He was planning on becoming the most tedious ex-legendary baseball player on earth.
It was the one thing he had never tried.
While the tea cooled, he dialed a number on his cell phone. He needed to contact Henrietta. Now that he had decided to go public, there was no better person to put in charge of alerting the press.
“Henrietta Stiles.” Her voice was as rich and smooth as smoked honey. “Business manager to the stars,” she said with more drama than necessary. It was her trademark.
Her voice was enough to make a man pause. Her physical appearance was not. Henrietta had the tenacity of a pit bull and the appearance of a fifties-style housewife—complete with pastel shirtwaist dresses and pearls. He and Grace had often wondered how Henrietta could be so successful, rubbing elbows with people who considered themselves the elite, without some upgrade in fashion rubbing off.
They had come to the conclusion that she was astute enough to deliberately dress like June Cleaver—making her the ultimate mother figure as she dealt with some of the most insecure people in the world.
“How are you doing, Henrietta?”
He heard a quick intake of breath. “Micah!”
It felt strange hearing himself called by his real name. In the past few months, he had become Joe Matthews. Micah Mattias was someone he didn’t know anymore.
“Where are you?” Henrietta asked. “Are you and Bobby okay?”
“We are.”
“Why haven’t you called? It’s been months! I’ve been so worried. And then the press found you and you disappeared again.”
“I’m safe.” He looked around at Abraham’s cottage. “For now.”
“Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”
It was tempting. Henrietta was, hands down, the most competent woman he had ever known. His wife would have been lost without her—the two of them had been together for years. Soon after his marriage, he had allowed Grace to talk him into letting Henrietta handle his business affairs. He had never regretted it.
“There’s no need for you to come, Henrietta. I have a place to stay, and Bobby is fine. He has a kitty cat now.”
“Where are you?” Her voice was insistent. “Hiding away like this isn’t healthy.”
“I’m back in Sugarcreek. I’m not hiding anymore.” He let that sink in a moment. “But I want to go public again. I’d like to give some interviews. Can you arrange that for me?”
Henrietta lived and breathed public relations. Her ability as a publicist was famous.
He could almost hear the wheels spinning in her head. “Oh, absolutely.”
He could picture her pulling a notepad and pen toward her and making notes in that heavy, spiky handwriting of hers.
“How about if I set up a phone interview with your old coach first?” she said. “Under the circumstances, there’s a chance he’ll take you back.”
Joe flexed his right shoulder. It still hurt.
“Don’t contact him,” he said. “Just alert the media for now. Call whoever you want to contact. I’ll talk to anyone. The sooner the better.”
Henrietta’s voice was unsure. “If you say so. What’s going on, Micah?”
“Have there been any updates from the police on Grace’s murder?”
“No. Nothing.” Henrietta hesitated. “The news said you were working as a handyman for some Amish people?” Her voice rose in question as though she couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“I am. It’s a long story, Henrietta. Listen, I need for you to send me some ID. I need to have access to my bank accounts again.”
“Can’t you just come home? I’ll reserve a flight immediately. You can be here within a few hours.”
“I appreciate all that you’ve done over the years, Henrietta. But there’s no ‘home’ for me to come back to. I want you to sell my house as soon as you can. Make sure you keep a nice commission for yourself.”
“You want to sell the house?”
“Yes. I’m planning on staying here.”
“Please, Micah—you aren’t thinking straight. If you’d just come back for a few weeks, maybe we could—”
He didn’t want to argue with her anymore. “I have to go, Henrietta.”
He heard her voice take on the businesslike tone he was used to. “Tell me where you’re staying.”
He gave her the address.
“I’ll make those calls now, Micah. Get braced for an onslaught.”
“Thanks, Henrietta.”
Before the news that he was no longer hiding hit the airwaves, there was one more phone call he needed to make.
The number had been written on a slip of paper, and he’d kept it in his wallet for years. The wallet was gone, along with the number, but the digits had been burned into his brain. His heart thudded against his chest as he dialed the number. He had no idea how this would turn out. He only knew that he needed to make this call. Now.
Sitting at the hospital while Eli struggled for every breath had shaken him to his core. There were no guarantees in this world that the people you loved would be here tomorrow. Each day was precious. Each moment was precious.
If it was within his power to do so, he was not going to allow one more day to slip by without inviting his father back into his life.
He didn’t know if it was just his imagination, but the ringing on the line seemed faint and far away. An ocean away.
A voice as familiar as his own answered. Joe closed his eyes in disappointment. It was only an answering machine.
“It’s Micah, Dad. I—I wanted to say that I’m sorry. About everything. I’d appreciate it if you would call me back when you get a chance.”
He gave his phone number and address and hung up. He’d made the first move. Would his father return his call?
With all his heart, he hoped so.
Chapter 23
Even though he was unconscious, Rachel held onto Eli’s work-roughened hand as though it were a lifeline. Both of his legs were in casts. Tubes snaked into and out of his body. Bandages wreathed his head, making it look twice its size.
