Lurlene McDaniel (11 page)

I remember my experience in the emergency room. My mind, the essence of me, rising out of my body, floating and watching, going higher, leaving the hospital and entering a tunnel, and a light more beautiful than anything I've ever seen. And I wonder, why can't I float my mind out of this body that cannot move? Why can't I come and go into the world around me without entering the tunnel? How much control do I truly have in mind and matter, over time and space? Can I split myself into parts? Can I break apart like a seedpod and float my consciousness into the real world while my body languishes on this bed?

The idea intrigues me. If I can break free, if I can project myself out of the shell of my body … I can go anywhere.

I'm walking into the house after indoor practice at the baseball center my dad built a few years ago. Our city had no batting or pitching cages, so Dad bought an old roller rink and had it converted into a facility for Little League and Major League Baseball wannabes to practice to their hearts’ content. He also hired a special pitching coach for me, and I've just spent an hour on my technique. I want to ice my arm because I'm really sore, but before I can get through the foyer, Dad calls me into his den.
Now what?

He's sitting behind his new desk and he's beaming. “Guess who I just got off the phone with?”

God?
I shrug.

“A coach from Southern Cal.”

Now I'm interested. “And?”

“And he wants to take a look at you. I've planned a little road trip for us over your spring break. We're hitting four California campuses and talking to recruiters there, so keep your pitching arm in shape.”

“That's what I've been working on.” California! He can't imagine how much I want to go far, far away.

“Of course, several Carolina coaches have been calling, and last week we got a nibble from Nebraska.”

“I'd like to go out west.”

“It's all about the best offer,” Dad says.

We both know that he can afford to send me anywhere, but it's not about scholarship money. It's about playing for the best coaches, the best school, and my best shot at a pro career. The top college players go to farm teams for the big leagues. And that's where I want to be—in Major League Baseball.

I ask, “So we'll spend the whole break making the rounds?” Just yesterday, I told my friends to count me in for a week in Hilton Head and I've already been working on a way to dump Laurie for the trip.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“No way.” I mean it too. I'll miss the beach party, but not the pressure from Laurie. This is my future.

I'm turning to leave when Dad says, “About this girl you're dating …”

I freeze. “What about her?”

“Laurie Stark,” he says. “You like her?”

“She's all right. Why?”

“It's the second time you've dated her, isn't it?”

My heart's hammering. I could lie, but he wouldn't have asked if he didn't know. “Yeah. We tried dating last fall, but we didn't gel then.”

“And now you do?”

“Better than before. I'm just biding my time until graduation. I'm not letting anything get in my way.”

He nods, steeples his fingers together, stares hard at me. “You're being careful, though, aren't you?”

More careful than you can imagine,
I think. I say, “Remember? I learned my lesson a long time ago.”

He smiles grimly. “That was for your own good, Quin. As your father, I only want what's best for you. You can't get off track with some girl. Keep your priorities straight.”

My stomach tightens. “My priorities are as straight as an arrow.”

“Good. Now go ice your arm.”

I take the ice bag to my room, flop down on my bed and allow my mind to go where I rarely let it—to memories of Cory. When she told me she was pregnant, I was scared. But I was glad too. I loved her and wanted to live with her forever. We talked about getting married, even though we were only fourteen. How stupid of me! We were going to run away together, but once Dad found out, he practically locked me in the house.

We had a huge fight over Cory, one I still remember.

“What are you thinking, Quin? Oh, I know what body part you're thinking
with,
but use your head! This girl is a slut.”

“No! I love her. Don't call her that.”

“Come on, son. Grow up. You're the kid of one of the richest men in the area. You don't think little Miss Trailer Trash sees an opportunity here?”

“Cory's not that way!”

“Well, let's just test your theory, okay?”

And then she was gone. Cory and her whole
family went away, and I know it was my dad's doing. Mr. Ochoa was a poor man, a laborer, and I know my father paid him big bucks to disappear. Later Mom told me that Cory had had an abortion. But I know that Cory was Roman Catholic, and there was no way her family would have aborted our baby. Months later, I ran into one of Cory's old girlfriends, and she told me that Cory was living in Los Angeles and she'd had the baby—a boy—and that her father had forced her to give him up for adoption.

The news made me sad and a little crazy for a time. Somewhere I have a son. Somewhere he's growing up not knowing me. I've made a promise to myself. When I'm a baseball star, when I'm grown and can tell my dad to eat dirt, I'm going to look for my kid.

Today was the closest Dad's come in four years to mentioning this black hole in my life. The last time he talked about it, I was fourteen, Cory was gone and I was confined to my room. He came inside and tossed a large cigar box onto my bed. “This is for you,” he said. “I don't ever want to have a scare like this again.” And he slammed the door when he left. I stared at the box for a long time, thinking it might contain a snake that would mercifully bite and poison me so I'd never
feel this bad again, but when I opened the box I found that it was filled with neat foil packets of condoms. There must have been well over a hundred.

