Called Out

by Jen Doyle

  “What happened?” Nate said, the second Lola disappeared down his hallway, the kids following her.

  “Nothing,” Jack said, his eyes on her until she was clear around the corner.

  Nate’s lips set into a grim line. “Did you—”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Jack snapped.

  He felt like shit immediately.

  Nate would lose it occasionally, although rarely with Jack since Jack tended to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, joking occasionally when the situation required it but never getting close enough to show he cared. But he’d never snapped at Nate. Ever.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just... The time is coming to an end, you know?”

  Nate stared at Jack for a minute before looking down the hallway after where Lola had gone. “Yeah, I know. All too well.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Did you ever think maybe it could just keep going?”

  Nate, of all people, knew better than that. “You know where I come from. You know what I have to give.” Baseball was the only place where the damage he could do was a good thing. Thankfully, Nate let it go for the rest of the night.

  Jack had to remind himself why he was keeping his distance first thing Christmas morning, however, as he lay in his bed listening to the boys run down from the second floor, their excitement palpable even two floors down. He never expected they might bypass the living room entirely to come and get him first.

  He had to remind himself again when he saw Lola sitting in her flannel heart pajama pants, a plain pink top, and the gray wrap sweater she wore around the house. He wanted to wrap her into his arms and chase the sadness from her eyes—sadness he put there.

  He had to remind himself as he pretended to know what it was like to excitedly unwrap gifts chosen by someone who loved you, rather than a savings bond your father’s secretary had been instructed to pick up.

  And he had to remind himself when he saw the joy in the boys’ eyes when they opened their presents from him, including the pint-sized Watchmen ball caps labeled One, Two, Three and Si, and the promise of six seats in the owner’s box whenever they wanted to come see a game. Sam had come through for him big-time on that.

  All of that might have been manageable if not for the pile of presents they saved for the end: presents for him. He’d just been sitting there watching, keeping to himself as much as possible, when he realized one of the boys had said his name. He sat up straighter.

  “For me?” he asked, the surprise so great he couldn’t hide it in his voice. Not that he could have if he tried. Lola already knew him far too well.

  “From us,” James said.

  Jack pasted the usual smile on his face, afraid to betray too much. “Thanks, James.”

  “You called him James!” Silas said.

  Well...huh. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

  “You have to open it first,” Emmet said.

  “Then you say thanks,” said Luke.

  “Right.” Jack coughed, trying to hide the scratchiness in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d unwrapped a present. It had to have been years. And that was nothing when he realized the gift inside was a drawing they’d made. Three tiny stick figures, all wearing T-shirts with a big number one on them. A slightly bigger figure, with Silas’s name printed underneath and a huge smile on his face. And then the biggest stick figure of all, wearing a baseball hat that said Ice on it, and with, well, a very large, very awkwardly placed baseball bat resting between his legs.

  Thank God, because if it weren’t for that bat, he might have broken down like a little baby. He cleared his throat....

  “You’re supposed to be swinging the bat,” Silas said, “but we couldn’t figure that part out. Mommy said it would be okay.”

  “My exact words,” she said, “were that you would think it was a somewhat accurate representation.”

  Jack coughed as he tried not to laugh, knowing it would only offend them. “Very accurate.”

  “We wanted you to have something to bring with you when you go play baseball,” Silas said, always the spokesman for the younger crowd. “You can hang it up in the locker room.”

  “Or, maybe,” Lola said, “in the privacy of your own home.” Now she was truly smiling, laughter shining in her eyes.

  “Hanging accurately and privately,” he said, a smile on his own face. “Got it.”

  She snorted and looked away.

  In all seriousness, though. “That’s amazing, guys. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

  “These, too,” James said, depositing the three remaining boxes in his lap. “These are from Mommy.”

  He looked up at her as she drew her knees up to her chest. “Open the small one last,” she said.

  Putting that aside, he went for the biggest box to start—and it was pretty big. The second he started to open it he stopped, not quite able to breathe over the lump in his throat. The boys, seeing his hesitation, jumped in to help despite Lola’s protests to give him a minute. A thousand minutes wouldn’t have been enough.

  It was a collage of pictures from his time here.

  Well, from his time since Nate had told them all they had to be nice to him, but still...

  Most of the photos were of the others—combinations of all of Nate’s and Lola’s friends and family, various kids included. But he was in some of them, too. There was a shot of him and Nate high-fiving over a play in some game they’d been watching at the bar. One of him with all the boys piled up on top of him from that day they’d played baseball. And one of him standing out in the backyard with Lola, holding Four between them as a barrier to keep him from leaning down and kissing her, but with no question that’s what he wanted to do, given the look in his eyes. The look in her eyes was...

  Christ.

  “You can put it in your apartment,” Silas said, saving Jack from complete embarrassment as he otherwise would have lost it completely. “Where you have all your other pictures in that hallway.”

  “Honey, those other pictures are really expensive,” Lola said gently, always thinking ahead and no doubt wanting Silas not to be disappointed if he did ever happen to visit again and not see this there. “Jack has a lot of other rooms he can put it in.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said, working at sounding strong and steady. “I know exactly where I’m going to put it.” Over the fireplace he often sat in front of so that when he gave up and drank himself to oblivion, he’d have something to think about on the ride down.

