Parked cars and vans lined both shoulders on Royal Oak Road, however, I sped along the road alone until another car turned onto the street from two blocks behind me. No joggers or dog walkers visible in the neighborhood of green-shuttered, white-shingled, and redbrick houses up on hills or nestled in lush landscaping behind picket fences.
A mile in, I made a left at the stop sign. I remembered the first time I drove up the same street four years ago with Dilly Silva, Mom’s good friend and Encino real estate agent extraordinaire. When Jarret’s trade to the Dodgers brought us to my hometown, Dilly found the three-bedroom, white stucco, adobe-roofed dream of a house in the hills above the San Fernando Valley. As great as the house and neighborhood were, I knew then I wouldn’t live there for long. My fifteen-year marriage was on life support before we moved in. Laycee was the last of Jarret’s flings—I filed for divorce and moved out six months later.
I hooked a sharp left up the hill toward his house, then a quick right through his open gate. At the top of the sunflower-lined driveway, Jarret stood waiting for me. Six feet of tanned, sinewy muscles, a jackpot smile, and messy sandy brown hair, he jogged in place by three cardboard boxes on the asphalt near the garage. I shut off the ignition and popped open my trunk.
“You’re late,” Jarret said.
“I got sidetracked. Laycee Huber showed up at your gym this morning.”
“Who?”
“Don’t,” I said, annoyed by his pretense of ignorance. “I’m surprised she didn’t call you the minute she got to town.”
“Why would she?”
“Why wouldn’t she?” I turned away, concealing my irritation. Why did I bring her up? To provoke him? Hurt myself? I thought I had moved past the sting of their betrayal. Guess not.
“Forget her. Are these the right boxes?”
I checked the cartons on the stoop. “Liz psych textbooks 1 of 4,” “Liz cookbooks 2 of 4,” and “Liz book-books 4 of 4.” I left four boxes behind in his garage when I moved out. “There’s one missing.”
“Those are the only ones I found.” He looked at his watch then rolled his shoulders. “You can stay and go through the garage yourself. I have to leave in a few minutes. It’s game day. I can’t be late for my run.”
“I don’t have time either,” I said. “The plumber will be at my house in a half hour.”
“I’ll search again later. If I see the other box, I’ll call you. Mind coming back?”
“As long as I don’t run into any of your female houseguests. You don’t want the ex-wife showing up to spoil your love life.”
He grinned. “Thanks, but you already do, Lizzie-Bear. When they get that look on their face like they want to move in and redecorate, I call them by your name or talk about how much I still love you.”
“That’s mean, Jarret. You’ll be a lot happier if you’d let a woman get close to you again.”
“Not the ones I’ve been dating lately. A model here, an old friend there. No one special. No one as special as you are.”
We locked eyes for a moment. I shook my head. “I prefer being your friend. You deserve a woman who will love you in return, Jarret.”
And that was about as much affection as I could dish out and he could handle. He turned and loaded the boxes into my trunk then closed the lid. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be pitching relief tonight. Are you coming to the game?”
“With the whole family. It’s Dad’s birthday.”
“Are you getting Walter another autographed ball?”
My shoulders sunk. “I’m trying, but can’t seem to find one Dad doesn’t already have. I’m starting to panic.”
Each year for his birthday, I gave Dad a small box wrapped in blue and tied with a red ribbon—the Chicago Cubs’ team colors—holding a baseball autographed by one of the old Cub players. “Last year I gave him a ball signed by Ernie Banks, his favorite player when he was a kid. I need to find something before Mom’s party for him Saturday night.”
“What if I get the current Cubs players to sign a baseball for him? Would that work?”
“He’d love it. But I can’t ask you to go into the Cubs’ locker room to get autographs for me. It’s insulting to you.”
He waved me off. “It’s no big deal. An old friend of mine from back in the minors is on their pitching staff. I’ll call him for the autographs this afternoon. The ball will be in your hands by Saturday.”
“That would be amazing. How can I thank you?”
“Spend the weekend with me,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes. “We’ll make like old times.”
I laughed. “And that’s not going to happen. Maybe I’ll buy Dad a watch.”
“Okay, okay. No thanks needed. I’ll get the ball signed.” Jarret smirked. “Tell Walter it’s nothing personal when I pulverize his Cubs from the mound tonight. My old man will be watching the game in Illinois. Twists up his loyalties bad every time I pitch against his beloved Cubbies, and I have a strong hunch about this game. Ma still can’t understand why I won’t apply for a job with a Chicago team. She’ll never get it.”