“Mom, it’s unreal! Coach Hardwick just told me, like, in front of everyone. I felt bad for Raz, though.”
“He’ll be okay. What did Coach Hardwick say?” Heather wanted to know every detail.
“He said, ‘starting roster for today’ and read off the names, and when he got to the pitcher, he said my name. Awesome, right, Mom?”
“So awesome! So what did you say when he said that?”
“There was nothing to say. I got my glove.” Jordan laughed, a carefree giggle that Heather remembered from when he was younger.
“Where are you now?”
“In the locker room, in a stall.” Jordan laughed again, and Heather realized that he had no one to share his happiness with except her. Raz was his closest friend, so there was nobody else left. She wished she could be there to watch him pitch, and wetness returned to her eyes. She cleared her throat.
“Well, you have a wonderful game, sweetheart. Knock them dead!”
“I will. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too, honey,” Heather said, hoarsely. She had no idea why she was getting so choked up. The emoticon. That giggle. Her son, who had worked so hard for so long, had finally caught a break.
“Bye.” Jordan ended the call.
Heather wiped her eyes with her fingers, then looked up to see her manager, Emily, striding toward her.
“Heather, what are you doing on the phone?” Emily asked, glaring.
“Sorry.” Heather looked Emily directly in the eye. She wasn’t about to deny it. She would take her lumps.
“Was it a personal call?”
“Yes. My son.”
“Was it an emergency?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t your son know not to call you at work?”
“He didn’t call me, I called him.”
“For what reason?”
“None of your business.” Heather felt anger flicker in her chest, underneath her name tag.
“Did you have an emergency?”
“No.”
Emily’s blue eyes hardened like ice. “You know you’re not allowed to make personal calls at work. We’re in the middle of a luncheon. We’re trying to get everybody served.”
“My station is completely served.”
“How do you know they don’t need anything? They could need something while you’re outside in the hall, making personal calls.”
“The call lasted three minutes, maximum. I was just in the dining room and I can go back in right now.”
“Not the point. You broke the rules and you should know better. This is a warning, and if you do it again, you’re fired. And you were on more than three minutes. You were on four.”
“Are you serious?” Heather felt the anger burn brighter. “You timed my phone call?”
Emily didn’t bat an eye. “Yes, that’s my job.”
“No, your job is to make sure the luncheon is going well and the club members are happy, which they are, at my station. You’re just trying to catch me in a mistake because you have it out for me, from day one.”
“And you made a mistake. Because you’re not committed to this job.”
“Of course I am! I’ve been doing it for seventeen years. If you look up ‘committed’ in the dictionary, you’ll see a picture of me in this stupid dirndl.”
Emily crossed her arms. “I don’t like your attitude.”
“I do. I love my attitude, and you know what, you don’t need to fire me. I quit.”
Emily’s eyes flared. “You better think about what you’re saying.”
“I have,” Heather said, though she hadn’t. She was tired, finally of waiting. For nothing. For everything. For her life to start. She found herself untying the back of the white apron that went over the dirndl, which wasn’t easy considering that she still had her cell phone in her hand.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m stripping in the freaking hallway.” Heather balled up the apron and threw it on the rug. “And if I could, I’d take off this effing dress, too.”
“Are you serious right now?” Emily asked, surprised.
“Abso-effing-lutely.” Heather didn’t know why she was using profanity. She never talked that way. Meanwhile, one of the new waitresses walked by, averting her eyes, and Heather thought that if this were a movie, people would clap, like at the end of Bridget Jones. But in the real world, people looked away. They didn’t want to see somebody jump off a bridge. “Take this job and shove it” was a song, not a career move.
“Fine then.” Emily snorted. “We’ll send your last check to your house.”
“Thank you.” Heather turned away, heading for the locker room, her eyes suddenly dry and her thoughts newly clear. She would get her purse and change into her clothes. She was going to a baseball game to watch her son pitch for varsity.
One of the Larkins was in the Winner’s Circle.
