Mr. Congeniality

by Sherry Lewis

  And Dean had left her out there alone, as if her problems were less painful than his, as if her decisions were less frightening. He uncurled his fist and stared at the handwriting on the envelope again.

  If Annie had the nerve to face Spence, Dean had enough courage to read the letter. He’d told Annie to work through her anger with Spence. What kind of person would he be if he didn’t face his own? The consequences of Maria Hillyard’s actions were going to be with him forever; he might as well bring her excuses along for the ride.

  He sat on the edge of his bed and thought of everything he’d been before that split second when his life had collided with Maria Hillyard’s. He spent a long time remembering the joy of walking on to the field for the first time as a professional ball player and even longer reliving the pain of finding out he’d never do it again.

  And what had he become since?

  A little smarter, maybe. A lot more cynical. He ran a hand along the back of his neck and tried to be honest with himself. He was a better friend than he’d once been. And he was learning to be a better uncle and brother.

  Before the accident, he’d been too wrapped up in himself to give Hayley what she’d wanted, and he’d lost her. He’d been too self-absorbed to spend time with his family, and he was having to fight like hell to get them back. He’d been too consumed with chasing glory to lend someone a hand. His relationships had all been centered around what he wanted and needed.

  So, maybe he had learned something. Maybe he was a better person now. At least the potential to be better was there. And he could honestly say that if he was given the choice, he’d turn down the chance to play ball again if it meant going back to the way he’d been.

  He couldn’t imagine his life without Irma’s well-meaning interference or Les’s sage advice or Gary’s friendship. He didn’t want to imagine his life without Annie’s smile or Nessa’s laugh or the effort Tyler put in to being “cool.” And he wouldn’t have any of that if not for Maria Hillyard’s mistake.

  What a strange piece of irony that was.

  He rubbed his shoulder gently for a few minutes, then lifted the flap on the envelope and pulled out the letter.

  THE NEXT DAY, DEAN PULLED a cola from the cooler he and Tyler had brought to practice and sat down to watch Tyler in the field with the team. Since this was their last practice before the Founder’s Day game, Dean had exerted himself a little more than he should have. The muscles in his shoulder burned in protest, but the pain didn’t bother him as much as usual.

  He’d read Maria Hillyard’s letter more times than he could count the night before, and he’d been turning her words over in his mind ever since. If what she’d said was true—and he had no reason to think it wasn’t—Maria Hillyard had started drinking shortly after her husband’s sudden and unexpected death the year before the accident. They’d never had children, so after thirty-five years together, she’d suddenly found herself alone. Her husband’s death had left her bereft.

  Amazingly, Dean had felt a pang of understanding when he read that letter. He knew loss, even though his wasn’t exactly like hers. As Annie had pointed out to him, pain was pain. Did knowing about Maria Hillyard’s circumstances excuse what she’d done? No. Nothing could. Nothing would. But it did help Dean to start the process of forgiving her, of releasing the anger that had kept him locked in the moment of the accident for so long and of letting some higher power decide the consequences for her actions. Forgiving would do far more for him than it could ever do for her.

  Maria Hillyard’s loss had driven her to alcohol, which had eventually led to the accident. Angry as he still felt over it, he also began to suspect that he was guilty of letting grief over his own losses affect far too many people. Maybe he hadn’t broadsided anyone with a car, but he’d been running over people’s feelings for far too long.

  It just wasn’t easy to admit that everyone else had been right. It was time to stop feeling sorry for himself, to leave the accident behind and move forward with his life.

  He took a long drink and carried the can to the short rise of bleachers on the edge of the field. Tyler had the team in the field and was gently hitting balls to each kid in turn. He’d even gotten Pudge to stop trying to find shamrocks. Amazing.

  It hadn’t taken Tyler long to relax around the kids, and Dean had even caught a few glimpses of the boy Tyler had once been during their practices. One of the kids said something that made Tyler laugh, and Dean marveled at the change the kids had wrought in him. He wondered how long it would last after the season was over. Forever, he hoped.

  Dean drained half his cola, turned to set the can aside and caught a glimpse of Pudge trudging toward him across the pitcher’s mound. The boy’s hair was matted from exertion and his cheeks burned bright red. He mopped his forehead with his sleeve and huffed over to Dean.

  Dean studied his face carefully. “Are you feeling okay?” Maybe he should have stayed on shamrock detail.

  Pudge nodded and dropped onto the bottom row of bleachers. “It’s hot.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You got any sports drinks in the cooler?”

  Dean dug one out of the ice and handed it to Pudge with a warning not to drink it too fast.

  Pudge took a sip and lowered the bottle to the bench beside him. “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “That you used to be a real baseball player?”

  Dean chuckled at his choice of words. “Who told you that?”

  “My dad. He read all about you in some magazine.”

  Must’ve been an old magazine. Dean glanced toward the others and nodded slowly. “It’s true, but that was a long time ago.”

  Pudge took another sip, picked up a ball someone had left in the dirt and tossed it gently in one hand. “He said you quit because you got hurt. Is that true, too?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “So, do you wish you could play still?”

