The Set Piece (8 page)

Amy caught her gaze just for a second before Casey turned back to the road. The blue of her eyes was luminous and no longer frozen. Her defensiveness had thawed for the moment. Amy wished that she’d been the one to trigger the change rather than the animated imp in the backseat. Mia belted out one song after another until Casey pulled into the parking lot at the golf course.

“We have reservations. I’ll go check in.”

“Have you ever played Footgolf?” Mia danced beside Amy as Casey talked with a lanky young man behind the counter of the pro shop.

“No. Have you?”

“Nope.” She shrugged, and then grinned. “But I’m going to be pretty good. Coach chooses me for all the corner kicks,” Mia said, with the true modesty of a ten-year-old.

“Oh, I better watch out then.”

Amy heard Casey mention Diego’s name, and the lanky man straighten up giving Casey his full attention. He couldn’t get to the phone fast enough, and Casey turned to put up one finger to tell them it was going to be a minute.

“So what position do you play?” Amy asked, killing time.

“Forward, just like my Aunt Casey did.”

Amy took in the casual way Casey was standing, light on her feet, aware of all the space around her. She held herself like an athlete.

Wait a second. Just like my Aunt Casey did? What happened to her?
Amy realized that she knew nothing at all about Casey.

A man in a suit arrived at the pro shop. He came up to Casey and pumped her hand repeatedly, bowing his head a little as he did so. Amy felt the force of Diego’s name from ten feet away.

“All right. We’re good to go. Let’s get our stuff.” Casey headed back to them. The trunk of her Camry popped open with a satisfying
thunk,
and Casey yanked out a big blue-and-gold Bruin soccer duffel. Casey #3 was stitched across one side. A scuffed, but well-loved soccer ball was stuffed into a mesh side pocket. A couple more soccer balls rolled around loose in the trunk.

“Pick your weapon.”

Amy chose a black and gold Adidas ball. Mia snapped up a neon pink one, and Casey grabbed a red one from out of the back.

“Shoes.” Casey directed Mia to a backpack on the backseat. “You playing in those?” Casey frowned at Amy’s tennis shoes.

Amy bit her lip. “Yeah, they’re all I have. Hey, what about those turf shoes from yesterday?”

Casey unzipped a side pocket of the backpack and produced the shoes. “You mean these?”

Amy nodded.

“These are mine.”

“What? You gave me your shoes yesterday?” Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. “Casey, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Actually, I did. That’s my job. To pull shoes magically out of my bag whenever Diego needs them. Besides, I don’t really use them that much anymore.”

“I wouldn’t have taken them if I had known.”

“Where’d you think they came from?” Casey actually sounded like she wanted to know.

“I don’t know. That wardrobe woman at the photo shoot or something. I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. Look, it’s okay. I’ll just play in my sneakers.” Amy shifted awkwardly. Her tennis shoes should have enough traction for her not to fall on her ass with the first kick. Casey nodded, unzipped the biggest compartment of the bag and pulled out a black graphite brace with two round hinges. It looked bionic. She fixed the brace around her knee with a few well-practiced tugs.

“ACL tear in my knee among other things.” Casey shrugged as if it were no big deal. Amy had been around soccer long enough to know how dangerous knee injuries could be. A brace like this one usually signaled a career-ending injury. Casey’s bag looked authentic. UCLA was a Division 1 school. Number two in the US college soccer rankings if she remembered correctly. Maybe Casey could shrug the injury off now, but at some point it had been a very big deal.

“Ready!” Mia bounded out the car with her turf shoes on. She grabbed Casey’s arm and dragged her over to the green. However uncomfortable Amy had felt in the parking lot, it vanished as soon as they set their balls down on the first tee. Amy was ready to make fun of the game. Footgolf. The title alone was absurd.