“Your cousin Joseph would like to come in now to see his father, Rachel.” A daughter-in-law of Eli’s gently touched her shoulder. “He just arrived from Pennsylvania.”
“Of course.”
She reluctantly let go of Eli’s hand and left the room as Eli’s youngest son entered. The room was already filled with the maximum number of relatives the hospital allowed—all sitting vigil beside their patriarch’s bed. It would be selfish of her to take up space any longer.
Several members of Eli’s church sat quietly outside in the waiting room. Embedded within the Amish church members were the Keim twins, still dressed in their Englisch clothes but wearing hangdog expressions. Flanking them like battered bookends were their mother and father, who were pale and shaken but valiantly trying to absorb some of the great damage done by their unruly sons.
No fingers were being pointed, no accusations leveled. There would, of course, be no lawsuit brought against the boys—no matter how steep the hospital bill.
Unless she missed her guess, the Keim twins would be making their kneeling prayer of confession soon, accepting the rite of baptism that would ensure their place in the Amish church. Regardless of whether Eli lived or died, there would be no recriminations from the rest of the Amish population. Ever. Their shameful rumspringa would be forgiven and forgotten.
Nor would any Amish person blame her for chasing the Keim twins into Eli’s buggy. They would bow, instead, to what they saw as the will of God. It was their way. One she respected enormously—and understood the least.
Of course, no one had to blame her for the accident. She was too busy blaming herself.
She felt out of place in her police uniform as she made her way from Eli’s room and weaved through the quiet crowd to the exit. As much as she cherished her father’s relatives, she was not Amish, and that created a polite but permanent and invisible barrier about which she could do noth
ing except go home and hope that Eli survived.
The twenty-minute drive from Union Hospital in New Philadelphia seemed to evaporate as she tried to absorb everything that had transpired during this long, long day that still wasn’t over. Her horror over Eli’s accident, the guilt she felt over giving chase to the vehicle that had plowed into Eli, the sudden appearance of Joe right at the moment she needed him most—it was all almost more than she could process.
It was, however, nice to have her beloved little Mustang back. The silver blue car purred along as though reveling in their reunion. There were few people whom she would ever have allowed access to her “baby,” but Joe was one.
As she entered Sugarcreek, she decided to drive by the farmhouse to talk to her aunts. They would be terribly worried—and hungry for an update on Eli. As she pulled into their driveway, she was at first puzzled when she saw several vehicles in their yard. Then she noticed two news vans, and her heart sank.
So, Joe had gone through with his decision to talk at length with the media. She wasn’t sure it was wise, but it wasn’t her choice to make.
As she drove closer, she saw that Joe was sitting on the porch surrounded by reporters and cameras. And unless her eyes deceived her, half of them were holding glasses of iced tea.
She parked and walked toward the knot of reporters grouped around Joe. As she drew closer, it sounded like he was giving forth, in mind-numbing detail, about where he and Bobby had gone after he’d left LA.
“Well, then we drove through the Midwest for a while. Bobby really likes the barbecue in Oklahoma City. There’s a restaurant there that does something with their sauce that’s out of this world. But he didn’t like the coleslaw. He’s usually pretty good about eating his vegetables, but he hates cabbage. Especially when it’s made into coleslaw. I can get him to eat cooked cabbage sometimes, though, if I put enough butter in it.”
She caught his eye over the shoulder of one of the reporters. Joe winked.
That caught the attention of the reporter closest to him—whose eyes had begun to glaze over. “Is this your girlfriend?” he asked, perking up.
“Not yet,” Joe said. “Although I think she has possibilities, don’t you?”
The reporters looked her up and down. “So how did you two meet?” one of them asked, obviously hoping for something juicier than Bobby’s food preferences.
“That’s a long story.” Joe lifted a pitcher sitting on a small table beside him. “Here—let me refill your glasses while I tell you all about it.”
Rachel bit her lip to keep from laughing as Joe launched into a lengthy recitation of his truck breaking down and their confrontation outside the cabin at her aunts’ farm. As she backed away, she saw a reporter signal a cameraman, who then began to put away his equipment.
It seemed to be a good plan—so far. But after Joe finished boring the reporters, the fans would come. She didn’t know how many or how long they would stay, and she wasn’t sure it would be as easy for them to lose interest. But it appeared that Joe’s plan was working in the meantime.
Suddenly there was a small commotion on her aunts’ front porch. She saw Lydia and Anna struggling to carry a table outside. She jumped to help.
“What in the world are you doing, Lydia?”
Her aunt nodded toward the group of reporters. “I think they look hungahrich,” she said. “Don’t you?”
Rachel looked them over. “I do think they look hungry,” she said solemnly.
Bertha limped out, carrying a large spackleware pot of coffee in one hand.
“I am thinking three dollars for a piece of pie with one cup of coffee,” Lydia said. “Do you think that is too much?”