  Dean watched the ball for a few seconds, up and down, up and down. The sound of the ball hitting flesh seemed to drown out everything else. He gave himself a mental shake, caught the ball in midair and dropped it into the equipment bag. “I try not to think about it.”

  “But why?”

  “Personal reasons.”

  “Like what?”

  Dean glanced down at the buzzed brown hair and the sprinkling of freckles on the boy’s round cheeks. “Usually when someone says ‘personal reasons’ that means they don’t want to talk about whatever it is.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m sure there are a lot of different reasons.” Dean dropped the bag beside the bleachers.

  One of Pudge’s eyes closed to block the sun. The other was open only a slit. “What don’t you want to talk about?”

  Dean caught himself about to smile and frowned instead. “If I told you that, I’d be talking about it. That would defeat the purpose, don’t you think?”

  Pudge shrugged and climbed a row higher. He sat on the edge of a bench with both legs dangling off the side. “My dad says that you were pretty good.”

  “I did all right.”

  “He says that you would have had your best season ever if you hadn’t been hurt.”

  “Some people thought so at the time.” Dean checked on Tyler’s progress and saw that the group had moved out to center field. He jerked his head toward them and tried to divert Pudge. “It’s about time to get those guys in here, don’t you think?”

  “No.”

  Dean checked his watch and realized that the team still had ten minutes of its scheduled practice. He nodded toward a small clump of trees a few feet away. “You want to go sit in the shade until you cool down?”

  Pudge shook his head. “I’d rather talk to you. My dad says that I gotta listen to you because you can teach me how to play really good.”

  Dean pulled himself onto the bleachers a row higher than Pudge. “I suppose I can if you want to learn.”

  “He says you can turn me into a real jock.�
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  Dean slanted a glance at the boy’s earnest expression. “Do you want to be a jock?”

  “I don’t know. My dad wants me to be, so yeah, I guess so.”

  Dean had never approved of parents pushing kids into sports for the wrong reasons, and looking into Pudge’s innocent eyes made the decision seem doubly wrong. “What if your dad didn’t care? What would you want to be then?”

  Pudge’s whole face squished while he gave that some thought. Beads of sweat dotted his nose. “I don’t know. I like to draw and I like math and science.”

  Dean felt an unexpected rush of affection for the boy. “Math and science are good. What do you draw?”

  “Cartoons and stuff like that.” Pudge sipped from his can and mopped his face again.

  “Are you any good?”

  “My teacher says so.”

  “What about math and science? Are you good at those?”

  “I think so. I want to be an inventor. I like to make up stuff.”

  “Is that right?”

  Pudge nodded. “My teacher wanted me to go to science camp this summer, but my dad says we couldn’t afford it. And besides, he says it’s better for me to play baseball than learn more about science and junk.”

  Dean glanced away so Pudge couldn’t see his reaction. “There are a lot of good things you can learn from baseball,” he said after a few minutes. “Like teamwork and sportsmanship and how to win and lose graciously.” He stole a quick peek at Pudge’s face. “But science and math are good, too. The world could really use another great inventor. Maybe your dad’ll let you go to science camp next summer.” He would if Dean could talk some sense into him.

  Pudge watched Rusty catch a high fly ball and sighed heavily. “I’ll never be as good as him, will I?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Rusty has some natural talent, and he loves the game so he works hard at it. You could probably match him if you wanted to.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m not really good at sports.”

  “Neither was I at first. I worked hard to make it as far as I did.”

  Pudge gave that some thought. “How much work would I have to do?”

  “A lot.”

  “What’s a lot?”

  “Several hours every single day—weekends and after school.”

  “Every day?”

  “Every day. If you love the game it doesn’t seem so bad.”

  “Do you even have to practice on Christmas?”

  Dean chuckled. “No. I think an occasional holiday is okay.”

  “Oh. Good.” Pudge leaned back and grew thoughtful again. “’Cuz I don’t think I’d want to practice on Christmas. Or even when it snowed. Would I have to do that?”

  “I think it would be okay to skip those days.” Dean put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Look, Pudge, we’re here to have fun, not to kill ourselves. Do your best but don’t knock yourself out, okay? Baseball’s fun, but it’s only a game.”

  Pudge nodded somberly. “Okay.”

  When he returned to the field a few minutes later, Dean watched him go with a fond smile, then wondered what his former teammates would have thought if they’d heard him offering that piece of advice.

  Only a game. Three words Dean had never thought he’d say—much less mean.

  SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Dean stood on the rail of the paddock fence and watched Nessa leading Maisie by the reins while a brother and sister whose names he couldn’t remember held on to the saddle for dear life. Their father snapped one picture after another while his wife called directions. “Get one now, Chuck. Move to your left a little so you can get their faces better.”

  He heard footsteps behind him and glanced over his shoulder to find Tyler walking toward him. They’d been getting along pretty well the past few weeks. Tyler didn’t turn away when Dean showed up or leave the room when Dean was in it, and the smell of cigarette smoke on the boy’s clothes had become nothing but a memory. But Tyler rarely sought Dean out, and Dean still didn’t know what the kid planned to do at the end of the summer—even though Carol had finally given permission for him to stay.

