Caught by You (21 page)

“Yes, and that's exactly it. My family believes it might be a sign, the fact that your team has a religious name, a name they can admire. And that if you did play with them, that is, on the field, with the Friars name on your uniform, and an acceptable contract, that you might be able to be trusted to take care of a family.”

Still not understanding, he stared at her blankly. What family was she talking about? An image of goofy Zack giving him a high five flashed into his mind. But Angela didn't even know Zack. She couldn't be talking about him. Then it clicked.

Ohhhhh
.

“Are you fucking
serious
?”

She flinched, again with that expression of distaste. Great, he'd offended her with his language, and they'd barely exchanged three sentences. What were they doing? God, these must be the slowest elevators in creation.

“Sorry. I'm used to ballplayers, not sheltered ladies who tap-­dance around reality. Let me get this right. Your family would accept me as their son-­in-­law if I do in fact make it onto the Friars' roster?”

She flushed a deep crimson, like a color from a stained-­glass window, fixing her gaze on the doors as the elevator slowed to a stop. “I know how this might sound. I'm not presuming that you want to be with me again. You were very angry with me. But you always used to say I was the only girl you'd ever loved. So I thought, if there was a way we could try again, maybe you would like to know about it.”

Finally, the elevator doors slid open, and she slipped into the busy lobby. He followed, torn between wanting to flee this conversation and being riveted by it. It was absurd—­surreal—­did she even
want
to get back together with him? She hadn't mentioned any sort of emotion along those lines. Then again, she'd always been an enigma to him.

“What about my brother? He's still gay.”

“Yes, but . . .” Her gaze slid away from his. “They've agreed to overlook that. They might not go as far as family dinners, but it's still a big step.” She gestured toward the sign for the cafeteria, a movement as graceful as a love sonnet. “Shall we?”
That hand
. He remembered how he used to watch her studying in school, registering every turn of a page, every raising of her hand.

“One moment. What about you? In this hypothetical relationship, do we invite Joey and Jean-­Luc over for dinner?”

Her wide, serene gaze skimmed across his face briefly. “As you say, it's hypothetical.”

“What if we had a son? And that son turned out to be gay? What then?”

Finally, a reaction. One hand went to her stomach, as if protecting her future offspring, and a flash of passion twisted her face. “Obviously, I would pray that wouldn't happen. I pray a lot, Mike. I pray for many things. For instance, I prayed I'd see you again, and that you wouldn't hate me.”

Thunderstruck, taking in the obvious tumult she was undergoing, he realized he'd never seen her express this much emotion. He'd always assumed that she'd sailed on with her life like a swan, never wasting another thought on the one-­kidney wonder she'd left behind.

“I don't hate you, Angela.”

She nodded, a quick flick of her head, and the color faded from her face, the usual creamy serenity returning.

“This is all kind of a surprise . . . to put it mildly . . .”

She stopped him with a slim hand poised between them. How many times had he kissed that wrist, traced every line on her palm, felt the pulse of her delicate veins?

“This isn't some kind of proposal, Mike. I've had four years to think about things, and in some ways I'm a different person. We'd have to start over, learn about each other again. You'd have to win my family over, and you know how much effort that requires.”

“Let me ask you something. You're at this hospital a lot, aren't you?”

“Every week or so.”

“And yet you've never stopped in to see Joey. You've known him since we were kids. Why not, Angela? I just want to understand that.”

She held her head high, the lines of her neck long and graceful as a statue. “I didn't want to cause any upset to anyone.”

“To your parents.”

“Or to Joey. I thought he might be angry with me.”

Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. No surprise, knowing Angela. She had always hated conflict. That's why she'd bowed to her parents' wishes and dumped him. Was there anyone in the world who would fit in with the DiMatteos without any friction at all? “I thought you'd already be married by now.”

“No. I . . .” She hesitated, something churning behind that serene facade. “My parents have someone they want me to marry, but . . . I'm not sure. He's . . . a little bit older.”

He frowned, leaning closer, all his protective instincts screaming. “That sounds medieval, Angela. They can't force you to marry someone you don't want to.”

She let out a completely uncharacteristic snort. “No, they can't. But they can manipulate and pressure and smother and pray and—­” Breaking off, she put a hand to her mouth, as if she could barely believe she'd let those words out.

Well, well. Was Angela finally seeing the whole picture when it came to her family? Would she finally break free and make her own decisions?

Too late for her and Mike, of course. Much too late. Even though all his old hurt and anger had now been transformed into something more like concern. Would she be able to stand up to her parents in this situation? For the first time in her life?