Chapter Eighteen
Susan slipped on her sunglasses and hurried through the parking lot to the baseball game. Thank God it was a sunny afternoon because she didn’t want anyone to see her puffy eyes. Everyone would know about Ryan’s arrest by now. She’d considered not going to the game, but she couldn’t sacrifice Raz for Ryan.
Susan prayed Raz was pitching today. He derived so much self-worth from being the pitcher, believing that his athletic skill was the only thing he had over his more academic older brother. Susan saw so much in Raz that he didn’t see in himself—his open heart, his carefree way of looking at life, his absolute joy in meeting people—all of it so much like Neil. But because those things came naturally to Raz, he didn’t value them, and nothing she could do would convince him.
You’re as smart as your brother, honey, Susan remembered saying to him when he brought home another borderline report card. You can get better grades, if you try.
Raz had laughed it off. I’m fine being a dumb jock, Mom. And I’m so much hotter than Ryan.
Susan squared her shoulders, putting the memories from her mind. She felt exhausted after the endless night at the police station. She’d called a lawyer who had negotiated a plea agreement. Ryan would be charged with a misdemeanor and sentenced to probation, a fine, and restitution. The lawyer had said this will go away, but Susan felt absolute mortification. She’d called her boss to apologize, Community Relations to make a general statement, and her assistant to let her know that she was taking a personal day. By noon, Ryan’s mug shot was on TV news. Her reliable son, who never gave her a moment’s worry until his face was above the red banner, ValleyCo Vandal.
She passed the high school, a massive redbrick complex with two new wings, their construction supported by developers like ValleyCo. Susan herself had arranged for the top ValleyCo brass to be at the ground-breaking, posing with shiny shovels. She used to feel proud she worked for ValleyCo, but now she felt guilty. She had to scale back. Something had to give.
She approached the crowd of parents clustered to the left of the dugout, watching the game. It seemed like a big crowd, maybe fifty people standing, sitting in blue-cloth sling chairs, or eating the food that covered a long picnic table against the dugout wall. Susan reached the fringe of the crowd, still not able to see the pitcher’s mound. She didn’t know any of the other parents, so she didn’t try to talk to them.
Joyful cheering came from the students hanging onto the cyclone fence, and Susan walked around the back of the crowd to home plate, behind the super-tall cyclone fence, angled down at the top. A player from the other team was at bat, and though Susan didn’t remember who they were, they had on bright red uniforms, so she could tell the difference. That meant the Musketeers were pitching.
Susan kept walking and got a view of the pitcher’s mound. Raz wasn’t pitching, and Jordan was, in his place. She felt terrible for Raz. The change to the lineup would’ve been another blow, when he was least able to deal with it. This morning before he’d left for school, he’d looked as exhausted, raw, and ragged as she had been.
He’d skipped breakfast and left with his long hair dripping wet from the shower, making a soggy collar of his Musketeers baseball T-shirt, which he practically lived in.
Susan looked over at the dugout, and at this angle, she could see Raz silently watching the game from a folding chair behind the Musketeers cheering at the fence.
“Susan?” said a voice beside her.
Susan turned, but didn’t recognize the woman approaching her, a pretty, heavyset mom with a halo of blonde curls, bright blue eyes, and a sweet, if concerned, smile. She had on a Musketeers sweatshirt and jeans, which was obviously the right thing to wear at the game, because the other parents had on team logowear. Susan was wearing the black cable sweater and khakis she wore on casual Friday at work.
“I’m Mindy Kostis. Good to see you again.”
“Oh, Mindy, right. Hi.” Susan raced to remember what Neil had told her about Mindy. Nice lady, doctor husband, popular son. Evan was the catcher. Raz talked about Evan, too, though Susan got the impression that Evan was too popular a kid to be friendly with Raz.
“I just wanted to tell you, I’m so sorry.” Mindy’s face flushed with genuine emotion.
“Thanks.” Susan swallowed hard, unsure what she meant. Ryan? Neil? Pick a calamity, any calamity.
“Neil was such a terrific guy. He used to help me so much at the games. We’re all missing him today. I know you must be, most of all.”
