by Chris Eboch
“Pleased to meet you.” Maureen held out her hand, and I gaped at the long, hot-pink nails with little rainbows and butterflies on them. Maureen chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry, they’re fake. I’ll probably lose one or two during the game, but I can fix them in no time.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I do them myself.”
I nodded and shook hands. I wondered if the whole team was like this. For a big city girl, I felt decidedly outshone. Maureen seemed an odd match for shy, stuttering Jerry, but as she chattered while we walked toward the field, I decided maybe they were perfect for each other. Jerry was a good listener, and Maureen obviously liked to talk.
“It’ll be fun to have another girl around,” Maureen said. “Danny hasn’t had a girlfriend in just ages. I try to set him up, but he’s so picky.”
Danesh gave an awkward laugh. Before either of us could speak, Maureen went on. “You’ll have to come to church on Sunday. We’re having a ladies’ luncheon afterward, just the girls, you know. You’ll get to meet everyone.”
“Um, maybe….” Not.
Maureen didn’t seem to notice any lack of enthusiasm. “We play softball Wednesday evening and bridge on Thursday. On Fridays and Saturdays we usually go dancing or to one of the bars, and Sunday there’s church and usually a picnic or something in the afternoon.”
“I’ll have to see….” I said.
Danesh winked at me. “She’s here to work, not get caught up in the whirlwind of local social life.”
“Well, I know that,” Maureen said. “I’m just trying to make her feel welcome.”
I had to smile at such warmth, though I suspected Maureen’s friendship could get overwhelming.
We joined a group of people, both men and women, mostly in their twenties and thirties but some older. Some of the women wore makeup like Maureen, but not all. Everyone greeted me warmly, and I promptly forgot all their names.
When they heard I was working at Lost Valley, talk turned to the excitement of the night before. “I heard that horrible man was released already,” a woman said.
Voices rose in disagreement.
“The police are busy,” the woman said. “They just had a drug bust at the high school.” She leaned forward and said in a stage whisper. “And you would not believe some of the people involved!”
Talk turned toward that, but I wondered if the woman could possibly be right. Surely they wouldn’t let the man go without bail, which he could hardly afford. But maybe they didn’t take domestic violence so seriously out here. My stomach churned at the thought that he might be free already.
Finally the gossip died down. “Kylie is on my team,” Maureen said, slipping her arm through mine. “What position do you play?”
I’d been doing more pitching recently, but that was too public a role. “Um, shortstop is good, but if anyone else—”
“No problem! You’re our guest. And I play second so we’ll be right together.”
Nobody else seemed offended. I cast one helpless glance back as Maureen dragged me onto the field. Jerry was settling himself on the bleachers. Two little boys had cornered Danesh and were showing off a radio-controlled car. He grinned and waved at me. I resisted the temptation to stick out my tongue at him and resigned myself to an “interesting” experience.
Chapter 12
By the end of the first inning, I decided I was probably one of the best players—not that skill made much difference. Players made crude but good-natured jokes about the other team and sometimes their own teammates, cheered whenever anyone hit or caught the ball, and teased without cruelty when someone missed. I was glad I hadn’t mentioned pitching, because our pitcher was the best player. Grace looked about twelve, all long arms and legs and long brown hair, her serious concentration and sizzling fastball a contrast to the outfielders, two overweight guys guzzling beer and a little girl picking dandelions.
When my team was up at bat, I answered curious questions from half a dozen people, turned down a can of light beer and accepted one of cola, and hit a single before the next two batters struck out.
Three innings later, I had no idea what the score was or even if the same players were always playing on the same team. Sometimes people from the bleachers joined in when other players wanted a break; Danesh spent one inning in the outfield deep in conversation with his neighbor, and Jerry was coaxed to take the catcher’s mitt for a while.
