The Shortstop (25 page)

I spend the remainder of the night flipping from station to station, hoping for another network to also show her gorgeous face. Of course, I have no such luck.

Instead, I’m left thinking and regretting.

Annie

A tap on my shoulder minutes after I arrived has me coming face-to-face with Daphne. My breath catches from the shock of seeing her.

“Annie,” she breathes out in a desperate whisper.

Instinctively, I take a step back to distance myself. Tears swell in her eyes, but I feel pure disgust. She is nothing but a stranger standing before me. My best friend would never hurt me the way she has. Wordlessly, I turn to walk away, but Daphne reaches for my arm before I can escape.

“Please, talk to me.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Please hear me out?” Her grip tightens on my arm when I try to break her hold. “I never meant to hurt you, Annie. I love you like a sister.” She ignores my eye-roll and adds, “I don’t remember anything that happened that night. I’ve driven myself crazy trying to recall any kind of intimacy between us. I know we got very drunk, we were watching TV, and the next thing I knew, it was morning. I was on the couch, and he sat in a chair facing me. I don’t remember anything else happening.”

“Why would he lie?” I ask through gritted teeth. “Why were you even there?”

“He called me, completely distraught. I was there as a friend, nothing more.”

“Until something more occurred. We all know how unobservant you become when drunk. The last time you admitted that you were in love with my fiancé.” She lowers her eyes but still holds my arm in her firm grip. “Let me ask you something. Did you use our friendship to be near him?”

“No. I didn’t. It was torture for me. I love you and I treasure our friendship.”

“You could have fooled me.” I yank my arm free and spit out, “Leave me alone, Daphne.”

Ava finds me hiding in a corner of the kitchen. “I saw her approach you. Are you okay?”

“No.”

She pulls me into a hug, stroking my hair in an attempt to calm me down. Bile rises, making it hard to control my nausea.

“You didn’t tell me this would be on the news,” I whisper into Ava’s ear.

“Hon, everything that the Yankees do makes the news.” She leans back to look into my eyes. “They are ready to start. Maybe you should stay back here?”

“No. I’m here to help.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. Fuck Daphne and Quint.”

“That’s my girl.”

Once in position, my cocky attitude dissipates. Ava and Jeff are dead center. I move as far to the right as possible. When the camera pans from left to right, I do my best to smile and act like my insides aren’t in turmoil. Daphne has her back to us as she speaks into the camera. If I had known that she’d be here, I wouldn’t have come.

Ava’s phone call inviting me up for Thanksgiving came as a surprise. I can’t even consider it an invitation, more so a command. I tried giving every excuse I could think of, but Ava refused to let me off the hook.

The only reason I finally agreed was to help the many who now sit before us eating their home-cooked meal. My parents taught me to give to those who aren’t as fortunate. Serving Thanksgiving dinner at our local food kitchen became a common occurrence in our house, until this year. This year, my parents felt an untraditional Thanksgiving was in order. They booked a cruise, hoping I would join them. My mother’s goal was well intended. I declined. I couldn’t pretend a vacation would miraculously take him off my mind. When I told Mom that Ava wanted me to come to New York, she felt better leaving without me. Billy also thought it was a good idea to get away and spend the time with Ava and Jeff.

I arrived yesterday. Jeff and Ava are thrilled to have me stay at their place. Always supportive, always honest, her friendship means the world to me. I’ve only known her for a few short months, but it feels like it’s been years. She knows all about Quint’s confession. She understands what I’m going through. Even now, as Daphne reports on live television, Ava reaches for my hand and gives it a subtle squeeze.

My friendship with Ava is so different from what I had with Daphne. My mind drifts to all the times I confided in Daphne and told her intimate details of my relationship with Quint. I can’t help but wonder if she stored those details for her own personal gain.

I try my hardest to smile for the camera, put on a happy face. But on the inside, I’m anything but calm at the moment. I want this day to be over. Daphne’s live report only lasts a few minutes. Once we are off the air, I excuse myself and bolt to the ladies’ room. I’m not one to avoid or run from my problems…until recently...until now.

I hide until I feel it’s safe to emerge, and when I do, the dining hall is bustling with activity. Ava, Jeff, and the other Yankees are all serving meals and socializing with the throngs of people who came here for a nice holiday. Hopeful faces snap me back to the present, far away from Daphne or Quint or anything associated with them. Thankfully, I remain very busy all day long, but the things that Daphne said to me earlier swirl in the back of my mind. How drunk could she have been to not remember finally fucking the love of her life? If nothing happened, why would Quint have lied to Billy? It doesn’t make sense.