“Thank you.” Susan’s throat thickened. Meanwhile, if Mindy knew about Ryan, it didn’t show. Maybe this was the best way to handle the situation, just pretend it hadn’t happened.
“The Boosters would like to make an impromptu memorial to Neil at the end of the game, if that’s okay with you. I didn’t know you were coming today, so I took the liberty of asking Raz and he was fine with it.”
“Of course, thanks.” Susan felt gratitude, and dread, both at once.
“Would you like to say a few words at the ceremony?”
“No, no, thank you.” Susan couldn’t, not today, not ever. She had been a mess at the funeral. She realized she was still a mess.
“Then I will, don’t worry about it. I know what to say.” Mindy patted her arm, frowning in a sympathetic way. “How have you been?”
Susan didn’t know how to answer. Mindy seemed to want an honest answer, but it wasn’t the time or the place to open up. Susan didn’t know if she needed to make a friend among the moms, or even how to start. It always seemed like a clique she wasn’t a part of, though Neil had been, ironically. Besides, she doubted they had anything in common. Mindy was the Queen Bee of the Boosters with a perfect life, as compared with the Sematov Shit Show.
“Fine, thanks,” Susan answered, turning away.
Chapter Nineteen
Chris thought the scene at the baseball game looked typically suburban. The sun shone high in a cloudless sky, and cheering spectators clustered around a perfect baseball diamond and a lush green outfield. He understood why baseball was America’s pastime, but it just wasn’t his. Sports bored him. He preferred higher stakes.
Chris coached third base, and Jordan had been striking out one batter after the next, until the third inning, when one of the Upper Grove batters connected and the ball hopped into the infield. Jordan had fielded it on the fly and thrown it to first base in the nick of time, and the crowd went crazy. The Musketeers players cheered for him almost constantly, yelling at the top of their lungs, shouting “Jordan, Jordan!” “Number 12” “Get it!” and “Bring it!”
“Strike three!” barked the umpire, ending the inning.
Jordan and the rest of the team jogged toward the dugout, and Chris jogged in after them. Raz, who’d subbed in the outfield, was up next in the batting order, and the team cheered for him, shaking the cyclone fence in front of the dugout. One of the Musketeers played Raz’s walk-up music on the boombox, and the team went crazy, rapping at the top of their lungs.
The Upper Grove pitcher threw a fastball, and Raz swung quickly, missing.
“Strike one!” barked the umpire.
Jordan and the Musketeers cheered louder. “You can do it!” “Shake it off!” “You got this, you got this!”
The Upper Grove pitcher threw another fastball, and Raz swung again, missing.
“Strike two!” yelled the umpire.
The Musketeers hollered, “Cool down, Raz!” “Wait for your pitch!”
Chris noticed two moms cheering for Raz behind the fence and he recognized them from his research—Evan’s mother Mindy and Raz’s mother Susan. He’d been hoping to meet Jordan’s mom Heather, but she wasn’t here, and he assumed she was at work.
The next pitch flew across the plate, and Raz swung wildly, missing yet again.
“Strike three, you’re out!” the umpire yelled.
Suddenly Raz whipped the bat into the air and threw it into the fence behind home plate. Raz’s mother and Evan’s mother jumped back, shocked.
“Son, you’re out of here!” the umpire shouted, then Coach Hardwick scrambled out of the dugout, scurrying to home plate.
Chris patted Jordan on the back. “Don’t let this get to you. You’re doing awesome. Keep it up.”
Jordan nodded, tense, and the team watched as Coach Hardwick marched Raz to the dugout, where everybody parted for him, stunned and nervous. Raz stalked inside and kicked the folding chair.
“Raz, enough!” Coach Hardwick bellowed, then pointed to Evan, who was next in the lineup.
The Musketeers burst into cheers for Evan, and as the game went on, they dominated inning after inning, scoring three more runs, and Jordan hit as well as he pitched. Chris spotted Jordan’s mother Heather arriving late, an attractive woman with dark blonde hair in a white sweater and jeans, and he kept his eye on her throughout the game, waiting to make his move. He needed to get as close as possible to Jordan, and winning over his mom would help the cause.