The game consisted of eighteen holes carved out of the fairways of a regular golf course each ending in a cup the size of a garbage can. At first glance, Hole #1 looked deceptively simple. A straight par three that skirted through a bank of trees, it ended in a long narrow green. Mia couldn’t wait to get started. She dropped her ball first, backed up for a running start and threw herself at it. The shot had a lovely lofting arc, and Amy knew why she was chosen for every corner kick. But this game demanded a driven ball, not height.

“Mia, get your body over the ball.” Casey threw a sample kick in the air. Her body was bent as her foot came up with a snap. “You want distance not height.”

“Got it. Can I go again?”

Casey looked to Amy for an answer.

“Sure. I don’t care. We’re not keeping score, are we?”

“You always need to keep score,” Casey said, enigmatically. “Even if you tell no one.” Amy wasn’t sure they were talking about the game anymore. Casey turned to the fairway. She dropped her ball on the tee and kicked it in one fluid motion. Her shot sailed to the left of the trees and bounced down the fairway. The placement was perfect. Mia clapped her hands with delight. Excitement twinkled in Casey’s eyes. “Your turn.”

Amy stepped up to the tee and whispered to Mia, “So, I know you never played before, but your aunt’s like a super-secret American Footgolf League star, right?”

“No, silly.” Mia chortled. “This is the first time for her, too.”

Amy carefully placed her ball and took note of the prevailing wind coming in from the ocean. She would have to favor the right to compensate for what two minutes ago was a delightful respite from the heat. Now that same breeze was her enemy. She took a deep breath, wound up the kick, and pulled the trigger. Her foot plowed into the ball with a sweet snap, sending it rising into the air. The shot dropped a good fifteen feet behind Casey’s, but adrenalin zinged through her. She hadn’t hauled out and kicked the stuffing out of a ball for over two years. Yesterday had been all about PR, and making Diego and the kids at the park look good. But today it was all about the simplicity of kicking a ball around the grass in the open air. Love for the game flooded through her.

“Not bad.” Casey nodded.

The whack of another ball sounded behind them as Mia took her second shot.

“I did it! I did it. Come on.”

Amy obediently trotted up the fairway after her.

“Come on, Aunt Casey,” Mia called. “Last one there is a bag of poo.”

“Nice. Where you get that one?” Casey loped after them favoring her bad knee.

“Dad.”

“That’s my brother,” Casey said, as she breezed past Amy.

Within two holes the competition was as good as over. Casey parred the first and birdied the second, and had already grasped the secret to the putting game in Footgolf.

Amy’s first instinct near the cup was to tap the ball in with inside of her foot. Just as she would’ve if they had been on a level soccer field. But this wasn’t soccer, it was Footgolf and the greens undulated at the cup. Amy’s putts wobbled around the hole as if the flag had a force field. She couldn’t figure it out.

Casey, on the other hand, sank one putt after another. “How’d you do that, Aunt Casey?” Mia tugged at her aunt’s sleeve and pulled her over to her own ball six feet from the cup.

“Like this. Put your foot on the ball.”

Mia stomped on it as if she were killing a bug. “Easy. Pull your foot back, hips up.” She dropped her hand on Mia’s right hip and pushed the girl slightly forward. “Now slide your foot across. Don’t come up on the ball. That’ll make it bounce.” Casey gave the girl a gentle push, and Mia sent the shot off toward the cup. It fell inside with a satisfying plunk.

“Yes!” She punched the air with her first.

At the next green Amy skimmed her foot across the ball but it hopped away from the cup like a rabbit.

“Help her,” Mia ordered.

“Play down on the ball,” Casey said, not moving an inch.

“No, go over there and help her.” Mia pointed toward Amy.

Casey hesitated.

“I can figure it out,” Amy said.

“She’s not playing fair if she doesn’t help you.” Mia gave Casey a play kick in her behind to get her moving.

“The logic of a ten-year-old.” Casey shrugged as she stepped up to Amy’s side.