  “Next one,” Lola clipped, her voice nevertheless sounding too thick for him to chance looking at her right now.

  So he took the next box and opened it...and broke into much-needed laughter. He held the box up to her. “Dryer sheets?”

  The smile she gave made him want to reach across the couch and devour her. “Because I’ve never met a man who liked doing laundry so much.”

  “That I do,” he answered, the rasp fully back in his voice.

  Her cheeks reddened, and her own voice was on the rough side as she said, “One more to go.”

  It was a small rectangular box. “I always wanted a harmonica,” he said, making a guess.

  “Nice try,” Lola said. “Keep going.”

  As he turned it over, he could hear something rattling inside. Opening it revealed a box of matches. He looked up at her, pretty sure he was getting the message although he wanted to see it in her eyes just to make sure. She nodded, her gaze unwavering even as the tears threatened. “Open it up,” she said.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he looked back down and slid the box open finding, yes, sturdy wooden matches. But nestled in among them was a thick silver chain. As he pulled it out, one of the triplets yelled, “Ewww. Mom, boys don’t wear necklaces!”

  “Rico Castillo wears one all the time,” Silas said, knocki
ng his brother on the shoulder.

  “Hands and bodies to yourself,” Lola said, separating the two, which gave Jack a few moments in which to regain his composure. Again.

  He lifted it out of the box, wrapping the long chain around his hand, his eyes focused on the design itself, a flame made up mostly of icy smooth silver but with hints of orange and red flashing as it caught the light.

  “You’ll never be Ice to me,” she said softly, yet her words were somehow clear despite the boys’ chattering. Her voice was the one thing he always heard no matter how much noise surrounded him.

  If he weren’t here under false pretenses—if he weren’t pretending that he didn’t think of her all the time, gravitate toward her, want to touch her always—he would have wrapped her up in his arms and kept her there until he faded into dust. But since he was here under false pretenses, he just looked at her.

  “My turn,” he said, his voice low but not at all unsure. Not when it came to her.

  Never when it came to her.

  Her eyes widened a little as she glanced under the tree, which was now empty. Because he hadn’t wrapped it. Because he wasn’t good at this. He didn’t belong here. This was all entirely new to him and he hadn’t expected to be a part of it. An envelope full of season passes and some little things for the kids had been easy. Lola’s gift was something else entirely.

  “Guys,” he said, his voice cutting through the din. They all looked up at him. “Silas, can you watch your brothers and Four for a minute? I need to show your mom something in the kitchen.” He didn’t even wait for the response, counting on their excitement as they opened up all their new toys. He took advantage, grabbing her hand and pulling her off the couch to follow after him.

  Her squeal only attracted disinterested glances from the boys, so he figured he was good to go for at least a few minutes. Normally he would have taken full advantage to ravish her after not being able to touch her for the whole morning...

  Scratch that. He pushed her up against the refrigerator and kissed her, savoring the taste and feel of her. Then he pulled back, allowing himself a few more seconds to fully appreciate the dazed look in her eyes before saying, “Wait here.”

  As Christmas mornings went, this was quickly becoming one of Lola’s favorites. Oh, sure, she could give in to the overwhelming despair that Christmas had brought about for the last three years, made not at all better by the knowledge that Jack was leaving soon. But, damn it, it was her favorite holiday, and despite being a little more emotional than usual, seeing Silas’s unabashed Christmas morning smile for the first time since Dave had died was almost enough to smash that despair into smithereens.

  Jack came back up the stairs, his hands behind his back.

  “Is that something for me?” She was pretty sure she already knew the answer to that one. “Please tell me it’s not another puppy,” she said. “Maybe it’s an airplane? A trip to Disneyworld?”

  He laughed. “No. I’ve learned my lesson.” He tipped his chin up. “Close your eyes.”

  “No naughtiness on Christmas morning,” she said, unable to keep from smiling.

  “Stop stalling.” He came right up close, enough so that she could feel the heat of him. She closed her eyes. “Hold out your hands flat.” She did, and he placed something in them. “Okay. Open.”

  She did. And then she closed them again, not sure if she’d just imagined it. Because what she’d seen was a perfect miniature wooden replica of her farmhouse, complete with a tiny string of lights.

  She opened her eyes again, and the tears she’d been holding back all morning began to fall. “Where did you get this?”

  “I made it.”

  “What?” Her eyes snapped up to his. “You made this? How?”

  He shrugged. “There’s not much for me to do at the house right now...”

  Right. Because Aaron’s crew had just finished the major demo and replaced all the windows the first week they came on and were now focused on the interior framing.

  “And there are only so many hours a day I can work out,” he said. “I mean, I could sit outside of the school all day, or try to go into the boys’ classrooms with them, but I already have a bad enough reputation. Being arrested for stalking your kids is probably not the best idea.”

  With a laugh, she said, “Probably not.”

