Plunking Reggie Jackson (18 page)

He told him about Bree's pregnancy.

“Are you sure? Is she sure?”

“That's what she says. She took one of those home pregnancy tests.”

“It could be wrong, though.”

“I know, I know.” But Coley could feel his stomach tighten. “I could, like, hope, but she seems real sure about it.”

“Didn't you use a rubber, man?”

“Most of the time we did.”

“Most of the time?”

“Yeah, Rico, that's what I said.
Most
of the time. A few times we just got carried away.” Coley spoke louder than he meant to. He glanced around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping.

“What are you gonna do?” Rico finally asked him.

“I don't know. She says she won't have an abortion.”

“Say what?”

At this moment words just came as if by rote; Coley felt like he was talking to himself. “She says she won't have an abortion. She calls it baby killing.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“That's what I say.”

Rico had a hold on Coley's arm. “Look, Coley,” he said. Coley had never seen Rico's face so earnest. “Just don't do anything stupid.”

“I think I already did.”

“Okay, but you know what I'm talkin' about. The play-offs are close. We can go all the way.”

“Don't you think I know that?”

“I'm just sayin'.”

“I know what you're sayin'. I want to win a championship as much as anybody else; you know that.”

“That's why I'm sayin' just be cool. We sure as hell won't win one without you.”

“Okay, okay, what more d'you want me to say?” He was almost sorry he'd brought the subject up at all.

You couldn't deliberately avoid Bree for several days running, like Coley had done, and not pay the price. The good news was, when they went to the prom, enough time had elapsed for her fury to diminish. The bad news was that he pitched another shaky game in the meantime, so that the glory of his Galesburg performance was reduced to a fading memory.

Before he left the house on prom night, Coley took a moment to check his appearance in the full-length mirror in the living room. But only because his mother insisted, just after telling him how nice he looked. The tux
was
a perfect fit, and the ruffled shirt had a certain preposterous elegance. She helped him pin his boutonniere into place on his lapel.

She insisted on taking his picture, despite his protestations. His dad was still on the golf course, so he didn't have to endure a series of family snaps as well.

He was out the door, even had his car keys out, when she called after him, “You're forgetting something, huh?”

It was the corsage. His mother handed him the white box from the florist, but she asked, “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, why?”

“I don't know. Is there something bothering you?”

“No, I'm fine,” he lied. “There's nothin' wrong.”

At Bree's house the tension was excruciating. First of all was the drawn-out session of picture taking. The cocksure, aggressive stepfather had the two of them posing in front of the fireplace mantel, in front of Grandma's handed-down antique wing chair, and even on the front porch next to the rose trellis. Group pictures, too. In each instance when he gave directions of where to stand or even
how
to stand, the two women, Bree and her mother, fluttered into place like obedient children in a holiday pageant.

When it was Bree's mother's turn to work the camera, she seemed shaky and uncertain. Their fear of this self-important man, their need to please him, was something Coley had noticed before, but never had it seemed so vivid. And he didn't have to wonder, throughout the ordeal of photographing, if he hit them, but only how, and how often, and how hard. Bree's dress was a stunning, formfitting off-the-shoulder sheath of royal blue silk, and the body that she poured into it was that of a woman. But she followed her stepfather's every direction promptly, like a little girl.

When it was time for them to leave, Burns got deep into Coley's space on the front porch. It seemed like his face was no more than a foot away. “We want Bree home by one A.M.,” he said evenly. “We don't believe in this after-prom nonsense.”

“That's fine with me,” Coley replied. Instead of stepping back, though, to create distance, he moved slightly forward an inch or two so he was nearly chest-to-chest.

“This after-prom crap is usually just an excuse for backseat hanky-panky. You and I know that, don't we?” There was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth but no humor associated with it.

Coley stood up straight so he could gain what felt like an advantage; he stared directly into the flat gray eyes. Coley was nearly two inches taller, but the two of them probably weighed about the same. It was confrontational body language for sure, but Coley couldn't seem to help himself. He knew the time would come, but the knowledge seemed to calm him. “I said that's fine with me.”

“You can't talk to him like that,” was the first thing Bree said to him when they got in the car. “What d'you think you're doing?”

“He can kiss my ass.”

“But you got right in his face, Coley. You can't do that.”

“Right. I should be scared of him.”

“It won't be you he'll take it out on. Can't you understand that?” She was adjusting the elastic under her arms that held the dress up. Not much of her legs was concealed by the dress in the careless way she sat.

“He doesn't scare me,” Coley repeated. “If he wants to try me one time, I'll be ready.”

“I keep telling you it won't be you, it'll be me. And my mom. I don't want to talk about it anymore. We have to change the subject.”

The prom was held at Laurel Country Club. In the spacious atrium there was a reception area with tables of hors d'oeuvres, desserts, and six different versions of nonalcoholic blends in large punch bowls. A string orchestra of old men in black tuxedos was playing background music on a small stage. A large banner with words made out of stars glued together proclaimed the theme of the prom:
A NIGHT TO REMEMBER
.

It was crowded, so they took their cups of punch to the terrace. A heavy wrought-iron balustrade was anchored to the flagstone floor. It was after dark, so the last golfers were already in the clubhouse. The dense trees on the golf course were only visible as silhouettes. Bree told him she was still pregnant.

“What does that mean, ‘
still
pregnant'?” Coley asked. “Did you think it would go away like a sore throat or something?”

“Please don't be sarcastic. I mean I took the home pregnancy test again.”

“I told you what I think of your home pregnancy test.”

“I bet you don't know anything about it. Anyway, the result was the same; you're going to be a father.”

