by Tim Green
“In Florida!” Josh shouted loud enough to make his father blink. “And Mom won’t go!”
“That’s her choice, not mine!” His father gripped his shoulders and shook him some more. “You’re coming with me now. The decision has been made.”
Josh felt so sick so suddenly, his stomach heaved. Jaden gasped.
“Come on.” His father snapped his fingers at Josh. “Get up. Let’s go. We’ll get your things from home in the morning and go.”
“Go?”
“They want me to start right away, and the sooner we’re there, the sooner you’ll be locked down.” Josh’s father stood to his full height so that the hair on his head brushed the ceiling.
“Mr. LeBlanc, can’t Josh—” Jaden started.
Josh’s dad spun around, and he pointed at Jaden with a trembling finger. “Nothing from you, young lady. You? I thought you had better sense than this. I can only imagine how disappointed your father will be.”
That arrow hit home, and Jaden’s face crumpled. She was starting to cry, but she swiped the tear away. Josh hadn’t seen her so upset before, and it made him sicker still.
“Now,” his father said to him, snapping his fingers again. He picked up the Speed Hitter he’d bought so Josh could practice his stroke.
Josh slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and marched past Jaden and up the stairs. His father’s thumping feet followed, and he could feel his threatening presence right behind him. He wanted to apologize to Jaden. When he hesitated at the door, his father flung it open and shoved him out onto the porch. Jaden appeared in the light of the doorway.
“Josh!” She dashed out onto the porch. The robe clung to her body, her nightgown edge flapping in the cold wind. She held out the box of books. “Take these. Read them. You’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”
Josh took the books as his father tugged him down the steps so hard he nearly fell. The Camaro had one wheel over the curb and was planted in the grass. The driver’s door hung open. Headlights burned white through the streaks of rain. A cloud of exhaust huffed in the night. Josh opened his door, tossed the duffel bag in back, and climbed in, still clutching the books.
His father cursed the wet seat, slammed his door, and held his phone to his ear.
“Hello?” His voice was gruff. He started the engine. “Yeah. I got him. . . .
“Go ahead, Laura, blame me!” his dad yelled. “I really don’t care at this point!” His father’s voice continued to rise. “Yes, I’ll keep him with me, and we’ll be by in the morning for his things. . . . Good night to you too!”
His father slapped the phone down on the console between them and stepped on the gas. The rear of the car shrieked and wavered. They rocketed down the street. His father punched through a yellow light. They hit a bump, and Josh’s head banged the ceiling.
“Ow!”
“Sorry.” His father spoke low, and he did sound sorry. He slowed down and drove more normally. “What were you thinking?”
“How did you know I was there?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “I thought you were at Benji’s.”
Josh forgot himself and struck the dashboard. “He’s unbelievable.”
“What did you think? I wouldn’t find you?” His father’s voice exploded with anger again. “You scared your mother half to death.”
“Oh, now you care about her?”
The car screeched to a stop, tires burning even on the wet road. Josh’s ribs banged against his seat belt. His father had a hand on the back of Josh’s neck and a look so wild in his eyes that Josh felt a moment of panic. Bright headlights suddenly lit up the car. They grew closer fast, and a truck’s horn blared.
It was speeding right at them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HIS FATHER WAS TOO mad to see, but he let go of Josh and smashed the gas pedal.
The car jerked forward. When the truck hit them they spun like a ride at the fair, jumped the curb, and nearly tipped over before rocking to a halt on the grass beneath a billboard.
“Are you okay?” His father’s voice quavered, and he touched Josh’s shoulder.
Josh pulled away, trembling, with the vise grip still burning in his brain. He nodded that he was okay, too mad and too shaken to speak.
“Okay,” his father said, and got out of the car to look at the damage in the back.
The truck had pulled over, and the driver jumped down from his cab and jogged toward their car. Josh watched his father and the driver talking heatedly, ignoring the downpour. They exchanged cards, and Josh’s father marched back and climbed in. Josh thought about asking if the accident was his fault too, but his neck reminded him to keep quiet.
