummed. "That makes sense. You're both of two minds on the situation."
"Yeah, we are."
"Have you told her that?"
"I have. More than once," Chuck nodded. "But I don't want to burden her with my sadness."
"Somehow, I doubt that she would think that you sharing your feelings with her, happy or sad, was any kind of burden," the man observed.
"She's starting graduate school this summer while I'm away. That's going to take a lot of her energy and effort and I want to offer her every support when we talk on the phone," Chuck tried to explain.
"I see."
"So, I only want to speak of happy things to keep her mind and heart at ease so she can focus on school."
The other man chuckled. "That's not how relationships work, young man. The hurts are there. Whether you speak of them or not. In fact, it's dangerous to hold them in."
"Oh, I know. She and I have had to deal with … um … hurts more than once since we've known each other," Chuck acknowledged.
"Then you know that if you don't get the hurts out in the open, they just fester and grow. Compounding on one another. When the hurts come out then, they can do irreparable harm to the relationship and the individuals in it."
"But how do I share my sadness? My desire to be with her? While still keeping things happy and light when we talk on the phone?"
"Well, you could always do both during your calls. Share the happy and the sad, but …"
"But? What?" Chuck asked.
"But you could also write her letters. Share your sadness and longing with her that way," the old man smiled. "Save the phone calls for your happy tales. Or you could lighten your letters by including at least some happy stuff."
"I can do that," Chuck nodded. "I'll send her an email right now."
The old man shook his head. "No. Don't use emails for those kinds of feelings. Quickly dashed off words speeding through a wire that will be soon forgotten in the crush of advertisements and silly videos." He shook his head again. "Better to take the time to sit and think about what you want to say. Picture her reading the letter when you write it. Pour your heart out. She'll appreciate your honesty and the effort it took to share those feelings. The time it took to think and write it all out on real paper. And she'll save the letters to read and reread over and over again. Trust me on that." The man shrugged. "But what do I know? I was young long before the Internet came into everyone's lives. Cards and letters were the only things we had besides phone calls. You young people probably do things much differently these days." The man smiled but it was a sad smile.
"I don't know about that. Letters might be a good thing. Did you do that? Write letters to a special girl, I mean?" Chuck gently probed.
"I did. Once upon a time," the man answered, closing his eyes in memory. "Enough of that," he sniffed. "Get busy. Write your letters. She'll cherish them almost as much as she cherishes you."
"I will," Chuck nodded with determination. He reached for his backpack beneath the seat in front of him and took out his pad of paper and a pen. After pulling down his tray table, he laid his pad on it and turned to say thank you to his seatmate. The old man had already fallen fast asleep. Not wishing to disturb him, Chuck returned to his paper and picked up his pen. Taking a few minutes to search his heart, he began to write.
My dearest Sarah,
You'll probably not be surprised to learn that this is the first letter I've ever written to a girl. Well, to a girlfriend, at least. I have written letters to Ellie before. Or sent cards, I should say. Mom too. But besides that, you're the first. It must be pretty obvious by now, as you read this, that I have no idea what I'm doing. A nice old man sitting next to me suggested that I write a letter instead of texting or emailing you. He said letters are more permanent and a better way to express your feelings. You'll have to tell me whether or not he's right about that. Don't worry, I'm laughing at myself while I'm writing, so please don't judge my inaugural attempt too harshly.
The airplane carrying me to Boston has just taken off. I'm exhausted because I didn't sleep very well last night. My mind was too busy thinking of you. I was already missing you and I hadn't even left California yet. Now, here on this plane, I'm practically going crazy. I miss you terribly. With each passing moment, I get farther away from you and I miss you that much more. It's taking a lot of effort for me not to freak out completely. So much has changed in the last year. I was used to being alone before I met you. Not any longer.
Last night was so amazing! I'm ecstatic that you accepted the bracelet and are choosing to wear it already. Saying this is probably a bit over the top, but it will take all my willpower not to get right back on another plane as soon as I land in Boston. That's how much I need to be near you. I love you, Sarah. I guess that makes me an idiot for leaving to spend the summer on the other side of the country …
…
Chuck didn't stop thinking and writing, carefully considering every word, until right before they started the meal service. It didn't come easily to him. At one point, while he was thinking about what to say, he found himself doodling a picture of a baseball player sitting at a computer with a thought bubble that says "You". Realizing that it was an accurate depiction of his dilemma, he decided to leave in the letter, instead of crumbling it up and starting over which had been his first thought. Chuck had no illusions that he was eloquent in any way, the short length of the letter belied the amount of effort he put into it, but he wanted Sarah to know that he was still conflicted about spending the summer apart. And that he would miss her the entire time he was away.
Pouring his feelings out in the letter calmed him enough that he was able to get some sleep once he ate. Chuck woke to the pilot announcing over the intercom that they were about to land. As the plane descended and Logan Airport came into view, he thought about how this was the first time he'd been back since he was fifteen years old.
The plane landed just before 4pm Boston time, taxiing to Terminal A. It took Chuck a while to finally reach baggage claim, so it was well past that hour when he eventually arrived at the carousels. This wasn't his first time navigating Logan Airport, after all. What he did not expect was to see Dr. Frank Simcoe and his wife Melody, his parents' friends, and his former hosts, waiting for him.
"CHUCK!" Melody yelled. Chuck looked toward the voice calling his name.
"Dr. Simcoe! Mrs. Simcoe! What are y'all doing here?" he smiled in surprise as the older couple came up to greet him. After exchanging handshakes and hugs, they answered his question.
"Your parents called last week to let us know you were coming back to the area," Dr. Simcoe explained. "Playing out on the Cape. Your dream has come true, Chuck. There was no way we would miss a chance to say hello and catch up a little. It's been a while since we've seen you."
"It has," Chuck nodded.
"I think you've grown," Melody grinned, looking up at him. "They must be feeding you well out there in Palo Alto." She hugged him again. "We're so glad that you're doing better, too. That was a terrifying injury you had."
"Thank you. It was, but thanks to a lot of people, I'm well on my way to being back to feeling one hundred percent. And yes, I have grown. Just a bit," he agreed, smiling. "Although, this all happened before I ever got to Stanford."