Finally, in the middle of the fourth inning, shouts from the bleachers sent everyone rushing toward home plate. I stumbled after them, wondering what was wrong. Then I noticed the pizza delivery truck. People pulled money from their wallets and handed it to Maureen, who counted it all. “We each put in about five dollars,” she told me, “if you have it.”
I patted my pockets and remembered that my wallet was in the car.
“It’s on me.” Danesh winked at me and handed a ten to Maureen.
I grabbed a piece of supreme pizza and looked for a seat. Maureen sat on the bleachers next to Jerry, her arm draped over his shoulders, chatting to someone standing nearby. Danesh was talking to Grace, the pitcher, who ducked her head shyly so her hair half-covered her face, but then laughed at something he said.
Two men converged on me. “So how long are you here for?” one asked. His graying hair and the lines around his eyes suggested middle age, but the way his blue eyes glinted suggested a bachelor on the prowl.
I’d finished classes and only had to deal with my thesis, so my time was flexible, but I kept it vague. “It depends on my research. A few weeks.”
The other man said, “That’s all?” He was slightly plump, with thick black hair and tan skin, no more than twenty. I thought he had a Spanish name, but I couldn’t remember what.
I made a vague sound and took a bite of pizza, glancing around at the crowd. Here was another game. Everyone seemed to be flirting with someone, who half the time was flirting with someone else. Even the couples bantered with people other than their dates or spouses. A plump redhead leaned over and whispered something in Jerry’s ear, causing him to blush and Maureen to playfully shoo her away.
Forget ancient peoples. This was a strange and mysterious culture.
We played a few more innings, maybe six in total, but I wasn’t sure. Nor did I have any idea which team had won, though everyone seemed to be bragging and putting down the other team. Some people said goodbye and headed to their cars. I grabbed a change of clothes and a towel and followed Maureen to the women’s “locker room,” a box with cement floors, one shower with a trickle of cold water, and a large metal mirror. Five of us took our turns in the shower and then crowded around the mirror to brush hair and touch up makeup.
Maureen pulled a ring out of her makeup bag and put it on her finger. “There!” She held out her hand and a large diamond flashed. “I’m afraid to wear it during the game, but I feel naked without it.”
“You just want to show it off,” one of the women said with an envious glance.
“Is that an engagement ring?” I asked.
“Yes! Jerry gave it to me two weeks ago. Isn’t he the sweetest thing?”
“Mmm.” I thought the ring a bit ostentatious, but Jerry obviously understood what Maureen liked.
“He’s going to make a wonderful father.”
I couldn’t help shooting a look at Maureen’s flat belly.
She laughed. “Oh no, honey, I’m not pregnant—yet! Jerry says he has to finish paying off the ring, and then we can get married, and we’ll buy a house. Something big enough for us and three or four children. I just love children!”
One of the women turned on a hair dryer, which didn’t stop the chatter, but it gave me an excuse to back out of the way and make room at the mirror. I wondered if Jerry knew what he was in for. Of course, on a park ranger’s salary, it could take him a couple of years to pay off that ring. Maybe he’d gotten such a big one in order to buy himself time.
Finally we left the bathroom and went to join the men. Maureen linked her arm through mine as we
walked toward the bleachers. “That Danny is such a sweetie pie! I’m glad he’s finally found someone nice.”
That was too much. “There’s nothing between Danesh and me.”
She shot me a sly look. “Maybe not yet....”
“Look, he’s really not my type.”
One of the other women gave a husky laugh. “Honey, he’s every woman’s type. Just look at him!”
“Looks aren’t everything.” But I couldn’t deny the tug in my belly as I gazed at him. He was leaning back on the bleachers, relaxed and laughing, the muscles in his arms set off by a black T-shirt, his dark hair loose and damp. I tried not to imagine what his butt would look like in those jeans. Our eyes met as I got closer, and he held my gaze with a smile that made my knees weak. I reminded myself I’d only just decided he was tolerable, but at the moment I couldn’t remember why I’d ever disliked him.