I got his message about girlfriends loud and clear.

In the barn where Mark keeps his shop, he has a locked room with shelves full of rare woods. I like to go in there to be by myself, to think, and to breathe the sweet air. The scent of the different woods is exotic, heady. I run my hands along the planks of curly maple and cherry, satinwood, quilted mahogany and the rarest of his stash, ebony. I imagine where each came from, their forests and countries, and I wonder if one day I can go to these places and see the trees tall, uncut and raw.

I touch the wood and imagine that I'm touching Analise. Her body was once so beautiful to me. When I lay beside her and looked into her eyes, I saw softness and light, humor and understanding. It's almost impossible to see her in the same way now, curled up on the bed, her hands in
splints so they won't turn under, clawlike, her legs drawn up like a newborn baby's. I remember her by Amy's pool, stretched out on a lounge chair, with legs that went on forever, her shimmering veil of hair tied neatly in a ponytail and wound up atop her head, her skin glowing bronze in the sun.

My hands begin to shake. I want her back so much! I want to caress and stroke her, feel desire rise up in me. I want to kiss her, taste her mouth and tongue, fresh with the sour lemon candy she likes to suck. I want to bury my face between her breasts, taste the perspiration on her bronze skin, watch goose bumps rise along her flesh. I want …
I want …

The door opens and Mark comes inside. “How you doing, buddy?”

I moisten my lips, turn my back to him because I don't want him to see the tears in my eyes. I clear my throat. “All right. Just looking over the wood.”

“Anything new about Analise?” He won't be sidetracked; he knows I come in here when I've got something weighty on my mind.

“Jack told me that the cops have hit a wall with her case. It's gone cold, so they filed it along with all the other cold cases.”

“That stinks.”

“We'll never know … never get justice.”

“Closure,” Mark says. “That's what the shrinks call it.”

That makes me smile because Mark's as far away from armchair psychology as a person can be. “Sure. Closure.”

“Come on, we'll lock up and I'll buy you a cup of coffee.”

“I've got work—”

“I know the boss. He'll be all right about it.” He winks.

I touch the wood once more before leaving the room with Mark. “Did you get Lisa something for Valentine's Day?” Lisa's his wife, and last year we made jewelry boxes for both her and Analise.

“I made her a cedar chest for the foot of our bed. She's been nagging me about one for ages.”

This Valentine's Day, I only sat beside Analise's bed and held her hand. Sonya made a cake for the staff and Jack sent a bouquet of red and white balloons. For what? Analise will never know. Her eyes will never see. I shake my head to throw off the heavy dark cloud on my shoulders. I watch Mark lock up the rare woods room. “Promise me something,” I say.

“Anything.”

“If you ever build anything out of this wood, you'll let me help.”

“There aren't many calls for this stuff because it's so expensive, but if I get the chance to build with it, you'll be right by my side.”

I'm grateful for that.

I hate baseball. I hate sitting on cold metal bleachers in the cold spring air, cheering for a team I don't care about and a boyfriend I like even less. But if I didn't, people would question my loyalty to the best player on our school's team. Everyone worships Quin. Local reporters are at every game, and his face is a regular on the sports pages.

He's affectionate and caring in public, hateful to me in private. The hypocrite. I'm locked in, though. The coach pulled me aside to talk to me, to send a subtle message. He said, “Nothing throws a player off worse than girlfriend troubles. I sure hope you and Quin can avoid them.”

I'd wanted to scream at him,
“You're so wrong! He'd improve a hundred percent if I stopped seeing him.”
Instead I smiled and said, “I'm in for the long haul. At least until graduation.”

Quin's friends hate me. I know because I walk into a bathroom at school after lunch one day and run into Karen, the girl dating Quin's best friend, Dylan, and certainly the alpha female of the high school's insiders. She and three of her cohorts are sneaking a smoke.

“What's up?” I ask, wearing my biggest smile.

“What's it look like?”

“Aren't you afraid you'll get caught?”

“What are they going to do? Suspend us? Hold off graduation?” Karen takes a drag. “We're seniors. End of May, end of high school game.” She looks me over while I smile stupidly. My reflection in the wall mirror reminds me of an eager puppy waiting for approval. “You know what we don't get, Laurie?” she says.

I shrug. Her eyes are glittery and I know that what she has to say isn't going to leave me feeling warm and fuzzy.

“None of us get
you.
And especially what Quin sees in you.”

My face goes hot and her blunt words sting. “There's nothing to get. We're just dating.”

Karen glances at the others and they look equally malicious. “You don't make him happy. He thinks up ways to
not
be around you. He doesn't
even mention you when you're not around. That's just not the way a guy in love treats his girl. So we're wondering … why is that?”