Not his problem
, he reminded himself. Not his problem. But it felt wrong, not to help her. She'd been so important to him for so many years.

His phone beeped. He scrambled to dig it out of his pocket. Jean-­Luc.

Get up here now
.

Without so much as a word of explanation to Angela, he spun back toward the elevator. He punched the button, then saw that the button on the tenth floor was lit up. It would take too long for the elevator to reach him. “Stairs?” he yelled wildly to Angela. Silently, she pointed to an alcove across the lobby. He ran for it, elbowing ­people out of the way as he went.

She didn't follow.

He pounded up the stairs, using every baseball-­honed thigh muscle to its maximum capacity. Every wind sprint, every set of squats he'd ever performed, every weight he'd ever lifted bore him up those stairs like a magic carpet.
Second floor, third floor, fourth floor . . . hold on, Joey . . . don't go, Joey
. . . I need you . . . please . . . fifth floor . . . open the door . . . where's his room . . . go . . . go. . .

By the time he reached Joey's room and flung himself at his bedside, their time together on this earth had run down to its last grains . . . a holding of his hand, a choked “Don't go, Joey,” a flutter of a smile, a drift of eyelids, a sobbing Jean-­Luc, beeping monitors, a last sweet breath . . .

. . . an exhalation . . .

 

Chapter 21

W
ORD SPREAD QUICKLY
throughout Kilby that Mike Solo's brother, the one he'd done the PSA about, had passed away. The
Kilby Press-­Herald
even ran an obituary that mentioned his academic career, relation to the Catfish, and his work in the Sudan, where he'd acquired the E coli infection that eventually cost him his life. They even ran a picture of him, which Donna pored over, noticing every similarity to Mike and every difference. He looked a lot thinner, more intellectual, but just as good-­humored as Mike.

Her heart ached for him. The next time she saw Zack—­the emergency order had been lifted once the end of their engagement was announced—­they made a card for Mike. Instead of a bunch of words, they drew hearts and gorillas and tigers and flowers. Zack added a baseball at the last minute. “Thinking of you,” she wrote at the bottom corner. “Love from Donna and Zack.” Zack wrote his own name, which he'd recently learned how to do, then added a strange handlike shape at the end of his name.

“What's that, Zack-­ino?”

“Baseball glove.”

“Hmm, very good choice. Mike loves baseball.”

“It's the greatest game in the world!” Zack jumped up and down on his chair. She gave him a minute, then settled him back down again. “Where is Mike?”

“He's back at home.” She wondered when he'd come back to Kilby. Would he have the heart for baseball after losing his brother? But he was under contract. He had to. Probably soon.

“Mike lives here.” Zack frowned, puzzled.

“He has another home, where he was born. A place called Chicago. A big city, much bigger than Kilby.”

None of that seemed to make sense to Zack. Just as her explanations about why they might not see Mike anymore made no sense. But he was young, and in a year or so he probably wouldn't remember Mike.

She wished she could say the same.

In the wake of the broken engagement, she had to spend some time canceling the cake order, the flower order, the dress order. Sadie, back in Kilby to visit her mother again, came with her to You Bet I Do to return the fabric samples she'd borrowed.

“You know what I feel like?” Donna told her as they entered the frothy white interior of the wedding boutique. “Cinderella after the ball. Like I turned back into a pumpkin.”

“Cinderella didn't turn into a pumpkin, silly. Her chariot did.”

“Well, my Kia isn't big enough to be a pumpkin.”

Sadie slung an arm around her shoulders. “I suppose you have the right hair color to be a pumpkin.”

“You're such a good friend.”

“I know, right?”

They shared a smile, the kind of smile only two friends who've seen each other through many disasters can appreciate. Donna handed the samples to Amy, the salesgirl, but Sadie stilled her hand. “Come to think of it, I might hang on to those.”

Donna whirled on her. “Sadie! Are you serious?”

Sadie nodded, one of her dazzling, wide grins stealing across her face. “I wasn't sure if it was the best time to tell you.”

“Are you kidding?” Donna flung her arms around her friend, then pulled away and jumped up and down like a bunny on a pogo stick. “You're getting married! You're getting married! I'm so excited!” She careened into a lace-­draped mannequin, which wobbled precariously. Amy rushed to grab it before it fell.

“Do you mind?” she said snippily. Donna and Sadie ignored her.

“I'm so glad you're happy.” Sadie beamed. “I thought it might be hard, with . . .”

“No. Not a chance. I'm so happy I could just scream.”