Grace gave me a shy glance from her big brown eyes and whispered, “He’s nice. I like him.”
Everyone seemed to, for one reason or another. I thought of my ex, how I’d sometimes had to defend him to people, excusing his poor social skills as the typical male inability to read others’ emotions. But not all men were the same. Why had I settled?
If the attack and losing Jonathan had one silver lining, it was giving me a chance to see what I’d really had before and what I really wanted now. I hoped I wouldn’t have to cry often, but I wanted a man who would hold me when I did. Someone who’d stand by me, no matter what our future held.
Danesh rode with me to the bar, smiling and tapping his fingers to the music I had playing. I’d never seen him so relaxed. But I’d only seen him a few times, and some of those under unusual circumstances. Maybe he was like this most of the time. He smelled good, kind of spicy, and I found myself leaning toward him slightly as I inhaled. I pulled myself back. Ignoring his total hotness had been a lot easier when I didn’t like him.
We pulled up to the bar, a sprawling wooden building with beer signs in the windows. I slipped my ID and a twenty into my pocket as Danesh got out. I took a deep breath, trying to gather my wits, but it didn’t help that his scent lingered.
I frowned at myself. I had to get a grip. I wasn’t about to get googly-eyed over someone just because he smelled good and looked like sin. I was in control, not my hormones or his pheromones or whatever. Enough!
I shoved the door open. It bounced back at me and I heard a whoosh of breath as Danesh staggered back from the car.
I gasped. “I’m sorry!” I tried to leap out of the car, but my seatbelt jerked me back. Heat rose in my face as I fumbled with the catch and finally made it out.
Danesh was half bent over, rubbing his knee. “I get it. You don’t like guys to open doors for you. Won’t happen again.”
“It was an accident! I didn’t see—”
He straightened and I realized he was laughing. “No real harm done—despite your best efforts.”
My face burned. “It really was an accident.”
“I know. Come on.” He took my hand.
I jerked my hand away before I realized what I was doing. He stared at me and I had to look away.
“Kylie? Why don’t you like me?”
“Who says I don’t?” I mumbled.
He laughed. “Boy, do you sound guilty!”
“I don’t—it’s not—” I shook my head and groaned. “I feel like an idiot.”
“That wasn’t exactly my intention. But if you want me to keep my distance....”
I sighed. “Look, it’s not you. Really. I’m just... I get kind of jumpy around men. It’s not personal. It’s like my body reacts before my brain even has time to think about it.” The silence stretched as I waited for him to ask for an explanation.
“So no fast movements?”
I managed to look at him. “That would help.”
I saw the familiar almost-smile come back with relief. He said, “Do you think you could manage to dance with me, with advance warning?”
I nodded. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to take his hand as we walked toward the door. Dating had been easy once. I’d always felt in control. Now I struggled to even figure out what I wanted. I guess I hadn’t returned to normal yet.
The bar screamed “cowboy” inside, from the customers in jeans and cowboy boots to the scuffed wooden floor left open in the center for dancing to the country music playing. I even saw some cowboy hats and giant belt buckles. The softball players had taken over one end of the big room and most already had beer. Maureen waved us over to the chairs she’d saved. I decided one beer would only keep me from driving for an hour, and I had to stay that long to be polite. I drank half of it quickly, quenching my thirst and trying to steady my nerves.
A tall man with thick, snow-white hair and a full beard bowed in front of me. “Duane Stevens. I make a point of dancing with every newcomer. Well, the ladies anyway. May I have this dance?” I nodded and he whisked me across the floor, regaling me with tales of raising horses, goats, and rabbits, and ending the dance in a deep dip that had me laughing. I was meeting more characters in one day than in a year in Boston. I was sure Boston had plenty of characters, too, but they didn’t mingle as much.
