Fixing Perfect (3 page)

“Yeah, maybe he hasn't figured it out yet.” Sam dug into his burrito. “What creeps me out the most is the way he dyed her hair. What was the point? She wasn't pretty enough the way God made her?”

“Who knows why these guys do what they do? It's not our job to analyze him, just catch him. Heck, it's not even your job. You just get to transport the bodies.”

Sam shook his head. Lehanie's hair still bothered him. Thick, dead black, and straightened. In her pictures, he'd always noticed Lehanie's bright red curls first.

 



 

They didn't get it. They were all average. They had to be not to understand—not the message, not the beauty, nothing. His artistry was brilliant, beyond the scope of the average mind. Of course, he'd expected some resistance at first, expected a few people to fight his unique use of art materials. Wasn't that a sign of artistic genius—that most of the world didn't understand him or his art? No one appreciated the living artist.

But these people—they complained. They cried. They didn't
see
.

He'd just have to do his best to make them see.

 



 

Saturday morning at the park meant the city bus dropping off team members, mostly children, young people confined to wheelchairs, or chained to crutches, like Robin, trapped in bodies that didn't conform or minds that didn't measure up to a lot of society's strict standards. It meant a chance for a lot of people to do their best, show their stuff, and be just like everyone else.

It meant Extreme Baseball.

Robin shrugged her bag over her shoulder and checked her laces one last time. The week before one had gone loose and tripped her. Today, she'd double knotted them, just like a kindergartener. But she'd long given up cringing at what she had to do in order to live a full life. Once she was sure her shoes wouldn't betray her, she shuffled to the front of the bus and let the driver hand her off the lift.

“Perfect day for a game, isn't it?” He stuck a wad of gum into his mouth and walked beside her. “Does me some good to watch you guys play.”

“Why's that?” Robin paused to pull her hair off her face.

“No competition. Everyone cheers everyone else on. Gives a real definition to the word community, you know?” He glanced at her, his eyes slitted. “Something we all need to remember right now.”

She nodded. The tension since Lehanie's murder had ratcheted up exponentially the last week.

Kerry, a developmentally delayed teen, lumbered up next to them. His bright white uniform hung on his scrawny frame, and his eyes vied with the sky for brilliance. One arm and hand curled into his side and the same-side leg was shorter than the other, setting his walk a little jagged, as if he were off balance. “Hey, Robin, I get to bat first today. Coach Danny says so. He says I earned it. He says—he says—yeah. He says I get to bat first.”

“That's awesome. No waiting.” Robin let one crutch fall against her hip so she could give Kerry a high five. He returned it with his good hand.

“Yeah, no waiting. It's awesome.” He turned to the coach. “It's awesome, Coach Danny. I get to bat first. It's awesome.”

The coach ruffled Kerry's hair and sent the young man to practice a few swings before he turned to Robin. “I haven't seen your runner yet.”

“He'll be here. He called this morning and said he might be a few minutes late. He had a meeting at work.”

Danny nodded. “I'll put you a ways down on the hit list so it gives him time.”

“That's fine with me. I don't mind waiting. Maybe you should just put me last.” She glanced at Kerry, who had dropped the bat and was shouting his up-first news to another arrival. “I love that guy, you know?”

“He's one of the best.” Danny tucked his clipboard under his arm and put his whistle to his lips. The shrill summons gathered enough of the team around him that the others noticed. The din faded, and he handed out assignments. Kerry and his runner, a teenager with wrestler's muscles and football cleats, named Aaron, got into position.

Danny strode to the pitcher's mound. “Batter up?”

“I'm here! I get to bat first!” Kerry gripped the bat close to his ear with his one good arm, and Aaron's help. He crouched, waiting for the pitch. It came slow. Kerry swung and missed.

“Not bad, Kerry.” Robin called from behind the fence. “Keep swinging, you're gonna get a hit soon.” She let go of one crutch and leaned hard into the chain link, letting it bounce her gently while she shouted encouragement.