"Oh, we remember," she teased. "You almost ate us out of house and home."
"Sorry about that," Chuck apologized, grinning. "Growing boy." The Simcoes both snorted. "Speaking of which, how are Ryan and Becky doing?"
"Ryan just got promoted to staff sergeant earlier this year. He's stationed at Fort Bragg in North Carolina now," Frank told him. "Becky is an obstetrics and gynecology nurse at New York-Presbyterian Queens Hospital in Flushing, New York."
"Uh-oh," the younger man said, his eyes opening wider.
"Yeah, she cheers for the Mets," the professor grimaced. "My daughter is a Mets fan. A National League team of all things." He shuddered.
Chuck grinned, the older couple were still big fans of the Red Sox just like they were when he lived with them, "Could be worse, you know. She could be a Yankees fan."
"Watch your mouth! That would be out-n-out blasphemy," Frank gasped then shook his head. "Could just about get her excommunicated from the family." Melody giggled at her husband's carrying on.
Chuck rolled his eyes, not sure if Dr. Simcoe was serious or not. He'd known more than a few die-hard sports fans over the years. Still, he hoped Becky didn't switch her allegiance to the Yankees and test her father's patience in that way.
"It's great to hear about what they're up to, even if Becky is on thin ice there in New York," he grinned.
"Enough about baseball, Chuck. Show us some pictures of this girl your mom told us about before your luggage arrives in the carousel," Melody commanded.
"I would be happy to," Chuck nodded, pulling out his phone and offering it to his former sponsors.
"Oh my! She's beautiful, Chuck. How did you meet her?" Melody gushed.
"Well, the whole story would take a while," he chuckled, "but I can give you the condensed version while we wait on my bags." And he did.
After Chuck shared the story of his and Sarah's relationship and collected his two bags from baggage claim, the Simcoes escorted him to the area where there were people with signs waiting to meet arriving passengers. Seeing a man holding a sign with his and his company's name on it, he nodded and waved.
"I'm Chuck Bartowski of CIB Technologies," he announced, dropping his bags while the Simcoes held back and watched.
"Good to meet you, Mr. Bartowski," the man said. "I'm Sandy LaFleur, Baystate Leasing." They shook hands. "If I can see some ID and get you to sign this paperwork, we'll get you on your way as quickly as we can." They walked over to the corner of an unmanned rental desk where they could conduct their business.
"Sure thing," Chuck replied, reaching for his wallet and handing over his drivers' license and insurance card.
Mr. LaFleur took his documents to record them on the forms he was holding and gave them back. Offering the form packet to Chuck, he indicated where the young man needed to sign. Chuck quickly checked the forms over then signed where he'd been shown. His team at CIB had worked out all the finances in advance.
"Wonderful," the man said, looking over the forms. "Now, if you would please follow me, I'll show you to your car." He led Chuck and the Simcoes out of the terminal and across the street where limousines and touring cars were parked. When they got to the other side of the street, there was another man standing next to two cars and holding a sign with 'Bartowski' on it. The black car on the left had its trunk open.
"This Honda Accord is your car, Mr. Bartowski. The keys are in the ignition," Mr. LaFleur said while gesturing at the black car. Pulling the yellow copy pages of their agreement, he ducked into the other car and stapled them together. He handed the packet to Chuck along with a folder with additional information about the lease in it. "Do you require any information about the area?"
"Thank you, but no. I went to school here a few years ago so I'm pretty comfortable getting around," Chuck assured him.
"OK, then I'll leave you to it. Have a nice rest of your day. And remember that if you need anything, our number is on the folder I gave you."
"Fantastic. Thank you, Mr. LaFleur. Pleasure doing business with you." The two men shook hands after which the older man got into the other car and they drove off.
Turning to the Simcoes, he spoke, "Well, I better get on the road. I want to get there before tonight's game is over, if I can, so I can meet everyone. Especially my host family."
"We've already got your number, but please let us know the address and phone number of where you're going to be staying," Melody asked. "Just in case, you know?"
"I do know," he smiled with a nod. "I'll let you know later tonight or in the morning if it's too late by the time I get that information."
"Plan on us coming out there to see you play some, Chuck," Frank told him.
"That'll be fun. I don't know what kind of pitching rotation or what they plan for me, but once I do, I'll let you know that, too."
"That sounds great. We've already got their game schedule off of their website," the older man said, patting him on the back. "Right now, we need to let you go or you'll be facing even more traffic on the road. The Cape Cod traffic is always a pain in the summer," he chuckled ruefully and the pitcher nodded that he remembered.
Chuck dumped his bags in the Accord's trunk and closed it. After handshakes and another round of hugs, he said his goodbyes to the Simcoes. They left to go find their own car when Chuck got into his. Before he set out, he called his parents to let them know he'd arrived safely. Then he called Sarah. His call with his girlfriend was upbeat, but short, not letting on about the mixed feelings he'd expressed in his letter.
"Hi, Sarah. We've landed, safe and sound," he told her. "Just picked up my lease car and I'm getting ready to make the drive out to the Cape."
"I'm so glad, sweetie," she responded. "I was worried. I know it's silly, but I was. How was the flight?"
"That's OK. I don't mind you worrying about me," Chuck grinned into the phone. "And the flight was uneventful, but long."
"So … no surprises?"
"Well, just one. But it wasn't on the flight," he admitted. "When I came out of security, Dr. Simcoe and his wife were waiting for me. I wasn't expecting them."
"Your host family? The ones who're your parents' friends?"
"Yup. That's them. Nice to see them, even if I wasn't expecting them. We had a short visit while I got my car sorted out. They just left after promising to come see me play a few times this summer."
"That's so sweet of them."
"Yeah, it is. They always were nice people. Made being alone here in school a bit easier."
"I'm sure it did," she agreed, then changed the subject. "What kind of car did they give you?"
"An Accord. Black. Looks pretty slick."
"Nice. It'll beat having to walk everywhere or rely on others to take you places."
"This is true," Chuck agreed. "Which reminds me, as much as I hate to cut this short, I need to get on the road. I'm supposed to meet up with the team. They're playing a home game tonight. Get introduced to the coaches and the other players. Probably pick up my uniform and stuff. You know … the usual."