  He moved in closer, his arms long enough for him to bend down and kiss her forehead while still keeping the perfect frame around her as she held the house in her hands. “And I had to do something to keep me from sitting at your bar all day, because that would be downright creepy.”

  “And Deke would kill you,” she said, trying to hide her sniffle even as she turned her head, making sure his lips found hers.

  “That, too.”

  How could he not understand he was built for this, even now?

  The sound from the living room made its way down the hall and he pulled away just as the boys came running in, so she didn’t have a chance to say anything. Nor did she have a chance to say something during the next week, what with the kids being out of school, or the week after that, because of Silas running a fever and being home sick for three days. Then a pipe burst at the farmhouse, and the rest of life went along as usual, and they got closer and closer to the day she knew was coming even though she didn’t know the exact date. She found she couldn’t bring herself to even ask Dorie when it might be, much less Jack.

  She figured she’d find out anyway on the Sunday night two weeks after New Year’s, because Nate, Dorie, and Jules and her kids had all come over for dinner and games. They were just putting dessert out when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it!” Silas yelled, jumping out of his seat, the younger boys immediately behind him.

  “Don’t open that door until I say it’s okay!” she shouted after them.

  Although it was probably just one of the neighbors—no doubt complaining about the extra cars parked outside her house—Lola jumped up, too. She didn’t like the sound of doorbells, especially when she wasn’t expecting anyone, and she absolutely didn’t want the boys answering to someone unseen. Odds were that it wasn’t some axe murderer about to come in and murder her entire family, but odds also weren’t that a policeman would show up on her doorstep to say her husband was dead. Until the situation was in hand, she wouldn’t quite be able to breathe.

  “It’s some guy,” Silas said as he peeked out the side window, an ever so helpful description.

  She nudged the boys back as she opened the door. A shockingly handsome older man stood there, the look on his face one of clear bewilderment as he looked past her, his eyes dropping down to the boys. It wasn’t until he stepped forward, almost as if he was coming inside whether he was invited or not, that Lola noticed a woman standing behind him.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, a little afraid that the woman might fall over, given how willowy and vacant she seemed.

  The man’s eyes came back to hers, as if he’d forgotten there was an actual person standing in front of him. “I’m looking for...” And then they moved to something behind her.

  Jack.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. His hand went to her shoulder, his eyes an odd mixture of fire and ice.

  Ah. His parents.

  “Boys,” she said, “why don’t you go tell the others we’ll be back in a few minutes.” She stood back to let Jack’s parents inside. Neither one of them made any attempt to greet him or look at her. They just walked past her.

  “How...cute,” Jack’s mother said, looking around Lola’s front hallway in wonder. She looked down at the side table and Lola was half expecting her to run her finger along it to test for dust. She would have found it.

  “What are you doing here?” Jack asked, ignoring his mother.

  “I told you,” his father said, clapping Jack on t
he shoulder, “we wanted to see you.” He shook his head as he looked around, the question clear in his eyes, What kind of place is this? His eyes finally came back to Lola’s and there was a whole new question: This is your whore?

  Lola wasn’t sure whether to be offended or outraged. Then, dismissing her entire existence, he turned his back on her as he asked Jack, “What are you doing here?” Somewhat stunned to have been literally backed into a corner in her own home, Lola didn’t move. Not until Jack reached for her hand, pulled her out from behind his father and placed her in front of him with his hands on her shoulders. “This is Lola, and this is her house. Maybe we could try this again.”

  Not quite sure of the protocol for a situation like this, Lola decided to go the polite route. She stuck her hand out. “I’m Lola. Welcome.”

  Jack’s parents both looked down at her, his mother with an overly bright smile and his father just, well, looking. He didn’t take her hand, but instead gave her a slow once-over. Assessing, not leering, but it was highly uncomfortable all the same. Then his eyes swept the hallway, lingering for a few seconds on the photo of Dave in his dress uniform before coming back to meet Jack’s gaze. His eyebrows raised, he gave a derisive snort that, in itself, was enough to get her blood boiling. She kept herself in check, though, her hand closing over Jack’s as he tensed. But then Jack’s father brought his gaze down to hers and said, “Don’t get your hopes up too high. Jack is exceedingly good at disappointment.”

  Lola saw red. Bright, flaming darts of red. She couldn’t imagine ever saying anything like that in the presence of one of her children. She couldn’t imagine ever thinking that. Of course she also considered it an achievement when all four boys remembered to put their pants on before leaving the house, so maybe she wasn’t the best judge.

  The man was intimidating, no doubt. He was an inch or two shorter than Jack, but brawnier and with an expression so sharp she could feel it cut into her. She had a feeling he noticed her instinctive reaction, which was to take a step back and get the hell out of his way. But there was no way she was letting this man talk to her like that in her own home. Talk to her about Jack that way. Managing not only to stand her ground but to also give a cool smile of her own, she said, “I can assure you, Mr. Oxford, Jack hasn’t disappointed me yet.” Then she pulled Jack’s hand down in front of her to rest on her waist, knowing exactly how intimate of a gesture it was. “He’s been more than I could have hoped for. So much more.”