“Please don't,” said Amy. “We have customers.”

“And you might have another one right now if you play your cards right,” Donna pointed out. “Sadie's getting married to a major league pitcher. She's probably going to need a dress.”

Sadie confirmed this with a nod, but still Amy looked unconvinced. “You were engaged to a baseball player,” she reminded Donna. “Look how that turned out. Those samples might come right on back again.”

“Nice vote of confidence. Believe me, nothing is going to keep Caleb and Sadie from getting married. Those two are destiny.”

“Fine.” Amy sniffed. “Take the samples, but please don't damage any more mannequins. You wouldn't believe how much we pay for those.”

Sadie and Donna left the shop and strolled toward Sacred Grounds, the hippie new age coffee shop that had recently opened downtown. The mid-­morning sun glowed lethargically behind a haze of overcast. Not so much as a whisper of a breeze stirred the jacarandas that lined the streets. Donna studiously avoided looking at the Colonel Kilby statue and the fort; too many painful memories.

“I have some legal advice for you,” Sadie said after they'd gone half a block.

“Am I in trouble? I barely touched that mannequin!”

Sadie laughed. “No, no, it's about the custody fight over Zack. Your lawyer . . . well, she's terrible. So bad that I've been wondering if the Wades are slipping her a little something to give you bad advice. She should have been at that emergency hearing.”

“She's pro bono,” Donna said defensively. “I pay her what I can, but it's not very much.”

“I get that. But this is your child we're talking about. If it's a question of money, don't worry about that. I can help. I have that money from the Wades, and Caleb just signed an endorsement deal for a new avocado-­flavored sports drink. Or maybe it's pistachio. I don't know, it's green. Seriously, we talked it over and want to help.”

Donna's eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh, Sadie.”

“It's not a big deal,” Sadie said quickly. “Here's the other thing. Did you know that Judge Quinn is in the Wades' pocket? Mayor Trent gave me a heads-­up on that. The Wades have some kind of hold over him. Whenever they want a decision to go their way, they try to get Judge Quinn assigned to the case. Your lawyer never mentioned that, did she? Let alone request a new judge?”

Donna shook her head numbly, looking back at all the times she'd blindly followed Karen Griswold's instructions. “Oh my God. I bet Bonita must have asked the Wades to pull some strings for her. I mean, I'm sure she did. She's related to them, and they hate me anyway. Why wouldn't she pull strings? I would, if I had any strings to pull.”

Sadie gave her a one-­armed hug. “Well, you do. You have me. And Caleb. We're your strings, and we're here to help. You need a new lawyer, sweetie, and that lawyer needs to file a petition for a new judge.”

Tears swelled over the tips of her eyelashes and trickled down her face. “I didn't even tell you about Zack until this year.”

“And that was very silly of you. Maybe I could have helped earlier. I understand, Donna. You were afraid to say anything. Fear makes us do all sorts of things. Come on. Let's get a drink.”

They walked into Sacred Grounds, where Sadie settled Donna at a table. “Iced mocha?” she asked Donna, who nodded, then busied herself blotting her tears with a recycled paper napkin.

When Sadie came back with her foamy, whipped cream–topped drink, Donna found she had no appetite for it.

“You know, I told Mike I'm only afraid of one thing, and that's losing Zack. I came so close, Donna. When Harvey told me I couldn't see him, the whole world just went black. Like I couldn't see for fear.”

“I'm so sorry, Donna. I just can't believe Harvey would do that.” Sadie stirred sugar into a cup of tea.

“I know, he didn't used to be such a devious worm. He's completely under Bonita's spell. Sometimes I think Bonita can't stand the fact that I exist, that Harvey used to be with me. It's like she's trying to erase me from the picture.”

“Erase Donna MacIntyre? No chance of that.”

“Sadie, I'm so afraid I'll never see Mike again. What if he never comes back to Kilby? What if he quits baseball or stays in Chicago? He was in love with a girl there, someone who broke his heart. He says that's why he's not looking for love.”

Sadie pushed the mocha under Donna's nose, so the smell of chocolate filtered into her awareness. “Well, all respect to Mike, and you know I love the guy, but he's an idiot. That's okay. When it comes to love, we all have our idiotic moments. Maybe he wasn't looking for love, but it found him. I know the signs.”

Donna drew the paper off her straw, shaking her head sadly. “No. He doesn't love me.”

“You love him.”

“Of course I love him. I've loved him since . . . oh cripes, I don't know when. Probably from that first night at the Roadhouse, when you met Caleb. Or maybe Crush's party. Or when he stood between me and Jared Wade. I don't know.”