"I understand, baby," Sarah replied, trying to keep the pout out of her voice. "Get going. Drive safe. Think you'll have time to call me later? Once you get settled?"
"Not sure. Maybe," he admitted. "I'll try my best. And I promise to drive safely."
"Bye, Chuck. Love you." Sarah did her best to sound upbeat, not knowing he was doing the same thing.
"Bye. Love you, too." Chuck sighed after their call ended.
With everything else taken care of, he pulled out of the lot. Navigating his way out of the airport via the Ted Williams Tunnel, appropriately enough, he drove south on Interstate 93 toward Cape Cod.
Chuck turned off US-6, the Grand Army of the Republic Highway, toward South Yarmouth. He drove south until he saw the Dennis-Yarmouth Regional High School appear on the left side of the road. Turning in, he passed the football field and parked next to the school's baseball diamond, Merrill "Red" Wilson Field, where his summer team was supposed to be playing their game against the Harwich Mariners. Except there was no game and the parking lot was almost empty, save for a few vehicles. As he pulled into an available space, he noticed a small group of four people start to make their way toward his car, two men and two women.
"Chuck Bartowski?" one of the men asked as he stuck his hand out.
"Yes, Sir," Chuck nodded, shaking the man's hand. Looking around, he asked, "Rainout?"
"Glad ta meet ya. I'm Bill Martin, the Red Sox general manager," Mr. Martin said. "Yup, we had a thunderstorm blow through here about a half an hour before game time and we had to postpone. Hazards of playing baseball on the Cape. The water table is close to the surface around here. Even with the sandy soil, it doesn't always drain off as fast as we'd like," he shrugged. Chuck nodded his understanding but any further comment was prevented by the other man putting his hand out.
"I'm Scott Pickler, manager of the Red Sox," the coach said. "It's good to finally have you on the team, Chuck."
Shaking Coach Pickler's hand, Chuck replied, "It's good to be here, Coach. For a while there I wasn't sure it would be possible. I'm looking forward to the opportunity to play for you."
"We've got the reports from Coach Graham and Coach Casey, of course, but I want your take on it. How's your rehab been coming along?" Pickler asked.
"Pretty well, Sir. I felt fine when I was pitching during the Super Regional last weekend. Spending last week closing down my lab didn't leave any time for throwing so I might need a couple of days to get back to form." Chuck went on to describe his workout and preparation routine.
"We'll figure that out over the next few days so don't worry about that. I don't think you'll have any trouble getting ready to throw a few innings fairly soon." At this point, one of the women cleared her throat and interrupted them.
"If he's going to be ready to pitch before the season's over, he's gonna have to know where he's gonna sleep tonight, guys. Hi. I'm Jenny Hisey and I'm the housing coordinator for the Red Sox," the younger of the two women said, introducing herself. "And this wonderful lady with me is your host this summer, Barbara Ellsworth." Chuck shook hands with both women.
"Welcome to the Cape and the Red Sox. Everyone calls me Mrs. E," the diminutive older woman said. She was shorthaired and bespeckled, but Chuck could clearly see the wit and intelligence she had just by the way she shook his hand and how she spoke to him. "Don't worry. You're not my first and you won't be my last," she said with a wry smile. He looked forward to hearing some of her stories of previous players and their time playing for the Yarmouth-Dennis team. It would be a lot of fun.
"OK, now that everyone's been introduced, Jenny is right. Chuck does need to get settled in at Mrs. E's," Coach Pickler said to nods all around. "Before he can do that, though, we need to give him his gear and make sure it fits well enough." To Chuck's questioning look, he added, "The folks at Stanford forwarded your sizes to us when they confirmed that you'd be joining us this summer after all." He motioned for the new arrival to follow him as he turned and walked back in the direction of his car. Chuck and the others followed him.
"I hope finding stuff to fit me wasn't too big of a problem. My biggest nemesis has always been finding baseball pants that are long enough," Chuck commented.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that, if I were you," the coach said over his shoulder. "You're just a little over the average height for a lot of guys coming to the Cape. With any luck, we'll find a pair that fits you in the first couple of tries." By then the group had reached Pickler's car. He reached into the backseat and pulled out a gear bag, with the team's logo on the side, and handed it to Chuck. "I'm actually more concerned about us having a hat that will fit your head."
Taking the proffered bag, Chuck smiled. "Yeah, I do have something of a melon head," he said with a laugh.
"Not surprised," Pickler retorted, grinning. "What with that big brain of yours and all." Chuck twisted his mouth to the side and shook his head in amusement. "Why don't you take a minute and check to see if the stuff all fits. There's a cap in the bag along with everything else." The coach pointed over to the concession stand. "You can change in the men's bathroom. Don't worry, it's clean. The school staff helps us out with that task. Unfortunately, they only keep the school locker room open during games. Sorry about that." He shrugged.
"That's fine with me, coach. It won't be my first time changing into my baseball stuff in a bathroom," Chuck smiled before heading in the direction the coach had indicated. Luckily, everything fit him fine when he tried it on. Even the cap. Chuck was surprised. He walked out of the restroom and received approving nods from all four adults.
"Got it right on the first try," Mrs. E. teased. "That's got to be some kind of record."
"This ain't our first rodeo, Barb," Mr. Martin retorted with a grin. "Still, it is kinda nice that we don't gotta spend more time getting Chuck fixed up."
Mrs. E gave him a knowing look.
"What can I say? The pro Red Sox are on TV tonight and I might get home in time to catch the early innings. Maybe even the start of the game," Bill shrugged sheepishly.
"That's a plan I can get behind, too," Coach Pickler joined in. Turning to Chuck, he continued, "If you're all set, we'll let you go get settled at Mrs. E's place."
After confirming that they had his correct phone number and email address, Chuck got back in his car and followed Mrs. E to her house. It was northeast of South Yarmouth situated along the Bass River.
The house was constructed in the traditional Cape Cod style and covered in cedar shakes weathered gray and offset with white trim. It sported extensions on either end, making it much larger than the original design. Chuck could see that the property sloped down toward the river on the southwest side. The deck attached to that side of the house afforded wonderful views of the water nearby. It was a very picturesque setting. And Chuck said so.