“For your genuine, homemade Amish pies?” Rachel surveyed the bored reporters. “Those are big-city people sitting there on Joe’s porch. I’d charge ’em six.”
Rachel was lying in bed, watching TV, when the phone rang.
“So how do you think they like me now?” Joe asked.
“I think you’re going into the hall of fame as one of the biggest gasbags of all time.”
Joe spluttered with laughter. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
“How’s Bobby?”
“I just talked with him. Apparently in addition to a kitten, we’ll be having a mixed-breed puppy coming to live with us.”
“He’s okay, then?”
“So far. Aaron’s being a good fill-in dad while I’m gone. He was giving Bobby and Davey ‘horsey-back’ rides when I called. Bobby seemed impatient to get back to all the fun.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.”
“He asked about you.”
She was surprised. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. He wanted to know if you and I were kissing yet. I told him no, but I would give it some consideration.”
She heard a chuckle in his voice. She had no idea how to respond.
There was an awkward silence as the image of kissing filled her mind.
Joe cleared his throat. “Four-year-olds these days are a lot more precocious than I was at that age.”
“Probably.”
“All I wanted to think about was playing ball when I was a kid.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I was pretty rough on you last week when I thought you had called the press. I still feel bad about it.”
“You’ve already apologized.” Rachel pulled herself higher up against the pillows. “Besides, I understood.”
“I should have trusted you more.”
“It’s over, Joe. I’ve forgotten it. I would probably have reacted the same way.”
“No, you would have faced them down from the beginning. You would never have run in the first place.”
“I doubt that. I was taught at the academy that when faced with overwhelming odds and no backup, it’s best to retreat. If I’d had Bobby to care for, I would probably have done exactly the same thing you did.”
“Maybe.” He cleared his throat. “When this whole thing is over, Rachel, I want to spend some serious time together.”
“I’d like that.”
“Sleep tight, Rachel.”
“You too, Joe.”
She hung up and stared at the phone. She cared so much about that man, she was almost afraid to hope this relationship could turn into anything deeper than a friendship.
Joe congratulated himself on having made the right decision this time. Even though he was missing Bobby terribly, he was certain he had made the right choice. He had laid himself bare, and other than a few die-hard fans who would probably show up on his doorstep in the next few weeks, he was counting on people eventually losing interest in him.
There would be other good ballplayers to take his place in the public eye. As for playing pro ball ever again, he knew that he simply didn’t have it in him anymore. He had had a good run, but somewhere along the path he and Bobby had traveled together this past year, he had lost the desire to compete at that level, and he knew in his heart that he would never get it back.
What he had not taken into account in the beginning, after Grace’s death, was that the country, as a whole, had a short attention span. There would always be a breaking story to replace the one that had gone stale. People would soon tire of a has-been ballplayer who was no longer winning games. He should have realized that before starting out on this journey.
But had he not taken this journey, he would never have met Rachel and her aunts. He would still be trying to get his arm back in shape, hoping to eke out another season, instead of realizing that it was a relief to step away from the intensity and pressure of being a high-profile athlete.
Something good that had come from this last go-round with the press was that the news had brought focus, once again, on Grace’s death and the fact that her killer was still at large. Several mentions had been made about the reward he had posted for information leading to her murderer. Unless he missed his guess, the cops back home were getting an earful. Most of it useless information, no doubt, but
he was hopeful there might be some small thing that would eventually lead to an arrest.
He knew he would never be completely at peace until Grace’s killer was behind bars.
He carried an empty plate to the sink and was rinsing it off when he heard a knock at the door. He stiffened. It was dark outside. Most people, at least those who had electricity, were at home by now, watching television.
Pulling back the curtain, he saw an unfamiliar car. Assuming it was a reporter or a fan, he waited, hoping they would go away. The knocking continued. He opened the door a crack and was stunned at what he saw.
Dr. Robert Mattias, dressed in a crumpled gray suit, stood on his doorstep. Joe threw the door open wide.
“Dad!” he cried.
He found himself enveloped in a hug. “I booked a plane the minute I heard your voice on the answering machine,” his father said.
“Yeah,” a familiar voice echoed from behind his father, “he couldn’t wait.”
His brother, Darren.
Joe wasn’t thrilled to see his brother, but he was determined not to let Darren’s presence spoil his reunion with their father.
“Bring the suitcases in, son,” his father said, “and we’ll all get caught up.”
Darren sauntered back to the car.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Joe said. “I never dreamed you would just pick up and come.”
“I’ve wanted to make amends since Grace’s death. I saw it in the papers. Yes, even in Africa we get news. But then you disappeared and I had no idea how to contact you.”
“I almost called you a dozen times. It’s been so hard, Dad.”
“I know.”
“I understand now—”
“It was wrong of me to—” His father spoke at exactly the same time.
“You first,” Joe said.
The Sugar Haus Inn Page 23