Just the nearness of her was enough to set Amy’s heart beating. It thumped so loudly in her chest, she was sure that both Casey and Mia, and probably the father and son who were a hole behind, could all hear it. Casey laid a hand on Amy’s hip with a touch so light Amy wasn’t even sure that there was contact. But when she rolled the ball forward she felt a delicate push on her hip. The ball stayed true and fell into the cup. The hand was still at her hip. Amy willed the contact to linger.

“Nice shot.” The praise was little more than a breath in her ear. It was all she could do to not fall back into full contact. Casey moved away first.

“Okay.” Mia danced between them. “Now Aunt Casey can only kick with her left foot.” When that didn’t slow her down, Mia came up with a new restriction with every shot. “Close your eyes.”

“Twirl around first.”

“Do the Macarena.”

Amy giggled at first, but by the hole number ten, she started laughing outright. They all did. At one point, when Casey had to neigh like a horse and gallop up to the ball, she actually snorted with unladylike laughter.

There was method to the madness. When they rolled into the pro-shop at the end of the round, Mia had beaten both of them soundly. “I win. I win,” she sang.

“You sure did,” Amy said. She deserved it, too. She had beaten them with her smarts when her skill wasn’t enough.

The manager rushed out as soon as they came off the last green.

“Have fun?” he asked.

“Oh my God,” Mia began. “I have never had as much fun in all my life.”

Amy caught Casey’s gaze and smiled. It had been a lot of fun.

“Well, I hope that you tell that to Mr. Torres. We would love to see him out here promoting our club and the sport.”

“Of course.” Casey turned serious.

“And if you could…” He glanced at Amy. “Hey! Aren’t you… You’re Amy Kimball, right?”

Amy blushed. This was the first time she had registered as a celebrity.

“You’re Diego’s fiancée,” he said delightedly, and turned his back completely on Casey. “You can tell him. Tell him that this is the sport of the future and that he can be the first MLS star to…”

Amy stopped listening. Behind the man, Mia’s impish grin had fallen right off her face. The girl looked first to Casey and then to Amy and then back to Casey. “Wait a sec,” she said softly, and Amy strained to listen. “She’s Diego’s girlfriend? I thought… I mean… Aunt Casey aren’t you and …?”

Casey shook her head violently at her niece, and Mia questions skittered to a halt. Sadness along with disappointment flooded her young face. She opened her mouth again, but Casey’s hand fell onto her shoulder and squeezed. Mia kept quiet.

The manager prattled on, but Amy’s mind was reeling as she tried to get a handle on this new development.
Damn. Out of the mouth of babes.
Casey did have a thing for Diego. This whole situation was getting messier and messier.

“…next week. So maybe if he has a break from the Atoms, you and him could come back? Play a few holes on the house?”

Amy had no idea what he was talking about. “I’ll ask him,” she said, to shut him up. “I think we’re leaving now.”

Casey and Mia were halfway to the car. Casey had her arm draped across her niece’s shoulder. They were engaged in a private conversation which came to a sudden halt as soon as Amy caught up with them. The drive back was a quiet one. No one said a word all the way down the freeway. Luckily, the traffic was light and the radio loud. Casey drove with a lead foot. They pulled into Diego’s driveway in record time.

“It was really great to meet you,” Amy said to Mia as she got out of the car.

“Me, too.”

She looked at Casey but her face was turned away. She didn’t need to see her eyes to know that the chill was back, and deeper than ever.

Amy stood listening to the scrunch of pebbles as Casey’s car sped away. Behind her the front door opened with a click.

“Have a good time?” Tammy materialized beside her. She smiled a little too brightly, her lipstick matching the color of her hair exactly.

“I don’t know.” Amy tried not to let Tammy’s sudden appearance unsettle her. Tammy seemed to be everywhere at once, keeping tabs. Amy let out the breath she had pretty much held all the way home in the car. She was done trying to figure out all these crazy people in Diego’s household. She headed to where she should have gone in the first place.

“I’ll be out by the pool if anyone needs me.”