The final score was five to nothing, the Musketeers’ first win, and the team rushed Jordan on the mound, piling onto him and each other. They shook hands with Upper Grove, then streamed to the grassy area behind the visiting dugout, where snack food and drinks had been put out by the Boosters. Coach Hardwick said a few words, parents started talking to him and each other, and Chris made his way to Jordan’s mom, standing at the periphery. He approached her with a grin, sticking out his hand.
“Hi, I’m Chris Brennan, the new assistant coach. Are you Jordan’s mom? I saw you cheering for him.”
“Oh, nice to meet you. Yes, I’m Heather Larkin.” She extended her hand, and Chris clasped it warmly.
“Great to meet you. I also have him in AP Government and I’m so impressed with him. He’s able, responsible, and hard-working. You guys raised a great son.” Chris knew there were no “guys,” only Heather, but he couldn’t let on he knew.
“That’s true, he really is.” Heather beamed, and Chris noted she didn’t correct him.
“I was thrilled to see that he started today, and you must be very proud of him.”
“Oh, I am, I really am!” Heather’s hazel eyes shone. “I’m so glad I came. It’s my first game! I can’t believe how great he played!”
“He really came into his own, and it’s wonderful that you were there to share it with him.”
“That’s just how I feel!” Heather bubbled over with happiness. “I’m so happy I quit my job!”
“What?” Chris didn’t know if he’d heard her correctly.
“I quit my job and I feel so great!” Heather burst into laughter. “I hated it, only I didn’t realize I hated it! The new bosses are terrible! I’ll find another job and I feel so happy to be free! And I got to be here!”
“There you go! Some things are meant to be, aren’t they?” Chris grinned, though inside, he was shaking his head. She was a sweet person, but somebody should tell all the sweet people in the world, Don’t volunteer so much to complete strangers. Don’t tell them the most personal things. Don’t post every detail about your private life. You have no idea who is out
there, preying on you, using that information to their advantage. Like me.
“It really is meant to be! Thank you so much for coaching him!”
“I’ve only coached him for a day, but I’ll take the credit.” Chris laughed, and Heather joined him.
“Why not? That’s the spirit!”
“Right!” Chris said, but just then, a stray sniffle came from one of the moms nearby, evidently about Raz’s father.
Heather’s pretty face fell. “What a shame. Neil was a great guy. He used to drive Raz and Jordan everywhere until they got their licenses.” She leaned over, lowering her voice. “I think Jordan feels bad about starting instead of Raz.”
“I can tell.” Chris matched her subdued tone, liking the way this was going. The more compliments he paid Jordan, the happier she got, like any good mother. “He doesn’t relish beating his friend. He’s got a good heart.”
“He wouldn’t let it show though. He’s not like that.”
“I know he’s not, he reminds me of someone—basically me.” Chris was ad-libbing, but Heather smiled again, so he kept going. “I’ll tell you what I told Jordan about the situation with Raz. I told him, ‘You have every right to this position because you earned it. You are a combination of God-given talent and hard work, and that’s what this is all about. Baseball, life, everything. You can’t let anything hold you back. You’re stepping into your destiny.’”
“You told him that?” Heather’s eyes went wide, and Chris worried he was laying it on too thick, but she was lapping it up. She was eager to hear him, and he could tell she was lonely. She was cute in a natural way, with a great body, but he shooed his horniness away. His goal wasn’t to take her to bed, but to manipulate her, so he kept talking.
“I love coaching baseball, but the thing you have to know, is that baseball is about these kids and their maturity, and helping them grow into who they were really meant to be. That’s how I think of it. That’s why I got into teaching in the first place.”
“Really.” Heather beamed.
“In fact, just FYI, I’m having a get-together tonight at my apartment for the team to introduce myself. Now it will be a victory celebration, thanks to Jordan.”
One Perfect Lie Page 9
