This Much Is True (11 page)

On some twisted level, I even cherish her note. Now, I feel for it in the back of my jean’s pocket, where I’d put it before making my run to the main house, just wanting to make sure it’s still there. And yet some distant part of me begins to feel the inevitable disenchantment with all of this—with
her
. It’s growing steadier inside because, even though this girl had been calling me Elvis from the moment we met, she obviously doesn’t remember me saving her, and I can’t decide if I’m more wounded by that fact or her thank-you note or now learning she lied to me about how old she was in the first place. If Holly is still in high school, and I am almost twenty-three, and she clearly isn’t, it’s done. It’s over.
Wow.
The thank-you note holds a whole new meaning and a completely different kind of innuendo. Was she making fun of me the whole time, going from laughing to crying to laughing again and getting under my skin in all these different, almost-permanent ways, while her intention all along was to dupe the baseball player from Stanford by lying about her age because she was still in high school?

Defeat sets in, because, if she’s still in high school like Charlie’s ex, the situation is impossible. It isn’t going to happen.
Nada. Done.
I am so done with it. Anger begins to filter its way through, eclipsing past the shock I felt for the last few minutes at the idea that she’s still in high school. I have to admit that this girl
Holly
is a true mindfuck, both literally as well as figuratively. I shake my head side-to-side with this growing sense of distrust. Granted, she is a beautiful girl, unlike anyone I’d ever known, with her long, dark hair and those incredible green eyes and that unforgettable dancer’s body. She is off the charts in every way. This girl’s the true kaleidoscope for me because she’s edgy and fun and complicated. This girl’s clearly an original. She’s unique in every way I can possibly think of and could certainly be classified as completely amazing. Deep down, I can’t ever imagine getting tired of looking at her or hearing her speak or just listening to her breathe. Yet, regardless of how much my instincts tell me that she probably needs saving—she’s worth saving, in fact, more than any other girl I’ve ever been with—it can’t happen with her again.

I have too much at stake.

My rising baseball career. My genuine reputation.

My general well-being.

My mind begins to race with all these incomplete thoughts.
Is she a minor? What are the age limits for sex with a minor in the state of California? What if she isn’t even eighteen?
If my dad ever found out I’d been with someone who is still in high school…well, there’d be hell to pay.

I got off easy. I’m lucky.

I don’t feel lucky.
Right now, I feel like shit even though I may have gotten off easy. I can turn this thing around right now by not seeing her again. No, being with her won’t happen again. Not with this girl. Not in this town. After today, I’ll be gone—back to Stanford and baseball that will take us up and down the West Coast for NCAA Regionals. It can’t happen soon enough. The sooner, the better.

“You okay?” Charlie asks me again.

“I’m…fine.” These were Holly’s same exact words from the night before. She lied about her age. What else did she lie to me about? I remember her looking up at me with this faraway look, and I’d felt the sadness in her. Then she smiled at me and saw only me, or so it seemed. Of course, I knew what could make her so unhappy. At the time, I was determined to be the one that helped her forget…about the accident and the loss of her sister—for a little while. I shake my head again to clear all these racing thoughts of this amazing girl because I have to stop thinking about her. I have to stop.
I have to.
This won’t happen with her again.

“Marla always did her own thing. She still does.” Charlie gets this uneasy half-smile and looks bleak as he glances over at his mom. “She’s pretty independent with all that stuff. It’s better that way for both of us. I’m not sure who she hangs out with anymore.” Charlie hangs his head again and avoids looking at either one of us. It is an obvious indication that the subject is now closed. “I’m sorry about the party. It won’t happen again.”

“I know. I think you understand the consequences.” She glides toward the open doorway that leads to the living room. “Just promise me that you won’t allow under-age drinking here again. I don’t want to worry your dad.”

“I promise.” Charlie sighs. “Anyway, Mom, do you need us to go to the store before Linc and I head to his game, or what? Dad says you do.”

“Yes. I have a list. I need pies. Cherry, if you can find it.” Aunt Gina looks a little concerned as she hands Charlie three twenties for the store. She glances over at me with a quizzical look. “Everything okay?”

I nod and attempt to follow their back and forth banter as a way to put my mind at ease about the girl from last night, but it’s not working.