CHAPTER 6

Amy slid her palms down
the delicate fabric of her summer dress. The motion did nothing to wipe away the thin film of nervous sweat. They were outside Diego’s parents’ house and more than the heat was getting to her.

“You okay?” Diego asked.

“Little nervous,” Amy admitted. “This one actually matters. Diego, if your family doesn’t buy it, we’re done.”

“Relax. You’ve done great everywhere else.”

“It doesn’t bother you to lie to your own family?” Surely Diego couldn’t compartmentalize his feelings so easily?

“Of course it does. But it is for their own good as well. When you get inside you’ll see what my sacrifice has bought.”

Yeah, but at what cost?
It was a question that Diego didn’t seem interested in, so she moved to one that interested her. “And your great-grandmother. How are we going to deal with her?”

“Yeah, Abuelita’s a problem. But she only speaks Spanish, so she’ll be my problem. Your challenge will be not eating too many of my mother’s sweet banana empanadas. They’re enough to destroy a man’s training routine. Don’t let me overindulge, okay? Or Rob will have my ass.”

You wish.
Amy bit her lip rather than have the words slip out. This whole evening would be an exercise in restraint. “You got the picture?”

“I do.” He held up a padded manila envelope. Lucy Lewitt had messengered over two stills, a photoshopped one from the studio shoot and a more candid shot from the publicity stunt at the park. Diego had placed the doctored one on the mantel in his own den and had asked Casey to wrap the other one up as a festive little package.

“Are you sure it’s not too early to give your mother a picture of us?”

“We’re engaged, remember? Besides we’ll only give it to her if things go well. Otherwise we’ll just take it back home. No harm, no foul.”

“Okay.” Amy swiped her palms down her dress again.

Diego put his finger up on the doorbell. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He jabbed the button, and eight clear notes of a Westminster door chime rang loudly through the house.

“That’s some door bell.”

“High and low notes so Abuelita can hear it better. She’s a little deaf.”

The door swung open, and over a dozen people of all ages stood crammed into the pristine marble entry way. They all hooted and hollered their hellos. The marble on the floor and the soft taupe on the walls gleamed. The house looked so new it could have been built the day before.

“Coming through. Coming through.” A handsome woman in her late forties pushed her way through the throng, shushing everyone around her as she went. She met Amy with an outstretched hand which quickly turned into a hug. “You’re here at last. I’m Isabella, Diego’s mom.”

“Mrs. Torres. I’m so happy to meet you.”

“Ah, call me Isabella. We’re almost family now, right?”

Guilt surged in Amy. “Right.”

“Let me see.” Isabella lifted Amy’s hand so the big diamond engagement ring shone in the afternoon sun. “Very nice, Diego, although I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you for keeping this secret from me.”

Up close, the woman was more than handsome. She had high cheekbones and full lips. Diego had inherited her beauty.

“Amy, excuse this loco mob behind me,” she said, and shooed everyone back to let them pass. “This is our family.”

The noise started up again, as one older man, Diego’s grandfather, pulled Amy into a big bear hug.

“Preciosa!” he said, over and over again as he passed her on to a plump woman by his side. His wife, Amy gathered.

The woman gripped Amy’s chin with a thumb and forefinger and turned her face first one way and then the other.

“Que linda!” She nodded to her husband, her eyes flashing with merriment.

Amy was handed over to one relative after another until Diego pulled her to him protectively. “See I told you. You’re already one of the family.”

Amy wished she could copy Diego’s nonchalance. Surely he must be feeling some conflict in this situation?

With an arm slung casually over her shoulder he led her into the great room. The furniture was modern and elegant, except for one overly ornate wooden chair. It was antique, obviously from Mexico, and held a place of honor at the far end of the room. On it perched one of the smallest women Amy had ever seen. Her snow-white hair was pulled back into a tight bun and a colorful traditional shawl covered her shoulders. She regarded Amy with a steady gaze which seemed to cut right into her.