They rode in silence out to his father’s shabby, two-bedroom, first-floor apartment in the suburbs. When Josh got out, he eyed the crumpled rear quarter of the car and knew how badly that must burn his father. Josh thought he loved the car more than anything, even his family.
It had been a big deal—and a lot of money—early in the summer when his father had gotten a sponsorship contract from Nike to coach the Titans. Buying the car was the first thing his father had done to celebrate. By Josh’s reckoning, the second was to get a girlfriend. His dad splurged on things his mother hadn’t approved of. That was when they were still married. Now that they were divorced, she said his spending made her sick. Josh understood why. Since his father had left their home and gotten his own place, money had been in short supply.
Josh ground his teeth and followed his father through the parking lot and in the front doorway. The second bedroom had a single mattress on the floor and a sleeping bag. Josh tossed his duffel bag down and lay on the makeshift bed without taking off his sneakers. He doubted he would sleep.
After a few minutes he heard a knock at the door to their apartment. Josh hopped up and pressed his ear to the bedroom door. In the living room, his father and Diane Cross, the girlfriend, were talking. Josh didn’t like Diane, but she wasn’t the worst person he’d ever known, either. Her son, Marcus, had played with Josh on a Little League team earlier in the summer. Josh started out hating him, but eventually they’d become almost friends.
He never thought he’d feel sorry for Diane until he heard her voice.
“You can’t just leave, Gary.”
“I told you this might happen.” His father’s voice rumbled. “I told you it was coming together fast. It’s an incredible opportunity. They’re spending millions on the facilities, and I’m in on the ground floor.”
“What about me?” she asked. “I can’t just leave. My business is finally taking off, and Marcus is doing well in his school.”
“I understand all that.” His father’s voice softened. “Not right now, but maybe you can work things out over the next few months or so. Sell your house. Come down there with me.”
Josh wanted to puke. He couldn’t imagine Diane and Marcus coming with them. Things were bad enough as it was. He opened the door a crack.
“I don’t know, Gary,” she said.
His father put his arm around Diane, stroking her hair, saying, “I can’t have you upset.”
Josh brightened, thinking she’d convince his father to stay. Then she began to cry, and Josh worried himself sick all over again that his father might get her to come along with them. Where would Josh sit? In the back of that Camaro with Marcus? All the way to Florida? Josh was six feet tall. He didn’t think he could fit—even alone—in that backseat.
He grabbed his hair and pulled.
His life was in ruins.
He heard Diane whimpering and his father’s reassuring voice, but could no longer make out anything they were saying. After a while he lay back down, staring at the ceiling. On and on they talked while he waited, wondering what the outcome would be.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JOSH AWOKE WITH A start. Sun leaked through the gray army blanket covering the window. Outside, the sound of someone trying to start a dying engine set the tone for the day. He could see nothing ahead but exhau
sted failings. Only the urgent need to use the bathroom outdid his need to know what happened with Diane and his father. He looked around the bathroom as he went. A heap of towels lay on the floor. The sink and the tub were dirty. His mother would never allow such things.
He skipped washing his hands and made a beeline for the kitchen. His father already had a steaming mug of coffee in front of him along with his cell phone and a pad of paper. He jotted a note and looked up.
“So,” Josh said, looking around. “Where’s Diane?”
“Oh, you heard us?” His father raised his eyebrows.
“Well, she was crying.”
His dad sighed. “Yes, and she’s probably still at it. I broke it off.”
“You’re just leaving her?” Josh tried to wrap his head around it. He’d split up their family for her and now it was over? But Josh was glad it was over.
“I told you; this is the chance of a lifetime,” his father said. “I really like Diane, but this is my dream, Josh. It’ll help you with your dream too. Trust me. I know it seems hard right now.”
With his father in a calm mood, Josh thought about asking for his phone back, but he decided not to push his luck.