"Thanks. I like it," Mrs. E smiled as she exited her car. She pointed to where Chuck could park and waited for him to grab his luggage and join her before leading him through the garage under the deck and into the house's basement, unlocking the door as she went.
Chuck found himself in a large room furnished "college style" with a L-shaped sectional couch and a couple of well cushioned chairs. They were arranged around a coffee table and there was a big screen TV on the wall opposite the couch. It all looked very comfortable. From where he was standing, Chuck could see three doorways besides the door that led back to the garage where they'd entered. There was another opening with a staircase leading up.
"OK, Chuck. The basement is for the ballplayers," Mrs. E began. Gesturing around the room, she continued. "The door on the left leads to the room you'll be using. That next door is the bathroom. Sink, toilet, and bath. It's only a shower so no getting hurt because you don't have a tub to soak the aches and pains away. Got it?" She grinned.
"Got it," he grinned back.
"The door on the right, next to the stairs is the other bedroom. Joe Orse from Florida State and Evan Trask from Vanderbilt are in there. They're not here at the moment, though. When the game got canceled, they took off somewhere with some of the other players. You'll meet them later."
"I don't have a roommate?"
"Nope," she shook her head. "You were supposed to. A kid named Gerry Guman from Florida but he broke his arm playing pickup basketball right before he was supposed to travel up here. He's still in a cast and in his coach's doghouse." Mrs. E. snorted and shook her head again, showing what she thought of that turn of events. Giving him an appraising look, she said, "You don't plan on getting hurt again, do you Chuck?"
"No, Ma'am," he shook his head emphatically.
"Smart boy," she nodded once.
"I try."
"Good answer," Mrs. E laughed. Sobering, she went on. "Those stairs lead up and the door at the top gets locked at midnight when I lock up the house. It gets unlocked at 6am. If there's an emergency down here during the night, call me. I'll give you my number. You have kitchen privileges that we'll discuss when we get up there. In the meantime, have you read and understand the team's rules for staying with a host family? Especially the ones about no guests without prior permission, particularly young lady friends, and the midnight curfew. And no sleepovers, if you get my drift. Break 'em or any other rule gets you sent back home pronto. Right?"
"Yes, Ma'am. I've read them and will follow each one to the letter. I don't expect any visitors coming to your house anyway. Everyone I know is back in California, especially my girlfriend. The only people I know nearby are some friends of my parents and I can't imagine them causing a ruckus," Chuck grinned.
"No ruckus rousers in your circle of friends then?" she retorted, chuckling at his wording.
"Nope." He smiled again. He wasn't going to mention the CATS since they were on the other side of the country and would be busy with their summer studies in just a few days.
"Good. Works for me. Let's head upstairs and I'll show you around the kitchen." Mrs. E headed towards the stairs. "My husband died a few years ago and my kids are long grown and off living their own lives. So, it's just me but I manage pretty well on my own." By that time, they'd reached the upper floor and walked down the short hall and into the kitchen. She turned to him. "I heard something about you being able to cook. Is that true?"
"Yes, Ma'am. It's true," Chuck admitted.
"Fantastic. We'll get along great. Just so long as you knock off that Ma'am stuff. It's Mrs. E. Like I told you before." She tried to glare up at him but the twinkle in her eye gave her away.
"Yes, M- … um … Mrs. E. Got it," he replied sheepishly.
"Good," she smiled. "Now, let me show you where everything is around here." Once the kitchen orientation was over, Mrs. E gave him the code to open the garage door and a key for the basement door. "There's a laminated card downstairs on the coffee table with a list of all of the channels available on the TV including stuff like HBO, Showtime, and Netflix."
"Great! I'll check it out when I go back down."
"You're into technology, right? A computer guy?" she asked. Chuck nodded. "You bring any of that stuff with you?"
"Yeah, I did," he nodded again.
"OK, I'll give you the password to my internet, but I'll warn you that it isn't the best or the fastest."
"I might be able to help with that. If you don't mind me taking a look at your system and the settings you're using," Chuck offered.
"Fine by me," she said, turning and waving for him to follow her. "Walk this way."
Chuck grinned, "If I could walk that way …" Mrs. E burst out laughing and pretended to glare at him over her shoulder.
"Bit of a smartass, ain'tcha?" she smirked. Chuck shrugged. "We really are gonna get along great." Still chuckling, she led him down the hall toward her computer. He smiled, thinking about the CATS' teasing.
After tinkering with her internet settings to boost the speed, Chuck and Mrs. E. shared a meal of hamburgers that she'd asked him to grill. She'd praised his burger skills which boosted his spirits and eased his loneliness a little. With the meal concluded, he unpacked then took a drive around South Yarmouth and the surrounding area trying to get the lay of the land while he made plans for the morning. A little while after he got back to the house from his explorations, the other two players staying with Mrs. E. returned. The three of them spent some time trading stories and getting acquainted, watching the late innings of the Red Sox game on the big TV in the basement. Chuck was surprised, but happy, to see that Mrs. E. watched the game with them and took an active part in their conversation.
Wednesday June 19
Chuck began the day in a grumpy mood. He tossed and turned all night; his sleep troubled with melancholy dreams of Sarah. Waking up early that morning to the alarm blare on his phone, Chuck realized that he'd failed to shake off his jetlag. Knowing that it might take his body a little while to adjust to the different time zone didn't help his mood. Figuring some exercise might perk him up, he went on a run through Mrs. E's neighborhood. More alert and less out of sorts by the time he returned to his temporary home, he'd showered, and eaten a quick breakfast.
Now, Chuck was on his way to the local post office to mail two letters to Sarah. He'd written the second one after they'd spoken on the phone the previous evening once the conversation with his teammates had wound down and Mrs. E had retired for the night. He had gone back to his room and called her hoping that seeing and hearing her over their video chat would cheer him up.
The call had helped, but not as much as he had expected. She enjoyed his story of meeting everyone and his description of Mrs. E's house and South Yarmouth.
"That sounds lovely, Chuck. Close to the water and a nice view? I'm actually kind of envious right now," Sarah smiled at him over their video link.