Amy’s smile died on her lips as soon as she saw her. This must be Abuelita. Amy resisted the urge to curtesy. Instead she stood quietly just inside the door.

The woman raised a heavily wrinkled hand and motioned her to come nearer. Amy looked to Diego who nodded an okay and gave her the tiniest of shoves forward.

Amy swallowed. She wasn’t at all sure it was okay. The whole family had plunged into deathly silence, never a good sign. Abuelita raised a bony finger and placed it on Amy’s shoulder.

“She wants you to turn around,” Diego said; an unexpected tremor entered his voice which in turn sent nervous flutterings in Amy’s chest. She spun a half-turn.

“And again.” Diego added. Amy spun a second time until she was facing Abuelita once more. The woman’s gaze dropped to her hips and lingered just long enough to make Amy truly uncomfortable.

“Le dara mucho hijos.”

The family erupted into cheers of approval.

“What’d she say?” Amy leaned into Diego when the crowd thinned.

A blush crept onto his cheeks. “She said we’ll make good babies.”

Amy’s stomach dropped. Now she was lying to an old woman whose only crime was wanting to see her great-grandson happy.

“Oh my God. Diego! You’re on TV!” A teenage girl ran into the room. Diego’s family moved en mass to the media room. Amy flinched as soon as she stepped through the door. An image of her face, as big as a billboard flashed on a huge screen at the far end. The laughter of the kids playing soccer with her and Diego at the park spilled out in to the family theater.

“She’s got game,” Marcus, Diego’s old college coach and family friend announced and winked at her.

The TV piece was short but very effective. Even Amy liked them better as a couple after the show cut to commercial. Somewhere in the distance a door opened, and the delicious smell of meat roasting wafted in.

“A comer! Time to eat!” A male voice called out.

People began to move toward the backyard, sweeping Amy along with them. Someone thrust a frosty beer into her hand. Someone else handed her a plate and directed her to a table with so much food on it she was afraid the whole thing would collapse. Mounds of empanadas, tamales, meat still steaming from the grill, and a dozen other dishes she had never seen before took up every available space on the long table.

“You like carne asada?” Isabella pointed to the table.

“I don’t know. There aren’t a whole lot of good Mexican restaurants in rural Pennsylvania.” She thrust her plate out to her hostess. “But I’m game. Load me up.”

Isabella did just that and handed her a fork. The spicy, complex flavors of south of the border cooking flooded her mouth.

“It’s delicious.” It was the first truth she had uttered since she got there. As it turned out, it was that simple. A heartfelt compliment about the food, good childbearing hips, and several beers was all it took to bring Amy into Diego’s family. At one point, she practically forgot it was all a ruse. Happiness flooded her. Even when her parents were alive, she had never had anything like this. Her family circle was too small. She reveled in the easy comradery that an afternoon surrounded by a huge family brought her. She could get used to this, and she had to remind herself this wasn’t her real life. She was at work.

As the afternoon came to a close, Amy jumped up with the other women to clear the dishes. The Torres kitchen was huge. Like every other room in the house, it was filled with the latest conveniences. Amy already knew that Diego bought this house for his family before he had bought his own. No wonder the weight of the world was on his shoulders. The American dream was a heavy load for anyone to carry, especially a gay, Mexican soccer star.

Isabella took the dishes from Amy and directed her to a couch in a quiet corner. “He seems a lot happier, maybe calmer, since he’s been with you.” She sat beside her.

Amy bit her lip. She didn’t want to lie to this woman who had welcomed her with open arms. She chose her words carefully so she wouldn’t have to. “It’s been really good for both of us.”

Something dark flitted across Isabella’s face but was gone almost immediately. Amy steadied herself for the inevitable warning she was sure was coming. Do right by Diego or else! Of course, she didn’t want to hear it. Tammy had said the same thing enough times for everyone. Amy took a deep breath. Hearing Diego’s mother out was her penance for lying to such a wonderful family.