He finally connected on his seventh pitch. His runner helped him drop the bat to the dirt and ambled next to him as Kerry shuffled to first base. Only when he reached the base, high fived the baseman, and got a drink from the bottle his runner held out, did the next batter grab a bat and hunch over home base.

Robin scanned the park. No Sam. Danny would make sure she had someone else for a runner if she needed one, but she was more worried about Sam than her place in the game. He'd sounded so down on the phone, and the meeting was about Lehanie. The case had him wound as tight as his old partner's murder always did, and she couldn't fix it for him. Yet. She'd get him to talk eventually, but he was resisting. The sooner she did, the better.

Her gaze meandered from the lineup across the park. The usual number of families dotted the grass and the playground was almost as full as any other Saturday. Robin noticed more adults, and an atmosphere of heavy vigilance. They'd keep the kids safe, keep each other safe. If they could.

Donovan stood, feet planted wide, a few yards beyond third base. A camera hung around his neck, and he grinned as the second batter swung and connected. He joined in the cheers, caught Robin's eye, and wound his way through parents and siblings to her side.

“Robin, how you doing?” He followed the runners with his camera. His shutter clicked every half second as he captured the play.

“Just ducky. You taking pictures to sell at the co-op?”

“Not of this game.”

She turned away, her jaw clenched. Maybe the players weren't the showcase of cuteness, but they were people, deserving of dignity, and why was he standing here watching, taking shots, if he didn't think they were worth his time?

“Gotta get all kinds of parental permissions and stuff. But I thought I'd offer to do team pictures. Then, I can make sure people know I'm OK to hang around, and no one will mind.” He nodded to where Kerry had just trundled across second base. “He's a cute kid. He's got something special.”

“He does, but he's not a kid. He's almost twenty.”

“Really? He's pretty small.”

“Comes with the territory. A lot of the team have growth issues in one way or another.”

“Yeah?” He looked over the field, his right hand stroking the camera. “You play? I mean, do you get out there on the field and bat and everything?”

She shifted one crutch to angle her body away from him. “Of course. Why else would I be wearing a uniform?”

His gaze roved her white shirt and pants. “OK. You got a runner like everyone else?”

“Yup. Regulation rules and all.”

“Who is it?” He lifted the camera to his eyes again and adjusted the focus.

“A friend of mine.” Though why she was so unwilling to share Sam's name, she couldn't explain, not even to herself.

“Yeah? Where is she?”

Robin lifted her chin. “Not here yet. It's OK, though, if he doesn't get here in time, Danny'll find someone else for me. No one ever loses a turn because of a runner not showing up.”

Donovan's eyes lit up. “I'll be your runner.”

“Mmm, I don't know. Danny likes to use people he's already cleared, you know? Especially these days.”

“Oh, yeah, I see that. Can't be too careful. I just figured since you're not a kid it would be all right.”

“It would be, if it weren't for the actual kids. I've got to set a good example, you know.”

“Right. Got it.” Again, Donovan looked over the field. He lifted his camera again, using it like a pair of binoculars. “This is a great game. I don't know why I've never run across it before. You guys meet every Saturday morning?”

“Yup.”

She leaned against the chain link again and gathered her hair in one fist. Strands whipped across her face, so she let go of the whole lot and started over.

Donovan turned, his eyes narrowed against the wind. “Hey, want me to help you with that?”

“No, it's OK. It won't take me but a minute.”

“It's OK. I can fix you right up.”

Robin wrapped the hair band around the ponytail, tightened it with a few twists and gave him a wide smile that probably showed too many teeth. “All done. No problem. I have bad legs, not hands.”

He blinked. “Oh, that's not what I meant.”

“I know.” Even though she didn't. But manners dictated she relieve his embarrassment. “Everything's fine.”

“Yeah, but if you ever want me to fix something for you, just let me know.”

“Sure thing.” He was trying hard, at least, which was better than some people she'd run into.