“There’s cereal and some milk in the fridge.” His dad pointed to his notepad with his pen. “I’m tying up a few loose ends this morning. I thought we’d swing by the house a little before noon, get your things together, and get right on the road. We can be in North Carolina by midnight, stop for some sleep, and be at Crosby by tomorrow afternoon.”
Josh froze. This was really happening, right now, not in some distant point in the future. Life as he knew it was about to end.
“What about your car?” Josh made the best play he could think of to stall their trip.
“The car runs. I’ll fix it when I get down there.” His father took a swig of coffee. “Don’t look so surprised. Your little stunt last night sealed the deal. I was going to go down and get things set up by myself, but your mother’s not going to go for that. She says she can’t control you . . . not that I can, either, apparently.”
His father went back to his phone and his notes. He dialed and began a conversation with the landlord about ending his lease early. Josh put some Raisin Bran in a bowl and splashed it with milk. When he returned the carton to the fridge, he noticed a hunk of cheese bearded with green and white mold. His stomach turned, but he put his bowl down at the table and sat poking at the raisins, taking a nibble now and then to justify him sitting there.
When his father got off the phone, Josh said, “If Mom lets me stay, can I?”
His father narrowed his eyes at Josh. “You mean stay, stay? Or just until I get set up?”
Josh poked at a raisin floating solo amid the milk and flakes. “I don’t know.”
“Well, this split-custody thing isn’t going to work with me in Florida and your mom here. Your mom may cool off, but I think you need to go with me anyway, Josh.” His dad began to make an intense little swirl of ink on the corner of his notepad. “You’re not going to maximize your talent here with your mom, being coached by some nobody.”
The tone of his father’s voice didn’t allow for Josh even to consider staying in Syracuse . . . but if he could prolong his stay, maybe he could get his mind ready for it, say good-bye to his friends, research the school he’d be going to and the baseball team he might play on down in Florida. “Just so I can say good-bye.”
“Maybe for a little bit, but you’ll have to be down there by the time school starts next week, and if you do stay and you pull a stunt like you did last night, I’ll come up here and thrash you myself.” His father’s face grew so dark, the spoon slipped from Josh’s fingers and clattered against the bowl.
“Yes, sir.” He cast his eyes at the cereal.
“Well.” His dad poured himself more coffee. “I’ll ask your mother, but judging by how upset you made her, I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”
Josh let out a sigh of relief. His mother was soft. He could work on her; he knew he could. He got up and rinsed his bowl. He wanted to be a pro baseball player so much that it hurt. He wanted to do what his father hadn’t quite been able to do. He had worked hard to get to this point, and he knew his dad was the best person to show him the path, but the thought of just going to Florida away from his best friends and his teammates scared him. When they played in Tampa at the Sunshine Tournament, they stayed in a motel near a swamp. The heat never let up, and the air conditioner—maxed out round the clock—mostly lost its battle to keep their motel room cool.
“Put that in the dishwasher.” His dad was dialing his phone again. “I’ll run it before we leave.”
Josh did as he was told, then began a series of disgusting jobs meant to recover as much of his father’s security deposit as possible. He told Josh he wanted the apartment cleaner than when he’d taken it over, and it sure looked as if there hadn’t been much cleaning going on since then. So Josh got to work. He knew how to clean. His mother had taught him so he could help out after his father left home and she began working for a catering company.
As he scrubbed and vacuumed and wiped, he sensed that he was cleaning his way back into his father’s good graces. That was his goal for two reasons. First, he wanted to work his way out of the trouble he’d gotten into by running away. Second, he wanted his father’s full cooperation when Josh begged his mother to let him stay.
By eleven thirty the place was pretty clean. Josh helped his dad stuff the trunk of the Camaro with his things, surprised at how few possessions the man owned. His father cursed out loud when the damaged trunk wouldn’t close, but he borrowed a bungee cord from the guy who did apartment maintenance and they were on their way.