Once the shelter’s dining hall is cleaned and the kitchen staff assures us they no longer need our help, Jeff, Ava, and I head back to their place.

Impulsively, I relay to Ava the lies that Daphne tried to feed to me.

“You don’t believe her?”

“No. I don’t. Daphne does what’s good for Daphne. If lying about that night helps with her guilt, then she’ll lie about it.”

“Screw her. No more wasting brain cells on her. Romantic movies, wine, and turkey are all calling our names,” Ava commands our evening’s activities.

“No way,” Jeff grumbles. “I have a football game to watch.”

“I think I vote for football, too,” I admit, not wanting any part of a sappy movie. “I’ll stay the night and head back home tomorrow.”

“I wish you’d stay longer. You don’t have to be anywhere until Monday.”

“I’d really rather be home.” Originally, I thought I might stay a day or two. After seeing Daphne, I want as far away from Manhattan as I can get.

“I have all night to change your mind,” she says with a devious smile.

My response is interrupted by a call from Lance. “Hello.”

“Hey, Annie. Happy Thanksgiving,” he says cheerfully over the phone.

“Hi, Lance. How are you?”

“I’m good. Busy. I saw you on the news earlier.”

“Oh no. I was hoping no one saw that clip.”

“Oh, stop. You looked great. Besides, it’s for a great cause. How long are you in town?”

“Just tonight. I’m heading to a friend’s now and I’ll leave tomorrow.”

“No, you won’t,” Ava mumbles loud enough for me to hear.

“Oh, darn. I was hoping you could grab lunch with me tomorrow.”

“Lunch sounds nice, but can I have a rain check?”

“Sure. If you change your mind, call me back.” His response drips with disappointment.

“I will. Happy Thanksgiving, Lance.”

“Thanks, Annie. You too.”

I can feel Ava’s eyes drilling me, but I refuse to look her way.

“Seriously?” she asks after a long, silent minute passes.

“What?”

“You’re rushing home for absolutely no reason but to wallow in self-pity.”

“Not true. I have things to do.”

“My ass!” She folds her arms and levels me with a death stare. I laugh at her outburst despite feeling exposed to her scrutiny. “He’s a nice guy. You don’t have to marry him, Annie. Just have a freakin’ burger with him.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Ava, please. I need time.”

“Okay.” She gingerly takes my hand in hers. “I won’t push you, yet.”

Ava waited three glasses of wine before she did push, and push hard. The more I drank, the less I wanted to fight. She not only convinced me to stay until Sunday, she also convinced me to meet Lance for lunch.

Lance is better looking than I remembered. The sleeves on his casual button-down shirt are rolled up to his elbows, making the muscular definition in his forearms hard to ignore. There’s a natural wave to his sandy brown hair. His smile is genuine, his laugh heartwarming. His eyes are a pale blue, but brighten to a deeper shade when he laughs. Most women would swoon from the timbre of his voice. Most women would fawn over his rugged, handsome looks. I pathetically wish it were Quint sitting across from me right now. I hate that I’m comparing him to Quint, yet I keep comparing him to Quint.

A lump forms in my throat at my reality. Will I ever be able to love again? Will I ever be attracted to another man? I’m too young to face a loveless life. I know I can’t possibly predict feeling this way forever, but I simply can’t picture any future without Quint. I can no longer conjure up visions of a happily ever after.

“I’m so glad you agreed to lunch,” Lance interrupts my depressing thoughts. Words fail me. So instead, I offer a shy smile. He returns a smile of his own, watching me intently from across the table. “Are you doing any better?”

My nerves pique at his question. Conversation between us has been easy and neutral. The weather, the classes that I’m taking, my apartment, our music preferences, are all part of the safe list of things that we can discuss. I’d rather discuss the weather or the seasoning on my French fries…anything but how I’m doing.

“Yep. I’m good.” Nervously, I play with my silverware and quickly change the subject. “Are you originally from New York?”

The empathetic smile he offers is a dead giveaway that he’s on to me. “No, actually. I’m originally from Colorado.”

“What brought you to New York?”

He rubs the back of his neck, pausing a few seconds before he responds. “Um. I quickly gained a favorable reputation in the sports world when I worked with the Rockies. The Yankees
made me a very nice offer.”

I quickly understand what has him flustered.

Our lunch suddenly takes an uncomfortable turn. The easy conversation from earlier is replaced with awkward pauses and long stretches of silence. After Lance pays the bill, I stand, anxiously wanting to escape the tension. With a hand on the small of my back, Lance follows me out of the café. Ironically, the heat from his touch doesn’t warm but instead sends chills coursing through me. Out on the sidewalk, he faces me expectantly.