“Would you stop sayin' that?”

“Even if I do, it won't change the fact. Aren't you excited at all, Coley?”

“Excited? Give me a break. I'm not ready to be anybody's father. I can't even deal with my own. Or yours.”

“Burns is not my father.”

“Stepfather, then. Why the hell would you want to be a mother? You can get an abortion in St. Louis or Chicago. It's a legal operation and safe. And I'll pay for it.”

“I told you before, I can't think about an abortion.” She turned her back.

“This is not just your decision, for Christ's sake, it's both of us. If there's a baby, it's
ours
, not just yours.” He shook his head; already he was exasperated, and the prom had just begun. A Night to Remember. Oh, yeah.

With her back still turned, Bree began slowly walking away. “And I don't want to talk about it anymore.” Her words bounced with an improbable gaiety. “This is the prom, so we can't spend the whole time arguing.”

“
I
want to talk about it,” Coley demanded. He followed her down the steps on the terrace.

They were headed toward the tee by the fourth green. It was too dark to walk fast or carelessly. “All you want is to talk about an abortion,” she said.

When he caught up, he took her hand. “It's not just that, Bree. It's our future. We have to talk about our future.”

“Baseball, that's what you mean. Your future as a superstar.”

“That's part of it, but not all. Maybe pro baseball, maybe college, maybe who knows? You've got two years of high school left.”

“I wouldn't be the only teenage mother going to school.”

“For Christ's sake, would you listen to yourself?” He took her by the shoulders and turned her so he could look into her eyes. “Bree. This is important. You can't just ride off into the sunset with a thing like this. There are consequences.”

She stared straight back at him. “Maybe you should have thought about consequences when you were getting what you wanted. You wanted all of me, and I gave it to you, remember?”

“You want to try that again? I wanted sex with you, and you, like, just put up with it. Is that it?”

She turned away again. He followed her to the wooden gazebo next to the tee. They sat on one of the benches, in the dark; the only light was that which the moon provided.

“If you take me to California, I'll get an abortion,” Bree told him with no prelude or warning.

“I thought abortion was baby killing. What happened to that?”

“I've decided a relationship means giving as well as taking,” she replied simply. “You can't have everything the way you want it.”

“Take you to California? What's that about?”

“It's far away from here. It's far away from Burns. And they have lots of baseball teams there; you told me so yourself.”

“They don't have rookie leagues in California,” he explained to her. “The Gulf Coast League is in Florida.”

“Florida's where I grew up. I hope you remember, I told you that. But if we go to Florida, we can't be anywhere close to West Palm Beach. That's where my real dad lives.”

As always, he found himself off balance. He didn't know which of these agendas to address first. “What are you tryin' to say?”

“If we go to Florida, you can pitch. You told me that's where the big-league teams are.”

“The Gulf Coast League,” Coley muttered. “That's a rookie league.”

“Is it close to West Palm Beach?”

“It's all the way on the other side of the state. The other coast.”

“Okay, then, the Gulf Coast League. You can pitch there for a while till you're ready to move up to the major leagues. We can get married and be on our own.”

“I can't sign with any team until after the major-league player draft,” he explained, “and that's almost a month away. And where does getting married come from? You're not even old enough to get married without your parents' consent.”

“Okay, the married part's not important. That could come later. But we could be together and on our own. Maybe you can get abortions in Florida without your parents' consent.”

“Jesus Christ, you've been thinkin' about this. You've got a
plan
.”

“Of course I've been thinking about it,” Bree replied promptly. “Who wouldn't? The problem's not going to go away on its own.”

“What you're really lookin' for is a way to get away from your stepfather.”

“Okay, so? Is that such a crime? But that's not all of it, Coley, I'm in love with you. I'm carrying your baby.”

Coley slumped. She was exhausting at times. As preposterous as her Florida plan was, he almost had to admire its thoroughness. “What about school?” he asked. He aimed the question at his forearms, which were resting on his knees. The carnation boutonniere was tweaking his nostrils. “You've still got two years of high school left.”

“Every state has high schools,” was the answer.

Coley stood up. “I have to take a leak,” he announced. It was twenty yards or so to the clump of evergreens where there was more than enough privacy to relieve himself. But his head swam with alternatives and unresolved dilemmas. If they went to Fort Myers, he could throw for major-league scouts and she could get an abortion. Nobody would know about the procedure—not his parents, not her parents. But it was nuts, with the play-offs coming up and graduation. He could be arrested for kidnapping because she wasn't even sixteen yet. For that matter, what would living with Bree be like, except maybe hopping up and down on blazing AstroTurf? It was all too overwhelming. You started to think crazy when you were cornered.

When he got back to the gazebo, he asked her, “What about your real father?”

“What about him?”

“You said he's in West Palm Beach.”

“That's why we can't go there,” Bree replied. “If we go to Florida, it can't be there.”

“Why not? Maybe he can help you.”

“Help me?”

“Okay, help
us
. Is that better?”

“I don't know how he could help anyone. He's the reason I had to move to Illinois and live with Burns.” She stood up and walked away before she said, “Now you're going to start asking me questions again.”

“You're the one who wants to elope and run off to Florida. Maybe I have the right to check out some alternatives.”

“But you're asking me all those questions again.”

Coley had to ignore her resistance. “How did he force you to live with your mom and Burns?” He was speaking to her back across the twelve feet of gazebo floor.

“He didn't force it, he
caused
it. And I told you I don't want to talk about it. We should change the subject.”

“We don't have to change the subject. I'm askin' you
how
did he cause it?”

There was a long pause before she said clearly, “Okay, if you just have to know, I'll tell you. He assaulted me.”