Josh never loved his neighborhood as much as he did that day driving up to his house with the prospect of having to leave it.
Inside, his mother scowled, clicked her tongue, and shook her head at Josh. That was it. She was so mad she couldn’t speak. Josh put on the saddest, sorriest face he could come up with. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
He nearly choked on his words. He could hear the TV, and when Laurel shut it off and tumbled into the kitchen to hug him, he nearly cried.
“Joshy! Joshy! Joshy!” She squealed the way three-year-olds do and kissed his face. “Don’t run away, Joshy! Don’t be bad!”
Josh shushed her and asked her if she wanted to play Candyland. She howled with delight.
“No chewing the cards,” he said gently, looking up at his mom. “Mom, Dad says I can stay if it’s okay with you. I won’t do anything stupid. I’m not ready to go right now.”
She bit her lip and looked at Josh’s father before dashing out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Josh’s dad frowned.
“Please, Dad.”
“Play with your sister. I’ll see what I can do.” His father nearly had to duck to get through the doorway, and he thumped up the stairs.
Josh brought Laurel into the den and took Candyland off the shelf. Laurel chose the green piece. Josh took red and set things up. Before he could even take his first roll, Laurel had a card in her mouth.
Josh snatched it. “No, Laurel! How many times do I have to tell you?” His voice rose. “Can’t you just listen?”
Laurel’s little face crumpled, and she began to bawl. Josh heard footsteps above, then on the stairs. He jumped up off the floor and hugged his little sister to get her to stop crying, but she only cried louder.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JOSH’S MOM GRABBED LAUREL from him, and her face went sour. “What did you do?”
Panic filled him. “Nothing! I told her not to chew the cards, okay?”
Laurel cried harder.
“Don’t back talk me, mister!” Grim, his mother turned to his father. “You see? This is what I’m talking about, Gary. I can’t control him.”
Josh felt his insides melt. “Mom, please.”
“Now it’s please?” She clutched Laurel like a pillow and spoke harshly. “No, sir. You’re going with your fat
her. I don’t need you bullying your little sister, running off in the middle of the night. I’m sorry, Josh. You need a father. Even yours.”
“Get your things, Josh.” His father was impatient.
“No.” Josh shook his head, fighting back tears. “I don’t want to just go. I can’t just go. I have to . . .”
“Get your things, Josh!” His father slammed a palm against the wall. Knickknacks on the shelf danced and rattled. A porcelain mother duck with six chicks in tow tumbled to the floor along with a framed wedding picture of Josh’s grandparents.
“You!” His mother scrambled for the pieces.
“Now!” His father yelled.
Josh took off up the stairs. He yanked another big duffel bag from his closet and emptied his drawers, cursing under his breath. He stuffed his best sneakers and the only pair of shoes he had into the pile of underwear, shorts, T-shirts, sweat pants, sweatshirts, and jeans. The bag was nearly full by the time he stopped to survey his bookcase. There were so many books, and he couldn’t pick just one. He thought of the boxed set Jaden had given him, grateful for something to read. They had to have libraries in Florida, didn’t they? He decided they did.
On top of his bookcase stood his trophies. There were many. They gleamed, golden and proud. He looked at the bag. He couldn’t bring them all. Maybe just one? He selected the MVP from the national championship in Cooperstown, tucked it into the middle of his clothes for protection, and zipped the duffel bag shut. Throwing his comb and a few toiletries into his backpack, he slung it over his shoulder, then hoisted the duffel bag with both hands. He thumped his way out the bedroom door, turning around in the hall for one last look.
Heroes like Derek Jeter, Robinson Cano, and Jason Giambi graced the posters and team photos randomly covering the walls of his tiny room. The single bed in the corner was unmade, and Josh wondered if he’d ever bump his head on the low, sloping ceiling again. He tried to feed his anger, hoping it could overcome the hysterical desire to start crying, throw himself facedown on the bed in a tantrum, and refuse to go.
