“But you saw the kiss he blew into the stands, right?” Gretchen said.
I smiled, amused by the delight on her face. “I did. And don’t worry about his attitude. He’ll make a comeback with his pitching game. He always does. It’s a long season.”
Mom and Robin met me at the top of the stairs. “Liz, are you meeting Jarret at the pub later?” Mom said.
I exchanged quick good-byes with Gretchen and her friend. As they disappeared into the exiting throng, I said to Mom, “Believe me, Jarret would rather hang out with his pals at Fifth Base than with any of us. Especially tonight.”
Robin, Mom, and I followed the crowd to the escalators with Dad, Nick, and Dave leading the way. When we reached the field level, Mom pulled me to the side. “I feel bad for Jarret. Someone has to cheer him up. You should call him, Liz.”
“Not my job anymore. If you’re concerned about him, call him in the morning. I have a feeling he’ll be busy tonight.”
Jarret soothed his losses with rebellion. Back in the minor leagues, he broke training with a few beers and went to bed. When he entered the majors, the beers became scotch or pain pills. Age and wear on his arm only served to escalate his dejection over losing. During his worst slump, a disastrous road trip with the Braves, I called his hotel room to comfort him and a woman answered. The next day he swore I’d called the wrong number. Women, each with a different voice, began phoning our house. I refused to stoop to searching through his cell phone messages or texts. The day before I found Laycee’s bra under our bed, he had pitched a horrible game to the Phillies. His losses and our marriage went down together.
Robin waited in the aisle for us to catch up then we followed our guys into the parking lot.
“Thank you for inviting me to the game, Viv. I had a great time,” Robin said.
“Dear, I’m sorry we weren’t able to chat more. I expect you and Dave at the house Saturday night for Walter’s birthday barbeque. And don’t let Dave try to back out with a work excuse. I know all the ploys homicide detectives use to get out of going to functions. I cured Walter of his habit by throwing parties at home. I can give you a few other good tricks to use.”
“Oh, I’m sure Robin has plenty of tricks to keep Dave in line,” I said, laughing.
Robin blushed. “I want to hear everything you know, Viv. We’ll be there. Should I bring anything?”
“Whatever you want to, dear. What will you be bringing from your brand-new kitchen, Liz?” Mom said.
“Wine.”
I stopped to give Dad another birthday hug and smooch, and then Dave, Robin, Nick, and I left my folks in the lot with promises to regroup on Saturday.
As we walked to his car, Nick pointed at the waning crescent glowing over the hills around the stadium parking lot. “The moon will be full in a few nights. The spirits are getting restless.”
“I think your spirits made enough trouble for tonight,” I said.
“You mean Jarret? Live by superstition, die by superstition.”
“I was thinking more about what spooked the pigeon to fly into him.”
“Ah, the white pigeon. Remind me to make a donation to the home for orphaned pigeons. That bird helped the Cubs win the game. I wonder if Jarret has heard about the legend.”
“What legend?”
“White pigeons are death omens.”
“What’s with omens and birds, Nick? Seriously, last year you and Robin had me dodging crows. Now you’re warning me about pigeons?” I laughed. “Forget it. Have you looked around the city lately? We’re surrounded by them.”
Nick opened the door of his SUV for me, tossed his cap into the backseat, and started the engine. I relaxed in the passenger seat for the slow ride to the freeway and home. As we inched into the thick stream of traffic creeping out of Dodger Stadium a sour, yeasty odor permeated the car.
“What’s that awful smell?” I said, wrinkling my nose.
Nick tossed me a glance. “I didn’t want to say anything, but…”
I sniffed a strand of my hair. Oh no. Me. The stink was on me—my hair and skin reeked from the odor of dried beer. I put down my window. Nick put down his. The loud blast of hot air blowing into the car and the freeway noise outside kept our conversation to a minimum all the way to Studio City. He parked in front of my house and we walked inside.
“I have to get out of these clothes and clean up,” I said.
“How? Did the plumber put in your showers and tub already?”
“Not even close. I can’t go to bed smelling like this. I’ll wash my hair in the sink and take another sponge bath after you leave.”
“I have a better idea,” he said, tugging at a strand of my sticky hair.
“What?” I moved close, wanting to kiss him. The stench stopped me. I knew Nick loved me but embracing my smelly body warranted combat pay.
“Where did you put the garden hose I bought you?”
“Are you serious?”
Nick curled his mouth into a sexy, evil grin. “As serious as a shower and nightcap in your backyard. Take off your clothes, get some towels, and meet me outside.”