"It's all right, I guess," he agreed with a shrug. "For something on the East Coast." She'd laughed at his reply since she knew he was excited about being there and getting a chance to play baseball despite his feigned nonchalance.
Throughout the call, he did everything in his power to hide the depth of his sadness from her. Little did he know that she was making the same effort.
There was no way for him to hide his feelings from himself, though. His dreams the previous proved that.
Once Chuck got to the post office, he bought stamps and paid to have his letters sent Priority Mail. That way he was reasonably certain Sarah would receive them before she returned to Stanford. At least he hoped they'd get there in time. He planned on calling Ellie later to ask her if he could send the next few letters for Sarah, care of her address. Just until his girlfriend could tell him how to send things to her new apartment.
After concluding his business at the post office, Chuck got back in his car and headed south on the appropriately named South Street heading for the beach. While he was driving, it struck him just as it had all of the times the Simcoes had brought him to Cape Cod during his time with them, how different this part of the country was from where he grew up in California. His home state featured palm trees and some shorter vegetation as you got closer to the ocean. Cape Cod, by comparison, had hardwood trees growing closely together almost right up to the edge of the sand. It allowed him to imagine what the Pilgrims encountered when they first arrived on these shores all those years ago. His musing was cut when he drove out of the stands of trees and saw the low dunes adjacent to the sparkling water. As South Street began to angle off to the southwest, Chuck spotted a huge parking lot fronted by a sign that proclaimed "Smugglers Beach – Town of Yarmouth". Pulling into the lot, he found a spot and parked. He got out and looked around, spotting a booth, he headed in that direction.
"Is this the place where I can buy a parking pass?" Chuck asked as he stepped up to the booth's window.
"Shure is," the man inside replied. "Whatcha want? A day sticker or one fer the whole week?"
"Can I get a sticker for the whole season here or do I have to do that someplace else?"
"Oh! Fer the season, ya say?" The man eyed him. Chuck nodded. "Yah, you can get that here."
"Great! I'd like one of those please." Chuck requested politely.
"I'm guessin' that yer from out of town." Chuck nodded. "Right. That'll cost ya $250. OK?"
"Sure. Not a problem," Chuck shrugged. The Simcoes had told him once that the beach towns got a good portion of their annual revenue from the sale of these beach parking passes, so the price didn't come as a shock. "I've got the money with me. I thought it might be that much. At least. If not more." He pulled out his wallet and took out two one hundred dollar bills and a fifty. The man's eyes widened in surprise upon seeing Chuck had that much money with him. He handed it over to the clerk.
"Well, OK then," the beach worker chuckled. He picked up the correct type of sticker and wrote its number down on a chart before giving it to Chuck. "The instructions on where to put the sticker on your car are on the back." The man smiled. "Is there anything else I can help you with today, young man?"
"Nope, I'm good. Thanks," Chuck smiled in appreciation. With a little wave, he turned and went back to his car, reading the instructions on the back of the sticker while he walked. Once he got back to the car, he peeled the backing off the sticker and placed it where it was supposed to be. He didn't know how many opportunities he'd have to come to the beach while he was playing baseball, but he wanted to be ready if he did get the chance. With that task accomplished, Chuck got back in his car and headed north on South Street before turning west on MA-28 to drive the six miles to Hyannis. He passed the turn off for Hyannis's Main Street, staying on MA-28 until he saw the sign for Yarmouth Road, which he took. A short distance down the road was his destination. The building looked like a repurposed train station. Either that or it was built to resemble a train station since it was right next to the marshaling yard for the Cape Cod Central Railroad. The sign out by the road read Ballroom at the Beach. This was definitely the place he was looking for. Smiling a bit uncertainly, he turned in and parked. With his nervousness spiking, he walked toward the entrance.
Since he wouldn't be able to do very much with his research while he was on the Cape, Chuck had decided to fill up his mornings by trying to do things that would make Sarah happy once he got back to Stanford. The first of those things were dance lessons. He knew that Sarah had told him she could teach him to dance. And he certainly wanted her to do just that. But he also felt that he could make her task far easier if he took the opportunity to get a head start by taking some lessons while they were apart. He could just picture her surprise when he was able to twirl her around the dance floor. The joy of them being able to dance together calmed his nerves a little and turned his smile genuine. With those thoughts in mind, he tugged on the door and went in.
Chuck entered the lobby. A number of chairs were against the side walls and he faced a long desk separating the back third of the room. Two people, a man and a woman, were behind the desk and leaning over a set of papers. At the sound of the door, both of them looked up with questioning expressions.
"Can we hep you?" the woman asked in accented English.
"Y—Yes. I think so," Chuck stumbled. "I called earlier in the week? My name is Chuck Bartowski. I was interested in getting some dancing lessons. I spoke with someone named Alexi Volkoff?"
The man's perplexed expression cleared and he smiled. "Da. Da! Dat was me! I'm Alexi Volkoff. Velcome Charles. Velcome!" They both came out from behind the desk to shake his hand.
"I'm Ilsa Trinchina, his partner," the dark-haired woman said, giving Mr. Volkoff some side eye for not taking the initiative to introduce her himself. She appeared to be younger than her partner but Chuck thought to himself that he wasn't the best person to be trying to determine a woman's age.
"It's nice to meet you both," Chuck smiled. Their enthusiastic welcome was beginning to calm his nerves.
"You vanted some dance lessons," Volkoff said. Chuck nodded. "Vut kind? Vut would you like to learn?"
"Well … um …," the potential student fumbled, scratching the back of his head. "I'm not really sure. You see—"
Ilsa smiled knowingly. "It's a girl, isn't it? You vunt to learn to dance to impress a girl, don't you?"
Chuck nodded. "Not so much to impress her since she's already my girlfriend. But she loves to dance and it would make her happy if I could dance with her. I've done a little dancing but I'm pretty bad."
"Vere is this girl? Is she here vif you? Vill she be taking lessons as your partner?" Alexi wanted to know.
"No. She's back in California," Chuck explained. "I'm here for the summer to play baseball at South Yarmouth."
"Baseball?" Volkoff questioned. "You vant to take dance lessons during the day and play the baseball at night?"