“Would you like to take a walk?”

“I think I better go. I’m sorry.”

He nods understandingly. “No need to apologize. I hope you had a nice time.”

“Oh, I did. Thank you for lunch.”

Lance licks his lips nervously. “Annie—” He nervously repeats the motion and sighs before adding, “There’s something about you that makes me want to get to know you better. I know you’re hurting. I wish I could change that. I’ve said it before, and I want you to hear it again. If you need anything at all, I’m here for you.”

“I know. Thank you, Lance. You’ve become a great friend and I appreciate that.”

“Ah, friend,” he repeats in a false bravado.

I shrug apologetically, but I refuse to voice an apology. I can’t offer any more now, and maybe not ever. Friendship is all I can give. It may be all I can give for years.

Lance smiles warmly and leans closer to kiss my cheek. “I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Yes. Definitely.” He then hails me a cab and waves as I pull away with Quint filling my thoughts.

“
God, please give me a reason to forget him
,” I silently pray. “
I want to forget him. I need to forget him.”

As I sit alone in the back of the cab, I decide I’m done crying over him. One single symbolic tear slowly rolls down my cheek. As it does, I hope this will be the last tear I shed for Quint Lawson.

Quint

I finally got out of rehab and moved back home to resume my miserable existence…my single, friendless, angry existence. My leg remains useless. Another surgery is scheduled after the first of the year. The brace I need to wear is a constant reminder. The crutches I use mock with every step I take. Walking a few feet exhausts me, driving a car now a distant memory. I’m bored out of my fucking skull.

Not much has changed from the first time I was sent home. The only difference is I now have a long list of babysitters watching my every move. Except for therapy, I’ve been sequestered in my condo. I’m clean and sober, excluding smoking pot—which doesn’t count in my book. It doesn’t elicit the same negative side effects as pain meds or even booze. It calms me, soothes my mind, and most of all helps me maintain a level of acceptance for my new reality—acceptance being the key word. I’ve struggled with accepting my injury, as well as my future. After I smoke pot, my reality becomes acceptable.              

Of course, it’s an illusion.

In between my highs, the toxic emotions try to slink back into my life. Most of the time, they are successful, leaving me in a deep depression. Manic highs and manic lows are common, so I’ve been told…add shrink to my list of babysitters.

“Quint, we’re so proud of you.”

“Glad to see we’re finally on the same team.”

“We’re so impressed with your progress.”

Master of a great façade that ensures I’ll be left alone. My parents, on the other hand, have not left me alone, especially my mom. She harasses me every opportunity she gets. Why the fuck did I admit Annie was better off without me? I effectively planted a seed of doubt. She now thinks it’s the real reason that we are apart, and not the lie of being a heartless prick that I’ve carefully concocted. I can practically set a clock to her daily phone calls. At least on the phone I’m able to zone out as she goes on and on. Spending Christmas together will make hiding from the nagging impossible, or smoking a joint, or even avoiding reality.

For the first time in my life, I’m dreading this holiday.

When I proposed to Annie, I envisioned our first Christmas together as husband and wife. I pictured hosting Christmas dinner in our decorated house. I even planned to surprise her with a trip while my baseball schedule allowed. A tour of Italy, England, and France was part of the “Annie Weber bucket list.” Having three kids, driving up the Pacific Coast Highway in California, writing a book, and getting matching tattoos rounded out her top five. I’m sure she’s rewritten that bucket list.

For the eight hundredth time today, I wonder where she is or what she’s doing. Seeing her on TV tormented me. A cruel glimpse of all that I lost wrapped up in a sixty-second news clip. With every passing day, my prayer that she’ll find love goes unanswered…making the pain I caused her to be in vain. With every passing day, my mom’s words play on a constant loop in the corner of my mind.

“Eventually, playing ball would no longer be possible. It may have happened sooner than you wanted, but that day would eventually come when age would make playing a distant memory, just a job that you used to have. Then where will you be?”

She’s right. The career I chose is a short-lived one. If lucky, one gets fifteen, maybe twenty years tops. At least I’d have fifteen or twenty years to live my dream and not live in hell. The devil’s advocate who lives in my mind reminds me that Annie deserves to always be happy and not just when I’m happy.

My gaze flickers over to the patio doors. Snow begins to fall, making me feel even less enthusiastic for this stupid holiday to arrive. What’s the point? I don’t have a tree nor do I give a shit about any traditions. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just another day to miserably exist. My mom doesn’t agree and plans to torture me with all things Christmas. They are due to arrive tomorrow, giving me less than twenty-four hours of peace and quiet. Less than a day to get my fill, to gorge on all my vices before they invade.