“Does he know how you feel?”

“No. I told you, he's not interested in love. The whole engagement was his version of a good deed.”

Sadie stirred her mocha with a frown. “Are you so sure, Donna? Mike's a good guy, but I don't see him offering marriage to someone he didn't have feelings for. Maybe he had feelings, but didn't know it.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Trust me, the feelings he
did
have were completely obvious. Not that I was complaining about that part—­”

Sadie threw up a hand to stop that line of conversation. “Mike's like a brother. Really don't need the details.”

A detail swam to the surface of Donna's memory, of the time they'd broken in the football-­shaped beanbag chair, after covering it with a sheet. Naked and spent, Mike had sprawled his long limbs every which way, while he held her across his chest like a child. “Finally found something football's good for,” he'd declared with a lazy smile.

The memory of that moment brought it all back—­the fun he'd brought her, the unfamiliar security of having a protector—­along with a devastating punch of loss.

“Not everyone gets the fairy tale, Sadie.”

“Why not?”

“Okay, maybe I had my fairy tale, but I ruined it by running my stupid mouth. I tried to talk him into something he thought was wrong, and he got insulted and stormed off. Then he left town, and now his brother is dead, and I'm sure he's completely wrecked, and he may never come back, and . . .”

She buried her face in her hands, the urge to cry overwhelming her. For a moment she simply sobbed. Whether it was
for
Mike, in sympathy with the grief he must be feeling, or
over
Mike, because he was lost to her, she couldn't say. Sadie stroked her back, made soothing murmurs, and didn't even mention the fact that Donna had knocked over her mocha.

When Donna finally opened her eyes and blinked away the remains of her tears, she saw their little table swimming with brown liquid dotted with white splotches of cream. The fabric samples from You Bet I Do were completely saturated.

“Oopsies.”

“Eh.” Sadie waved a dismissive hand. “Don't worry. I'll set a trend with my mocha-­colored wedding veil. Amy can take all the credit.”

When Donna got a call from Crush Taylor asking her to meet him at the stadium, she clocked out early from work. Whatever Crush wanted, it must have something to do with Mike, and that was worth missing a few hours of pay.

It would have been harder to walk into the familiar stadium, which was saturated with memories of Mike, if she hadn't heard that he wasn't due back until after his brother's funeral. Even so, she had to force a smile when she spotted Trevor Stark and Dwight Conner at the other end of the corridor. Oddly enough, they both wore Disney princess costumes. Or something. She wasn't completely sure because they practically ran out of sight.

“It's for the kids at Kilby Community Hospital,” explained Crush when she'd settled herself onto a chair before his massive oak desk. “Cheers them up to see big baseball players making asses of themselves. Luckily, that's second nature to some of these guys. Making asses of ourselves, that is.”

“I wish I could take a picture for Zack. My little boy,” she explained.

“I'm familiar. I have all your press clippings from the world's shortest engagement.” He gave her a lazy wink.

“Sorry about that. I know it was supposed to help the Catfish with their image.”

He waved her off. “The list of things that are more important than the Catfish image is growing every day. You heard about Mike's brother?”

“Yes. How is Mike?”

He gave her a sharp glance. Usually Crush exuded a dissolute air, as if he was constantly grappling with a hangover. Today his eyes didn't look quite as bloodshot as normal. “So you're not in touch with him?”

“No.”

“Do you have a problem with seeing him?”

“No. I mean, he might have a problem seeing me, but I won't know until I see him. If I see him. Do you mind . . . why are you asking?”

“I'd like to hire you.”

Her mouth fell open. Of all the things she'd speculated about, none had included a job offer. “To do what?” She couldn't even come up with a possibility. “I have two skills, scheduling root canals and babysitting.”

He shuddered. “Two things that sound like hell on earth to me.” He fingered the cap of his flask, but she noticed that he didn't open it.

“Do some of the players have kids? Do you want me to babysit? Because I don't really do child care anymore. I mean, I love it, but the lawyer told me I need something that has health insurance and . . .”

“I can put you on the staff plan. That's not a worry. But you wouldn't be babysitting, at least in the traditional sense. Though my players certainly have room for growth in their maturity level. Mike Solo being the rare exception.”

“I still don't understand. You want me to babysit the players?”

“No, no. Angeline, our promotions girl, just gave her notice. Actually, she didn't give notice. She just left. Ran off with a RiverCat pitcher, can you imagine? We all thought she was screwing Stark. Bieberman locked himself in the bathroom when he heard the news.”