“Be careful, mija.” A sad smile played at Isabella’s lips. “My boy’s a good man. But I’m afraid he may not know himself.”

What did that mean? Amy searched Isabella’s face for an explanation. Did Isabella know about Diego? The dark eyes which were so similar to her son’s gave nothing more away.

Diego appeared at her elbow and saved Amy from responding. “You two are thick as thieves.” He slid an arm around Amy’s waist and playfully scowled at his mother. “You’re not telling her all my secrets, are you?”

Isabella chuckled and reached over to ruffle her son’s hair. “No, of course not.”

It all seemed so very natural. Amy looked from mother to son. Apparently Diego wasn’t the only actor in the family.

“Mama.” Diego produced the wrapped picture from behind his back. “This is for you.” He then slid a glance at Amy as if to say,
See, I told you it would go well.

Isabella laughed and opened up the wrapping paper. “I love presents.”

“It’s only something small,” Diego said.

Isabella slid the picture of the happy couple into the open. Head down, she examined it intently for a long moment. So long that Amy grew anxious. So long that Diego finally reached over and pointed to a kid in the background. “That’s Mario Duenas, Maria del Carmen’s grandson.”

“Is it? My, he’s a big boy now.” Her gaze was still fixed on the photograph.

“And a good player.” Now Diego was beginning to sound anxious.

“Thank you for this, mijo.” His worried tone jolted her into giving him a quick hug. “And you too, Amy.” She turned to Amy. Isabella’s look spoke volumes.

She did know.

Amy tucked her hair into the back of her dress and pressed herself into the soft leather seat of Diego’s vintage Mustang convertible. She’d always thought she would like convertibles, but the stiff breeze whipped around the windshield and tangled her long hair. Thanks to the heatwave, the night hadn’t cooled yet. Sweat prickled her back and mixed uncomfortably with her hair. A hair shirt. The penance seemed appropriate.

“Thank you for that. I think it went well.” Diego seemed immune to both Amy’s and his mother’s discomfort. Amy bit the inside of her bottom lip. Should she or shouldn’t she tell him? She could hear Paul Knight shouting inside her head,
Mind your own goddamn business!

Diego should know, she decided. He might even be happier for it, especially if he could live his life the way he wanted to, openly and without remorse. She turned toward him so her words would not be cut off by the wind. “I think your mother knows.”

“Knows what?” Diego asked.

“About you. And probably about us, too.”

Diego clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles went white and kept his eyes straight on the road ahead.

“No. She doesn’t,” he said finally, shifting the car into a lower gear to take the corner hard and fast.

Amy fixed her gaze on him. His expression had hardened. Denial oozed from every pore.

“I think—”

“There’s nothing to think or know. I’m not doing anything with anybody except you. And as we both know, that’s not really anything either.”

“Okay.” Amy got the message and dropped the subject. If her boss didn’t want to talk about the elephant in the room, then they wouldn’t. They drove on in silence. How was she going to repair this?

“Your parents’ house is lovely,” she said.

No answer.

“The food was really good.”

Diego sighed. “Mm.”

Not an actual word, but at least she was making a little bit of progress. Amy turned the pages of the afternoon over in her mind so she could put even more distance between them and the one topic that Diego wouldn’t acknowledge.

“I really liked your old coach. The one from UCLA. What was his name?”

Amy knew his name, but she needed an answer from Diego.

“Marcus.”

“It’s great that you’ve stayed in touch with him.”

“He’s a great guy.” A little bit of warmth crept into Diego’s voice. Not for her, but she would take whatever she could get at this point. “He’s always got my back.”

“How?”

“He found Casey for me.”

Amy’s stomach lurched. She absolutely shouldn’t bite. Two dangerous conversations in a row were two too many, and the minefields buried in this one were much harder to detect. She tried to beat down the curiosity rising in waves and actually opened her mouth to ask something about his great-grandmother. Instead, she heard herself say, “What do you mean found?”