“How come Linc doesn’t get a ration about a girl?” Charlie asks while he heads for the side kitchen door and grabs his car keys from the wooden rack.

“Because Linc treats women better than you do, Charlie.”

“Not true. I treat them fine, and Linc’s not perfect when it comes to women. Are you, Linc?” Charlie shoots me a knowing glance and wickedly smiles.

I remain silent and shrug into my leather jacket and hope my aunt doesn’t pursue this line of questioning. Dipping my head, I avoid looking directly at her. “Baseball is easier,” I say, hoping to end the conversation.

There have been a few escapades over the past few years in L.A. involving some noteworthy girls from UCLA on my infrequent visits to Charlie’s place by the beach the last couple of times. Yes, there have been questionable moments for Charlie and me with a few hook-ups gone wild. These didn’t bode well for either one of us or our reputations about treating women better than most of the guys we hang out with. We’ve always held onto those hellish secrets just between us. I am a little taken aback that Charlie would be so cavalier and bring them up in front of his mom now. Other than last night with Holly, I haven’t hooked up with a girl in a long while, since Nika Vostrikova from my stats class last year at Stanford. Nika still shows up at most of my games, but she surrounds herself with various friends—usually guys—at all times. I’ve been too busy with baseball this past season to take a break and actually breathe and have a little fun. Until last night. With Holly. Disappointment seeps into me. I ache all over.

Too much alcohol?
Not really.

Too much sex?
Is that possible?

Too much emotional entanglement?
Most definitely.

“I can’t win with women—you or Marla,” Charlie is saying. He holds up his hands in protest.

“Not true,” Gina says with a gentle knowing smile. “I love you. Marla must still have feelings for you, too, since she came to see you again after all that went on between the two of you.” Aunt Gina gets this somewhat serious look as she gazes affectionately at her son. “Give it some time, okay?”

“And, for the record,” Charlie says and pauses for a moment and then sighs. “She turned me down. When I said I wanted to get back together? Marla said, ‘
no way
.’”

At Charlie’s revelation, Gina goes over and embraces him even though he’s a good six inches taller than she is. “If it’s meant to be, it will work itself out somehow. Love always does,” she says. “Right now? You need to concentrate on graduating and getting into med school, right? Marla will figure things out for herself soon enough. Time will do that. Nobody has the world figured out at eighteen—not even at twenty-one. Trust me.”

“She’s not even going to be here. She’s going back to New York.”

“She’ll come back.”

Charlie looks at his mom with newfound doubt. He shakes his head side-to-side. “She says she won’t be coming back.”

“Trust me. I know what I’m talking about. Besides, you’re at UCLA. If she’s in New York, why does that even matter?” Gina asks with a little laugh.

“Palo Alto is a whole lot
safer
place for her to be.”

“You mean because your friends here can keep an eye on her and respect your off-limits edict?”

“Something like that.” Charlie sounds defeated. It gets my attention.

“An eighteen-year-old girl does not know what she wants, even if she insists she does. Time and experience change those things—the ones that matter, anyway.
They do
. Believe me, I know.”

“Marla seems to know
exactly
what she wants. I just don’t fit into her plans,” Charlie mutters.

With that somewhat hopeless observation, he puts on a baseball cap and heads out the door before his mom can reach him with the damp kitchen towel she flips towards his backside in jest. We all laugh. I’m thankful for the distraction. I pull on a baseball cap like Charlie’s and promise my aunt that we’ll do our best to locate a cherry pie for her and follow him out the door.

* * * *

CHAPTER NINE

Tally  ~ Spell

H
e made me feel something. Different than all the other guys I’ve been with.
Better. Worse.
I slide out of bed, head to the bathroom, and turn the water on as hot as I can stand it. I lean against the shower wall and allow the spray to blast away at my head.
I can’t think about him. I have class. I have to focus.

I have to keep Marla at bay about last night; somehow, that resonates with me as important. I wash my hair and make good use of the ten minutes of self-talk, and the solace that only a hot shower can bring.

