“I have to leave work early and get on the freeway to San Diego. And when he’s across the country, I’ll get on a plane Friday afternoons and take an overnight back on Sundays until school ends.”
“You know that’s crazy, right? I mean, I’m assuming he’s great in bed, but I’m sorry, I don’t know if any man is worth all that confusion.”
We stood for the “Star Spangled Banner.”
“He is.” I leaned in and whispered, “He’s completely worth it.”
She smiled, bumping me with her hip. “Good.”
He was worth it. Every hour of lost sleep. Every inconvenience. Every moment I wanted to shake him and say, “It’s your talent! Can you please own it so I can get to bed early?”
He needed the routine I gave. When he was away midweek and I had to work, I watched from a stool at the bar. His failures seemed bigger and his successes more modest. For a moment, I thought there might be something to the superstition. Maybe he did need me. Even if it was all in his head, maybe he needed me.
By June, I was wrecked.
“I think I miscalculated,” he said in the airport after a night game in St. Louis.
I would be getting off the plane to be shuttled right to Hobart Elementary, where Jim was covering the first half hour of the library schedule in case there was traffic.
“Miscalculated what?”
We sat on a leather couch in the first-class lounge. He draped his arm around the back and tenderly stroked pieces of my hair off my neck. I was flipping through a magazine, but the pages couldn’t hold my attention.
“You have dark circles under your eyes.”
“I can’t think. I feel like I live in peanut butter.” I tossed the magazine aside. “Two more weeks. Then I can go around with you all the time. I’ll find an apartment when you have that double home stand in July.”
“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he said. “I want you to move in with me.”
“That’s not going to help.”
“You won’t have to look for an apartment. And it’ll just cut a step out of the travel.”
“I don’t know,” I said, resting my head on his chest. “Maybe I’ll get used to the peanut butter.”
“I love peanut butter.”
I bent my neck, resting my head on the back of the couch. “I love you too.”
He kissed me, and I could have dropped off with the softness of his lips on mine and the smell of summer grass around me, but they announced my flight.
“Think about it,” he said when he picked up my bag.
“I will. I’ll see you Friday.” I kissed him, grateful that he’d be home for the weekend series and I could sleep.
fifty-one
Dash
The slumps usually started at my second at bat if she wasn’t there. Sometimes I walked or the other guys were at the top of their game so no one could tell. But I could. I felt it because things got harder. I felt as though I was hanging on by my fingernails.
“You’re psyching yourself out,” Youder said for the hundredth time.
We were on a plane back from St. Louis, and he thought now was the perfect opportunity to lay down more mentoring. I wanted to punch him sometimes.
I put my seat back. “I’m fine. It’s up and down for everyone.”
The truth of that, even as it came out of my mouth, had no effect on me. I was just saying words. I knew I was down when she wasn’t there and up when she was. Any statistician could see my weekdays away sucked.
I had a hundred things to say about Vivian. But the most important was that with her, I felt loved. Really loved. All of me. The non-medicated, not-charming, awkward son of a bitch who read too much and had learned to juggle balls to calm down.
I sent her library fruit and candy, boxes of pens and sticky notes. Anything she mentioned the kids needed. It wasn’t enough. She drove herself to the edge of exhaustion to be at my games. She had to quit that job because as nice as it was to be loved without limits, she was hitting a physical barrier.
She waited for me at the gate with a sign that said KING OF ELYSIAN. She wore a skirt, and if I looked under it, I knew I’d find something that would keep us up half the night.
I kissed her right there and took her home.
fifty-two
Vivian
He started kissing me when we were barely in the door, dropping his bags on the hardwood with a clap. He was more intense after a series away, less controlled. His hands went up my skirt and grabbed my ass hard. Yes, it hurt. Yes, it turned me on.
I kissed him back, reaching under his shirt for the hard muscle that waited for me. I felt suddenly empty, wanting, awake and ready.
He pushed me onto a barstool and yanked my legs open, exposing the new stockings and garter belt I’d bought for him.
“Yes,” was all he said as he spread my arms over the counter. “Stay still. I’m going to taste that delicious *.”
“Okay, I—”