"Yes! Exactly," the player nodded emphatically. "Can you help me?"
"Hep you? Hep you?" Alexi snorted in amusement. "Ve are former world champion ballroom dancers from Russia. Tree years running!" He stood up proudly. "Charles, my boy, ve vere magical. Just magical. Ve certainly can teach you some tings. Don't you vorry about that!" The man patted Chuck's arm confidently. The younger man couldn't help feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the former dancer's boisterous attitude.
His amused partner put her hand on his arm attempting to rein him in. "Alexi, calm down. Ve still don't know vut the boy wants to learn." The older man instantly stilled, looking a bit contrite. Turning to Chuck with a sympathetic smile, she went on, "Now, Chuck. Tell us vut you vant to learn."
"That's just it. I'm not sure. I don't know a thing about dancing," Chuck apologized, holding his hands out toward the instructors and shrugging his shoulders.
"Do you go to formal events with ballroom dancing?" Ilsa asked. "Or do you vant to learn dances like vey do at dance clubs? Club dancing? Someting else, perhaps?"
"All of that sounds good to me, if I'm being honest," he nodded. "Probably dancing at clubs more often than ballroom dancing. But I want to learn that, as well," he hurriedly added when he saw their expressions begin to fall. "And shag dancing, too. If that's possible."
"Shag dancing?" Alexi looked amused.
"Yes. My parents have told my sister and me stories for years about how much fun they had in college shagging to the sounds of Carolina beach music. They mentioned groups like The Drifters and The Tams and a few others?"
"Are you sure vey vere dancing?" Alexi joked.
"What?" Chuck was confused, his eyebrows jumping up his forehead.
"Alexi, stop!" Ilsa scolded her partner. "Of course, ve know this dance," she confirmed. "It's just that the vord 'shag' is also British slang for having sex. Vat's vy Alexi make joke. A bad one." She finished with a stern look.
It was clear from the expression on his face that Chuck hadn't been thinking about that, even though he'd encountered that exact slang when he lived with the Barkers. Thinking about his parents like that made him blush. He shook his head to try and clear that unwelcome image from his brain. To no avail. Great.
Getting back on track, Alexi asked, "How long vill you be here, Charles? How much time vill you have for dancing?"
"I'm here through the end of July. Maybe as late as the first week of August, if we make the playoffs. At least a couple of hours each morning, I should think. Maybe more or less on some days. I'm not completely sure. It depends on the baseball schedule. But I'd like to learn as much as I can. I have no trouble remembering things, so I learn quickly. It's the physical side of things that takes me more time. Gaining muscle memory."
"Dat's good. Dat's good," the instructor nodded. "Remembering the steps is a big part ov the challenge. That vill give us more time to verk on the actual dancing." Chuck nodded. "OK, ve can verk out a plan. Ven can you start?"
"Right away. Today, if possible. You decide on a plan and tell me how much it costs. Then we can get started. If that's OK with y'all, of course," Chuck answered. "The only thing is I was planning on signing up for another class this morning and I need to leave enough time to go and do that before lunch."
"Oh, yes? Vut else vere you planning to learn?" Ilsa wanted to know.
Chuck's face reddened again. "I was planning on taking a continuing education class on foot massage," he admitted with a shrug. "I figured that I would step on Sarah's toes. That's my girlfriend, Sarah Walker. Anyway, I wanted to learn how I could give her foot massages after I spent the entire time we were dancing, stepping on her toes." He smiled nervously.
"Oh, how sveet of you," Ilsa gushed. "So thoughtvul. But vere's no need for you to take vose lessons. Alexi and I can teach you vat you vant to learn about that."
"You can?" Chuck was incredulous.
"Ov course," Alexi scoffed. "Ve had to massage each other's feet all the time back ven ve vere dancing in competitions. No time to go avay for massages."
"Wow, that would be great! Thank you!" Chuck said happily.
"Yor velcome," the older man nodded. "Ve teach you dancing and ven massage for feet first aid afterwards." He chuckled. Ilsa smiled and nodded her agreement. "Bevore ve're done, you'll be a real ladykiller," Alexi chortled with a gleam in his eye. His fellow instructor rolled her eyes. Chuck blinked in surprise.
"You'll be no such thing, Charles. You'll be a gentleman, yes?" Ilsa questioned.
"A gentleman, yes. Always," the new student nodded shyly.
"Good!" she pressed her lips together and nodded sharply once.
"It looks like I'm going to have some busy mornings this summer," Chuck smiled in anticipation.
Chuck spent the rest of the morning learning his first dance steps since Sarah had shown him some at the baseball banquet. He knew that she had enjoyed teaching him to dance and would like to teach him more. But he hoped that him spending his summer trying to do something for her and returning as a slightly more competent dancer would overcome any disappointment she might feel at him learning on his own.
Alexi and Ilsa had devoted the last forty-five minutes of his lesson time instructing him in the basics of foot massage. It certainly felt wonderful when they demonstrated the points they were trying to make on his feet. Regardless of how she felt about him taking dance lessons, Chuck felt confident that Sarah would appreciate him learning how to give her soothing foot massages.
On the way back to South Yarmouth, Chuck stopped in at a local restaurant and enjoyed a meal of fried clams, coleslaw, and French fries. During his lunch break, he talked with Mike O'Donnell and the lawyer told him that the engineer he'd found would be doing his inspection of the house that afternoon, California time. Things were progressing nicely with the house that he almost owned. That thought brought a smile to his lips.
With his lunch concluded, Chuck drove back to Mrs. E's house to collect his baseball gear. He was due at the field within the hour for a light workout before the team convened for practice. They were scheduled to play at Chatham which was about twelve miles east of South Yarmouth. Not a long drive, but the game was set to start at 7pm to allow for their fans to make the drive after they got home from work.
Mrs. E had seen Chuck arrive but he'd entered the basement through the garage and gone to his room before she could get his attention. Without any warning, the sight that greeted him stopped him cold.
"Bryce! What are you doing here?" Chuck stared at his unexpected visitor.
"Hey, Chuck! Did you miss me?" Larkin joked.