Within a half-hour, I’m dressed and downstairs putting hot tea in a to-go cup. My little brother Tommy eyes me from the kitchen table, where he’s busy shoveling milk and cereal into his mouth at a steady, recognizable boyish pace. I pause, practically in mid-flight at leaving, and smile over at him. He’s a miniature replica of our dad with these dazzling blue eyes and golden-blond hair that hasn’t been cut in a long while. I’m not the only one forgotten in the Landon household these days. My little brother epitomizes the look of unintentional neglect. He sports a wrinkled green-and-white-striped rugby shirt and blue jeans that look like they’ve missed the laundry cycle a few too many times.

Guilt squeezes my heart. I haven’t made a lot of time for Tommy. I’ve been keeping myself from emotionally drowning at Paly with the constant stares and sympathy over Holly, taking Tremblay’s ballet classes with even more ardent intensity, and maintaining an avid focus on packing up my life for the big move to New York in a matter of weeks.

His face scrunches up as he looks up at me. A mixture of disappointment and sadness crosses his features. I know he misses Holly. I would bet every time he looks at me; he’s reminded of her.

“What are you doing up so early?” I ask as I finish prepping my tea and anxiously check the bus schedule. I’ve got twelve minutes to get to my stop. I need to leave in two. I twist the cap on tea mug and open it and blow on it and take sip.

“I’ve got baseball practice at ten.” He looks at me closely. “Dad is taking me to the Stanford game this afternoon. Lincoln Presley’s pitching.” Tommy is a Cardinal fan since Dad went to school there. How could I have forgotten that my little brother, even at eight-years-old, has a boy’s devotion for Stanford and baseball and their star pitcher?

I promptly choke on my tea and look over at him. “You know who Lincoln Presley is?” I try to sound casual, but it comes out decidedly anxious instead.
Shit.

Tommy rolls his eyes. The extent of his world begins and ends with baseball, until hockey season and then football.

“Do
I
know who Lincoln Presley is? He’s only the best pitcher the Cardinal have, and the Angels and the Giants want him
bad
. Do
you
know him?”

My face gets red. This overriding need to impress my little brother wins out for some inexplicable reason. “I met him last night. We…spent some time together. He’s nice.” I turn away, preparing to leave, not wanting to get into a deep conversation about Lincoln Presley with the youngest member of my family.

“What?” I turn back to face Tommy and discover this look of pure amazement on my brother’s face. “Where?”

“At a…party…” I shrug. “His cousin is Charlie Masterson? Marla used to date Charlie. The Mastersons live about twelve blocks from here.
Anyway
. He’s nice.” I recap my tea ensuring the drinking slot is closed. “So, he’s good at baseball, huh?”

Tommy snorts. My lack of knowledge about baseball has him shaking his head in utter amazement that I don’t already know this. “He’s
really
good, Tally.
Really good.
Dad likes him, too.”

“Well, if Dad likes him, and you like him, then he must be good. The Landon men have given Linc their finest endorsement. He must be mighty fine,” I tease and then laugh.

He grins. “Are you going to see him again?” Tommy gets this wistful look and holds up his baseball as well as his favorite glove.

“No. No. I’m definitely not going to be seeing him again.”

This inexplicable feeling of disappointment comes over me in just admitting that I won’t be seeing him again. This strange sense of loss assails me from all sides.
Shit. No. Don’t think about him.
I smile uncertain at my little brother.

“Maybe you should come with us to the baseball game. You could see him again and ask him to sign my ball and my glove.” Tommy gets this charming, hopeful look.

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“‘We’ll see,’ means
no
.” He screws up his face and gets this disappointed look.

“I’ve got
class
. I’ll
think
about it. Okay?” I head toward the side door. “Tell Mom and Dad, I’ll be back around noon.”

Tommy still looks disappointed. “Say you’ll come. Come on. It’ll be fun. Dad has an extra ticket. Mom’s not going.” He inclines his head toward the direction of our parents’ master bedroom upstairs where my mother has been holed up for months. I nod into the silence, swayed by guilt over our mother’s continual absence from our lives and not wanting to be the one to disappoint Tommy, as well as experiencing this inexplicable desire to see Lincoln Presley again.

“Okay. I’ll try to be back in time so all three of us can go to the game. Okay?”

The things we do for love. The question is who am I doing it for? Tommy? Or myself? I don’t want to answer that particular question because, deep down, I know the answer isn’t about one little kid’s wish for his hero’s autograph. I can’t examine that too closely because that’s the most disturbing thought of all.

* * * *