I’ve had my therapy today and every one of my babysitters has already checked in. Until then, I’m free to do as I please. My morning high has worn off. Desperate for calm, even snow and frigid temperatures can’t thwart my motives. The phone rings just as I’m about to face the elements and smoke on my balcony.

“Son.”

“Hi, Dad.”

My first thought is they’re coming sooner. Bracing myself for that announcement, my father instead says, “Your mother had a heart attack.”

She’s too young. Stress caused this. My behavior caused this.

Since Thanksgiving, she’s been so angry with me. Up until then, to avoid further upsetting me, her advice came in tentative waves. My last comments obviously caused her to reach her limit with patience and understanding. Her sudden gush of vitriol was unlike her. Her anger festered and now she’s fighting for her life.

Mom’s heart attack is like a baseball bat to my head. The amount of heartache I’ve endured caused me to lose sight of what’s truly important. All I can do the entire ride down is pray. I plead with God to give me strength. I ask him to forgive me. I beg him to spare her. I can’t lose her. She can’t die while carrying so much pain…pain that I caused her.

Throughout, no matter how badly I behaved, my parents supported me. I need them to know what drove me to this point. Telling my parents the truth is only the beginning. The real person I need to be honest with is Annie. Will it change things between us? I honestly don’t know. I’ll always wonder if pity is the reason she comes back to me. That’s assuming that she does forgive me. I’d almost rather she doesn’t. By not, maybe she’ll give me closure. Either way, my dad was right. It has to be her decision. I’ve stupidly tried to control our future with anger and regret. I didn’t lose Annie. I pushed her away. Death is loss.

I almost lost my mother today. I may still lose her. If she dies thinking the worst of me, I’ll never survive it. The crushing pain in my chest that dulled over time returns in full force. My driver stares at me through the rearview mirror when my quiet sobs fill the otherwise noiseless car. His helpless expression an indicator he hasn’t a clue what to do or say to comfort me. There’s only one thing that can. Telling everyone I love and who loves me the absolute truth.

By the time I stand at the door of my mom’s room, my own heart pounds punishingly in my chest.

My mom looks so frail, so tiny in her hospital bed. My dad said they’ve stabilized her, inserting stents to open her arteries. She’s lucky to be alive. My father’s quick thinking and CPR training undoubtedly saved her life. Thank God they were home. He immediately called 911, gave her aspirin, and had her lie on her back, coaching her to continue deep breathing.

My father sits facing her, holding her hand, speaking to her in hushed tones. “Charlotte, baby, don’t ever do this to me again. I couldn’t live without you. My life means nothing without you.” He bends and places his forehead on her arm. I can tell he’s crying by the way his shoulders tremble.

Bile rises in my throat from finally seeing myself clearly. I shamed my father. He must hate the man I’ve become. My mother means everything to him, where I made it very clear that baseball was my only love. I don’t deserve for Annie to take me back. The only fitting punishment would be to lose her forever.

He must sense my presence because he wipes his eyes and turns to face me. The pain he harbors clearly shows on the lines of his face.

“Son, I’m glad you’re here. She’ll be so happy to see you when she wakes up.”

“Dad, I’m so sorry,” I say quietly from the door.

“I know. Come sit with her.” He stands, motioning for me to sit in his chair. My nerves leave me panting for breath, but the exertion required to move across the room supplies a good cover.

I stare at my mother’s pale face. “I did this to her,” I voice my thoughts.

Dad looks at me, confused. “No, you didn’t, son.”

“She’s been so distraught over me. You both have. I’m so ashamed of my behavior.”

“Your mom cared for everyone she loved and neglected herself. I asked her to have a check-up, see a doctor. She was too stubborn. This has nothing to do with you.”

“We’ll never know.” I can no longer hold back my sadness. It comes pouring out through my tears. “I’ll never know,” I repeat in a raspy whisper.

“Quint.” Emotion fills his eyes, turning them glassy as he sits and stares at me. “I won’t have you blaming yourself.”

“I caused her so much grief.” Even though he shakes his head, his silence proves he agrees. “I was so angry. I worked so hard, and when I finally landed with the Yankees,
I thought it was the missing piece to a perfect life. I lost sight of what was really important. My life was already perfect. You, Mom, and Annie were what made my life perfect. Playing for the Yankees should have been the cherry on my sundae and not the sundae itself.”

My dad frustratingly swipes at the tears that spill down his face. I mimic his gesture, turning back to my mother and taking her cold hand in mine.

“As soon as Mom wakes up, I need to tell you everything.”