"You're not supposed to be here, Bryce," Chuck replied, ignoring his teammate's flippant question.
"You're right, I wasn't. But there's been a change in plans," the shortstop said. He actually sounded apologetic to Chuck's ears. Mrs. E arrived in the room before either man could say anything else.
"Chuck-," Mrs. E began.
"What's going on?" Chuck frowned in confusion.
"Mr. Larkin is going to be living with you now," she admitted.
"Since when? Why didn't anyone tell me? Does Coach Graham know about this?" Chuck's frown deepened. Being separated from Sarah for the summer was bad enough, but having to live with Bryce and put up with his antics might be too much.
"Buddy," Larkin said but stopped when Chuck glared at him. "Uh … Chuck, I don't know how to tell you this –"
"Mr. Larkin's host family, the DeMedios, had an unexpected death in the family," Mrs. E interrupted. "They must go out of town for the funeral and will be away for an extended period of time dealing with settling the estate. Bryce has gotta stay with someone and I've got an available bed." She shrugged. "To answer your questions, this all just happened and no one had a chance to call you before you got back. They were too busy scrambling around trying to get Bryce resettled. I expect you'll be hearing from Pickler and Graham, too, before long." Chuck looked over at her when she mentioned the Stanford coach's name. "Yes, Graham knows. He's already talked with Mr. Larkin and so has Coach Pickler."
"Graham reminded me that I'm out of strikes, Chuck. After all of the stuff that went on last year. I promise I won't cause any trouble. Mrs. E warned me not to break any rules, too. I know the score." Bryce really did sound apologetic. And sincere.
"OK, Bryce. I'll take you at your word," Chuck nodded slowly. Bryce smiled tentatively and nodded in understanding when the two men shook hands. Mrs. E slowly blew out a breath. She was cautiously optimistic that things would work out. Fingers crossed.
Saturday June 22
Sarah lay on her bed idlily toying with the charms on her bracelet and daydreaming about Chuck. She was on the last day of her week home with her family, due to return to Stanford in the morning, and all she could think about was her boyfriend. What was he doing right this minute? Was he thinking about her the same way she was thinking about him? Or was he actually getting a chance to play baseball? Three of the four games since Chuck arrived in Massachusetts had been rained out. Only the game on Thursday night against the Orleans Firebirds managed to take place. And Chuck hadn't pitched at all. She knew he was getting antsy. His comments during their call that night after the game and the one last night had made that clear to her, even though he'd tried to hide it.
She'd had a good week, splitting her time between her family and hanging out at the beach with Carina. Doing a little surfing. She even had lunch with Heather Chandler and some of the others from the Water and Sports Physical Therapy office a couple of times. Zondra had driven down yesterday and the three friends had gone dancing. Just like old times. After spending the night at Carina's, Zondra had gone back home to finish getting packed for the trip up to Stanford the next morning. Also, just like old times. The realization that it wasn't just like old times would come when the three friends arrived back in Palo Alto and moved into their apartment. No more dorm life for them. And no more having Amy for a roommate. Sarah sighed at the thought, shaking her head at herself.
Let it go, girl. Things are different now. You've got to live in the present and stop dwelling on the past. Buck up, Walker. You've graduate school to deal with for the next three years. And Chuck. For the next three years and more besides. He's a big part of your present and your future. Sarah snorted and shook her head again.
It had been a great vacation. A week almost completely free of stress. A time to rest and recharge her batteries, that Sarah belatedly and begrudgingly admitted she'd really needed. Well, rest and recharge after she got over her drive home from Chuck's house and the tumult caused by the gifts he'd given her.
She'd fought with her emotions for the entire trip, over two hours. Her mood swung from surprise and bubbling happiness over the gifts Chuck had given her and what they meant, especially the bracelet, to aching sadness when she contemplated their being apart until the middle of August.
Her logical mind told her that Chuck was doing the most sensible thing he could for the summer. He hadn't even had a chance to close on his new house. There were alterations and improvements that they wanted to make which were not yet begun. He had no space to work, either. Work was continuing on the new Carmichael Research building. From Chuck, she'd learned that the construction was still on schedule and, barring any unforeseen issues between now and then, it should be complete by the middle of August. He would be able to move in and set up his lab as soon as he returned to Stanford. Granted, summer baseball would conclude before then, but he was taking the opportunity of being in the northeast part of the country to do some hands-on work in person on his history research. That, and visiting his grandparents in Pennsylvania, if things worked out.
Sarah knew all of those facts and could find no fault in them. But her emotions were another matter and that was the cause of her emotional swings during the last leg of the trip to Coronado. Her mother's reaction when she got home and walked through the door didn't help, either.
Emma had spied the new additions to her attire mere seconds after laying eyes on her eldest daughter.
"What a pretty necklace," Emma smiled as they hugged. "Did Chuck give that to you as a graduation present?"
"Yes, he did," Sarah confirmed, "but it's not a graduation present."
"No?" her mother questioned.
"No."
"What about that charm bracelet?" Emma inclined her head toward Sarah's wrist. "Did Chuck give that to you, too?" She already knew the answer but had asked anyway.
"He did," her daughter smiled. "There's a story behind each one. We better sit down. This could take a while."
Emma's eyebrows rose at the look on Sarah's face and her tone of voice. They remained high on her forehead almost continuously through the story her recently graduated daughter told. By the time the story ran its course through Sarah detailing the significance of each charm, she was also smiling.
"Not only is Chuck Bartowski charming, he's also a born romantic. Apparently, his whole family for generations is chock full of romantics," Emma said with a grin, shaking her head in disbelief. Then she turned serious. "Are you sure about this, Sarah? You've never really had a boyfriend before. Not a serious one, at least." She held up a hand to forestall any protests. "Do you have any idea of the commitment the two of you are making to each other?"
"Honestly no, Mom," Sarah admitted without hesitation. "This is pretty untrod ground for me. That goes double for Chuck. He's not had any romantic relationships at all. Before me, that is." A shrug. "We didn't exactly talk about it, yet, but I think we'll use the next three years to find out about us being a couple and figure out whether or not we're meant to be together after all. If you asked Chuck, I think he would tell you the same thing."