“I'm really good at fixing things. You should—“

Behind her, Sam said, “Where are you in the line-up?”

Robin turned, grinning. “Dead last.”

Sam twinkled back. “Good. Who got to go first?”

“Kerry.”

“Oh, boy, I bet he was excited.” Sam bent to straighten the cuff of his jeans. “I kind of rushed over. I think I remembered to put on all my clothes.”

Robin laughed. “If anything's missing, someone will let you know.”

“Probably Kerry.” He straightened and looked over at Donovan.

“I wouldn't doubt it.”

She studied his face as he watched the other man. No sign of jealousy. She sighed. Why had she even pretended she could expect him to care if another man talked to her? “Sam, do you know Donovan? He's a photographer. He just joined the craft co-op.”

Sam lifted his chin in greeting, though he waited a moment before saying anything. “Welcome. Are you part of the team or—?” He let his tone finish the question.

“No, just came across it. I only met Robin a few days ago. Pretty cool to run into her twice.” He winked at her.

Well, let Sam see that other men were interested. Then she remembered, and told Donovan, “Sam is my runner.”

“I figured.” He shifted the camera to the other side of his chest. “I'm going to see if I can get a better vantage from across the field. See you around.” He strode off.

After a moment, Sam said, “Nice guy.”

“You didn't take to him, either.” Though why she felt the need to defend Donovan, she had no idea. It wasn't like Sam cared.

“Hey, I said he was a nice guy.”

Robin snorted.

Kerry jostled Robin's elbow. “Hey, Robin, you're up. Come on! It's your turn. Hurry up!”

Sam wrapped his arm around her shoulders to keep her from tipping over under Kerry's enthusiasm. He followed her to home base, fetched her preferred bat, and stood behind her, the bat in his outstretched hand in front of her.

Robin slipped her arms from the crutches, leaned back against Sam's chest, and gripped the wood in both hands. Sam tucked the crutches against his hips. After he brushed her hair from her neck, he tucked his head against her back.

Sam said, “Ready.” His arms went around her waist.

She could stay this way forever. Sam's forearms crossed over her stomach and his palms pressed against her ribs, the way Danny had taught him. Her crutches nestled in the crook of his elbows, so they wouldn't fall, and neither would she.

“Ready!” Robin called to the coach.

“Batter up!” Danny wound and let fly a faster ball than his usual. Robin swung, but the ball continued to the catcher's mitt.

“Steady up.” Sam shifted against her back, and she felt his breath warm on her shoulder blades.

How was she supposed to concentrate on a bit of rawhide and thread when she had Sam breathing deliciously down her neck? Ah, but she had to. This was not the place to lose her mind, as attractive as it seemed. She choked the bat again and called, “Ready.”

Danny pitched.

This time her swing caught the ball dead on, and it flew to the outfield. Robin squealed, dropped the bat and reached back with both hands.

Sam fitted the crutches over her wrists and waited for her to get her balance before he stepped back.

Robin had never mastered running, but she could hustle well enough. Her pace gave her time to watch as the outfielders tossed her ball to each other, stalling until she reached first base.

Sam jogged beside her, more to give her the impression of speed than because he had to, to keep up. “That was a great hit. You've got some good arm muscles going there.”

“Comes from having to use them to walk. You want to build up your pecs, I recommend crutches. Of course, your legs get kind of wimpy after a while.”

He laughed as she touched first base. “There's nothing wimpy about you.”

Well, her heart might argue that. It still wanted his arms around her, no matter the reason. Then again, she didn't want support. She wanted more.

 



 

Out on the field, Sam caught three grounders and pretended to fumble them while the players headed off for first base. Once they were started, he'd give an easy toss to someone else on the field. Eventually, when the player got to first base, someone would pass the ball to the pitcher's mound and let Danny stall. Sam let one fly ball land between him and Robin, making sure it wouldn't hit her on the head. He tossed her the ball and she sent it on to the outfield, watched it travel between teammates until the player made it across home base, to the cheers of “home run!”