Most of the softball team hit the floor as soon as they finished their first beers. I hardly had time to thank one partner before someone else took my arm. Maureen and a couple of the other women even grabbed me for some hip shaking during one rowdy rock song. I glanced at the tables and saw Danesh, leaning back in his chair with his leg stretched out. He was talking to someone but his gaze held steady on our group. I couldn’t tell if he was focused on me or someone else, but I edged behind one of the other girls to hide my blush.
A catchy tune blared and the crowd roared. Those who had taken a break rushed to the floor and lined up in groups of four or five, linking arms. I ducked away and took advantage of the empty bar to get a glass of water. I downed it and limped back to the tables. If I’d known I would be dancing, I would have brought dancing shoes.
Danesh was shaking his head at a woman trying to wave him onto the floor. I collapsed into a chair and frowned at the cluster of beer bottles, which had multiplied. I’d never find mine again. In any case, I knew better than to drink from something I’d left unattended, even if it was hard to imagine danger from this friendly crowd.
“Take mine.” Danesh held out his bottle.
I’d just seen him drink from it, and I was still thirsty, so I took a sip.
“Are you having fun?”
“Yes.” I rotated my shoulder. “Except for that one guy who seemed to think we were bowling rather than dancing, and I was the bowling ball. But otherwise, yes. I haven’t danced in a while. It feels good to get back to it.”
On the dance floor, the crowd was stomping and kicking in a huge circle. A few couples—to my surprise, Jerry and Maureen among them—stayed in the center of the circle, gracing the basic dance step with the addition of twirls and place changes.
“No Cotton-Eyed Joe for you?” Danesh asked.
“I know how, believe it or not. But it’s been a long day, and I just don’t have the energy.”
I handed back the beer and he took another drink. “Understandable. Think you’ll have the energy to dance the next one with me?”
I smiled. “Sure, though I ought to wait until I hear the song before I commit. If it’s fast, go easy on me.”
“No worry there. They always follow Cotton-Eyed Joe with something slow.”
“Thank goodness.” Then it hit me. A slow dance with Danesh. Had the room suddenly gotten even hotter?
Chapter 13
Cotton-Eyed Joe ended and the dance floor emptied, most people heading to the bar and clamoring for drinks or else stepping outside where the night air might be a little cooler. A leisurely song I didn’t recognize started playing. Danesh rose and held out his hand. I felt my heart thudding as my hand seemed to rise of its own accord and slip into his. I felt like I was floating somewhere outside myself, looking d
own on us as he led me to the dance floor.
Then his arm slid around me and pulled me back to earth. I could feel the heat of his hand pressed against my low back, the calluses of the hand holding mine. He was a smooth lead, no fancy moves, but perfect rhythm and just the right amount of pressure to guide me clearly without any suggestion of force. I remembered my swing dance teacher saying, “You don’t tell your partner where to go. You ask so nicely that she wants to go where you lead.” This was a perfect example.
We had the dance floor almost to ourselves, and Danesh made use of the space, leading me in lazy circles. Our eyes met and he smiled. Not his cautious half smile or the jaw-dropping full-on grin, but just a friendly, casual smile that said, “Isn’t this fun?” I dropped my gaze but smiled back.
He was half a foot taller than I was, but not so big that I felt overwhelmed. I was about eye level with the curve where his neck met his shoulder. I started to realize how dangerous that was when I had the urge to lean in and take a bite.
I dragged my gaze away, but looking down at his chest in the snug black shirt wasn’t much better. I looked over his shoulder but started to feel rude that I was avoiding eye contact. I’d been rude enough earlier. No doubt he was watching me in that intense way he had, maybe even guessing the effect he was having on me, something I preferred to keep a secret.
I forced my lips into a little smile and gave a friendly glance at his face. He was looking away, nodding to another couple as they danced past. Talk about a blow to my ego.
Why did I assume everything was about me? Had I always been this vain? Or was it another aftereffect of the attack, the self-absorption of the victim who can only see things through the lens of how they affect her? I knew I was getting better after six months of counseling, but sometimes I wondered how much farther I had to go.