Emma reached over and patted her daughter's leg. "There are a lot of worse men out there who you could be trying to build a life with, Sarah." Both women had a few names on the tips of their tongues that they didn't bother giving voice to. "From what you and your friends told us about him and what we saw for ourselves over the weekend, he seems like a truly wonderful young man. All I hope for is your happiness, so I'll ask you to keep your wits about you."
"It's probably too late for that, Mom," Sarah grinned crookedly and bounced a shoulder.
"Oh, I know that, baby girl," Emma chuckled. "But I'm supposed to say things like that because I'm your mother. Just be smart. Be safe. And remember that you can call me anytime you need to talk. About anything." Sarah couldn't keep the surprised look off her face. "What? I was young once, too, you know."
"If you say so," the younger woman teased.
"Watch it, Miss Smarty-pants. You're not too old that I can't put you over my knee for sassing me." Emma tried to glare but her happiness for her daughter won out and she grinned again. She hadn't been lying, Chuck Bartowski was close to a perfect match for her eldest, if anyone cared to ask her opinion.
Chuck and Sarah did, in fact, talk about the charm bracelet during their video call on Thursday. They both had expressed the same desire to spend as much time together as they could over the coming years of graduate school. Each felt confident they had made the right choice and that they would be able to overcome any and all obstacles. First and foremost, their current separation from each other.
Of course, we'll be able to figure things out and deal with any issue that we might face, Sarah thought to herself, as she lay on her bed thinking back over her and Chuck's conversation. After all, we'll both be twenty just a few months. We won't be teenagers any longer. Practically full-grown adults. And like any other adults, we'll use our heads to calmly talk through any issues we encounter. Together. Rationally. Like adults.
It was in that moment when her reverie was broken by her mother's voice yelling for her attention.
"Sarah!" Emma called from downstairs. "Mail's here!"
"Yeah, so?" The new grad student yelled back.
"So, some of the mail is for you!" Her mom sounded almost amused about something.
Sarah sighed in annoyance. She couldn't be bothered with any stupid junk mail right then. She wasn't interested in looking over the latest crop of catalogs that seemed to arrive at the Burton/Walker household on an entirely too frequent basis. And it wasn't anywhere close to time to start Christmas shopping. No. Sarah was much more interested in returning to her daydream where she and Chuck were busy adulting. But she knew she owed her mom a response.
"If there's anything interesting, just put it on the kitchen counter and I'll take a look at it when I come down after a while," she replied, already turning her mind back to her prior thoughts.
"Okayyyy," Emma called again. This time Sarah could clearly hear the teasing enticement in her mother's voice. What was going on?
"C'mon, Mom. It's just mail. Leave it on the counter and I'll look at it later!" Sarah tried to keep the pout at being interrupted from her voice. She was only partially successful.
"Will do!" Sarah could hear her mother's knowing snort. "On the counter. In the kitchen. Got it!"
"Good," the blonde grumbled quietly. Then she heard her mother's voice again and she frowned in frustration.
"I just thought that you might like to know that you got a couple of letters down here," Emma called, her amusement now so obvious that no one within earshot could miss it.
"Letters? From who?" her daughter wondered loudly.
"Don't ask me," the older woman replied from the bottom of the stairs, turning toward the kitchen as she spoke. "The return address says they're from Massachusetts. I'll put 'em where you -"
Whatever Emma was planning on saying was drowned out by an excited squeal, "EEEEEEEeeeeeeeee!" And the sound of feet pounding down the stairs.
"Those are from CHUCK!" Sarah screamed as she tore into the kitchen after her mother.
Her mother held out two letters with a smirk on her face. Her daughter could not have cared less.
"Gimme!" she demanded, snatching the envelopes from her mother's outstretched hand.
Jack was sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes widened and he chuckled at his stepdaughter's behavior. When he looked at his wife, she was shaking her head while twisting her lips to the side, her eyes shining with mirth. Neither of them had ever seen Sarah act this way.
Molly was sitting at the table, too, having something to eat. She kept quiet but she rolled her eyes and frowned at her older sister with her own head shake.
Sarah ignored them all. Chuck had written her a letter. No, two letters! She wished he was there so she could kiss him. Giggling happily, she ran back to her room. Adulting could wait a little while.
A/N2: Chapter title comes from the song by The Beatles. Perfect title and perfect lyrics for what takes place in this chapter.
A/N3: A note on the necklace and bracelet that Chuck gave to Sarah in the previous chapter. There was/is a tradition with college fraternities and sororities concerning couples marking milestones in their relationships. When a couple decided to go steady (date exclusively) the boy would give the girl a necklace with his fraternity's Greek letters forming the pendant, called a lavalier. If the relationship deepened, the next gift would be his fraternity pin symbolizing the couple was moving toward marriage or 'engaged to be engaged.' The girl would wear his pin on her shirts/blouses and was considered 'pinned'. The last stage, of course, would be to get engaged. At each stage the girl's sorority would hold a ceremony called a 'candlelight' to celebrate with the girl on her growing relationship with her boyfriend. Even though Chuck and Sarah aren't in Stanford's Greek system, you could look at the heart necklace and the charm bracelet as representing their deepening relationship similar to the fraternity/sorority tradition.
A/N4: You must be 21 to rent a car in Massachusetts, but only 18 to lease one which is why I have Chuck doing that through his company in this chapter.
A/N5: Barbara Ellsworth really existed and was a legendary figure in the Cape Cod League. By the time she passed away in 2018, she'd hosted upwards of 150 college baseball players, first for the Yarmouth-Dennis Red Sox and then the Harwich Mariners.
A/N6: WillieGarvin takes great care to make sure the words I write make sense and are enjoyable to read. Thank you, my friend. P.S. You're the best.
A/N7: Thank you for reading. Please drop me a PM or leave a review. Let me know what you think. For those of you who have left reviews or PMs previously, thank you. I appreciate each and every one of them. Thank you to everyone who's followed or favorited this story, too. Your support means a lot to me.
A/N8: If you enjoy Chuck fan fiction here on the fanfic site, go over to Facebook and join the Chuck Fanfiction group that's there. You'll find nice folks who share your interest in our favorite spy couple. You are not alone.