  Dean smiled as Tyler approached. “That was a good practice today. You’re doing a great job with the kids.”

  “Yeah?” Tyler leaned against the fence and looked out over the meadow. “Well, they’re cute kids, you know?” He squinted slightly and flicked a glance at Dean. “I just got off the phone with my mom.”

  That got Dean’s blood pumping a little faster. “You did? How was she?”

  “Okay, I guess. I could tell she’d been drinking, but she wasn’t too bad…yet.” Tyler grimaced and plucked the head off a weed. A thick silence fell between them while Dean waited for Tyler to continue at his own pace. The song of a nearby meadowlark, the buzz of insects, the laughter of the family behind them, and the plodding sound of Maisie’s hooves all seemed muted and far away.

  When Tyler didn’t speak, Dean prodded him gently. “Did you call her?”

  Tyler shook his head. “She called me. Can you believe that?”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so. It’s hard to tell.” Tyler’s lips curved into a cold smile. “She’s pissed, though. Randy found out that you redeemed Grandma’s ring from the pawnshop and now Mom’s pretending like she didn’t know you were going to do it. She said to tell you she wants it back.”

  “And she’ll get it—when the time is right.”

  A touch of amusement warmed Tyler’s smile. “I think she’s finally starting to believe that Randy’s the one who’s been stealing from her.”

  “Oh? How’d she figure that out?”

  “Some money disappeared from her purse last week.” Tyler looked away again. “The dude’s so stupid that when Mom asked him about it, he tried to convince her that she dropped it. The thing is, the money was there when she went to sleep and gone when she woke up.” Tyler wagged his head in disbelief. “Stupid, man. Just plain stupid.”

  Dean suddenly felt like grabbing the kid and hugging him for all he was worth. He settled for a hand on the shoulder. “What is your mom going to do about it?”

  “I think it won’t be long until Randy has to find a new place to live.”

  Dean couldn’t stop the pleased grin that tugged at his lips. “Gee, that’d be too bad.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I say.” Tyler’s smile faded slowly and he kicked one foot onto a fence rail behind him. “She said she’s going to ask you for money so she can go into recovery again,” he said without looking at Dean. “But she’s said that before, so I don’t know if she really means it.”

  Dean’s heartbeat jumped a couple of times and he squeezed the boy’s shoulder gently. “If she’s serious about it, I’ll come up with the money somehow.” He kept his voice and movements carefully neutral, sensing that Tyler needed space. “I don’t know if you remember, but recovery can take a while. So if you want to stick around here while she’s working through everything, you’re more than welcome to.” He chanced a glance at his nephew. “I’d love to have you. And your mom, too, when she’s ready.”

  Tyler dragged his gaze away from the mountains and let it settle on Dean’s face. “For real?”

  Dean shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could manage. “You’re my family. I love you. What can I say? Besides, the horses are getting used to that hip-hop music you and Nessa like, now that you’ve lowered the volume. None of us will be the same if you leave.” He put everything he was feeling into his eyes and willed the kid to accept what he was offering. “Me, especially.”

  Tyler locked eyes with him for what felt like forever, then looked away again. “I guess I could stay for a while if you want me to.”

  “I’d like that,” Dean said, and he couldn’t remember when he’d meant anything more.

  BY THE TIME FOUNDER’S DAY rolled around, Annie was a nervous wreck. The longer Spence stayed, the more convinced she was that their marriage had been over for months, if not years. But having him around s
eemed to make Nessa more determined than ever to put things back as they once were.

  Dean seemed a little more distant every day. He spent hours in his office on the telephone with Carol and with his attorney, but he rarely gave any but the most vague explanations about what he was doing.

  Annie hated being shut out of his life. She’d have given anything for the chance to talk with him and find out how things were for him but he somehow managed to slip away from every conversation she initiated.

  Her nerves were shot and her frustration level was at an all-time high when her alarm went off that morning. She wasn’t even sure she’d slept the night before.

  Since Dean and Tyler were involved in the big baseball game after lunch, they’d informed the guests that the lodge would be closed all day and arranged transportation into town for any who wanted to join the festivities. Annie was hoping to catch a ride into town with Dean. Even a brief conversation would be better than none.

  Just as the sky began to lighten, Les and Gary started loading a borrowed van with blankets, hampers filled with the picnic lunch Annie had packed and coolers full of ice and drinks. Most of the guests had opted to get themselves into town or go somewhere on their own. Only the Gunthers from Missouri—a young couple with a six-year-old daughter—came straggling out of their cabin a little before sunrise. Spence showed up freshly showered and smelling of aftershave a few minutes later.

  Annie hadn’t seen Dean yet, and she found herself trying to search for him inconspicuously as the little group gathered. Irma appeared a few minutes after Nessa, who carried a huge bag filled with sunscreen, a paperback book, swimsuit and towel, her portable CD player and, no doubt, a supply of CDs as well.

  When Nessa noticed little Heidi Gunther battling a huge yawn, she scooped the girl up and made her comfortable inside the van with her CD player and earphones. Annie’s heart swelled with pride when she realized that her daughter really was becoming a capable young woman and that she had a kind and generous heart.