The Change Up (8 page)

“Balsam poplar trees are—”

“Not the reason you're going through all this trouble. I've Googled you, Sam. I haven't come across a single picture of you chained to balsam poplar trees anywhere else in the state. So does that mean you only care about the ones in your backyard?”

“I care about all trees everywhere.”

“Good. Then this should be easy to resolve. I'll find a nearby location and plant twice as many trees as we cut down here. I'll even make a sizable donation to your favorite environmentalist charity. Sound good?”

“No. That's not an acceptable alternative.”

She studied him closely, letting her intense gaze linger on his face as she tried to figure him out.
Good luck with that, sweetheart.

“Why, Sam?” she asked. “Why isn't it good enough?”

“Because those are mature trees. You can't pacify me with saplings after you've slaughtered century-old trees. Do you know how long it will take for the trees you plant to bring joy to anyone? Kids will be grown before they can climb a single tree. Parents will be gone before they …”

He tripped over his words, giving her enough time to jump in with, “This is about your mom. Isn't it?” Her gaze softened. “She was always a big wildlife advocate.”

Vulnerability coursed through his veins followed by a tidal wave of annoyance, and still he figured it best to shoot straight. “That's part of it. She loved those woods. Hiked them every Sunday for most of her life. It was a part of her.” He shrugged away the pain. “It's a part of me.”

Rachel closed her eyes briefly, and he hoped he'd struck a nerve. It felt like he had. “I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't know there was such a deep personal connection. I'm even sorrier about your mom's passing. She was a great lady. I remember when she took riding lessons from my mom. Did you know the horses wouldn't eat apples unless they were from her?” Rachel chuckled at the memory. “It was so strange. She just had a way about her.”

A smile warmed his face, and he said, “That sounds like my mom.”

Rachel nodded, but then her expression changed. She cleared her throat and her face suddenly seemed sadder, but also colder. “Unfortunately, according to the research my father has compiled over the last eighteen months, to accommodate the type of car traffic this stadium needs to keep ticket sales in the black, those trees must come down. I have a plan to follow and deadlines to keep.”

Unbelievable. “Why did you waste my time asking those questions if there wasn't a shot in hell that the answers would change anything?”

Her face twisted with bewilderment. “I don't know. I guess curiosity finally got the better of me. Maybe I was even hopeful there was a way we could both walk away from this with what we need. I'm sorry, Sam. I really am.”

He was sorry, too, because no matter how important this commercial contract was to his father, Rachel was forcing his hand. He needed to consider his next step very carefully. All it would take was the support of one neighbor to file a formal complaint, which would force the municipality to call in environmental experts. That would give the trees a two-week reprieve.

Sam could have that kind of support by Monday morning. He wasn't sure what a two-week reprieve would do, except maybe give him time to get through to Rachel's father.

“Look, if I could just talk to your dad …”

Her lips tightened into a thin, flat line, and any sadness he thought he'd seen lingering there was gone immediately.

“The municipality has given us the green light, and Wes Allen is scheduled to start next week. That's the bottom line, Sam.”

His fists balled at his sides. “Of course. And the bottom line's all that matters to you, isn't it, Rachel?”

He stormed out of the office before she could even respond. As he headed to his truck, Sam's brain went into overdrive. There had to be a way to salvage the trees; there just had to be. The question was, how far was he willing to go to honor his mother's memory? Far enough to sabotage his father's business?

Rachel never understood the concept of a weekend. If you wanted to be on top, you only had seven days each week to get there. Just because she'd been stuck in Arlington for almost two weeks now didn't mean she was going to change her ways.

“If you're going to be in this tent, you have to wear one of these,” Helen Anne said.

Rachel looked up from the pile of used books she was sifting through to find her sister standing over her holding up a black apron with the Reed's Re-Readables logo ironed on the bib. “I'm not wearing an apron over a fleece jacket. Besides, I'm not here to talk books. I'm here to sell tickets,” Rachel said, pointing at her royal-blue baseball cap. The newly assembled sales team needed all the help they could get.

“Well, you're crashing a festival tent that was paid for by me on behalf of my bookstore, so if you're staying, then you're wearing this.”

Rachel looked at the matronly apron again. “Fine. Then I won't stay in the tent. I'll stand outside.”

“Then you're going to annoy the festival committee because you didn't pay to be a legitimate vendor, and”—she crossed her arms and lifted her chin—“you're going to disappoint your niece when she gets here. She helped Mom make these, and she made one for you.”

Ooh. There was no graceful way out of that, so Rachel stood and accepted the apron from a smug Helen Anne. In the process, she spied a stack of baseball hats on the table. Never one to miss an opportunity to further her own agenda, Rachel said, “You should advertise both, too.” She fit a cap onto her sister's head.

Helen Anne swatted at her. “You're going to mess up my hair. Besides, I look terrible in hats. Jeremy said so all the time. Trust me, if I looked like you …” Her voice trailed off, her lack of self-confidence pitiful to Rachel's ears. Helen Anne's egotistic ex had always required way too much care and feeding and ego stroking. What an awful way to waste a minute of your time, let alone eleven years.

“You're better off without him,” Rachel said sincerely.

But it must not have been what Helen Anne wanted to hear, because she made a face and walked away. So much for being sisterly.

Rachel squatted and picked up a copy of
Little House in the Big Woods
. A simple flip through the yellowed pages reminded her they actually had been sisterly once. Reading books, riding horses, talking about boys. A long time ago. Before Rachel had left for UPenn and no longer had time for the horses. Before Helen Anne had gotten wrapped up in Jeremy and no longer had time for Rachel. People changed. Whether you wanted them to or not.

Thoughts of the Alzheimer's diagnosis reared their ugly heads again, and Rachel dropped the book, preferring to focus on ticket sales rather than her family drama.

Over the next couple hours, people streamed in and out, talking books and authors with Helen Anne, and occasionally—rarely—baseball with Rachel. A lot of people didn't seem to recognize her. Not that she could blame them. She'd been a willing stranger in these parts. Maybe that's why when she saw a familiar face, she pounced.

“Could I interest you in a limited-time deal on Arlington Aces season tickets, Mr. Jackson?” Rachel's former high-school health instructor was milling around at the mouth of the tent while his wife went through boxes of paperback thrillers. He still dyed his hair jet black and wore track pants pulled above his navel.

“Rachel? My goodness! It's been a long time.”

“Years,” she said, nodding. “Now, let me tell you about these tickets. Opening Day is May 11. That's only a little over two months away.”

He shook his head before she could go on. “I don't think so. Can't justify it. The Sandlot League's not half bad, and it's free. Besides, my son takes me to Pittsburgh to see the Pirates a couple times a year. That's enough baseball for me.”

Rachel didn't like the sound of that, and she certainly didn't want the competition. “I don't know anything about The Sandlot League. You'll have to fill me in.”

He told her about the six-team recreational league comprised of local men who used the high-school field during the summer months. It sounded homey. Picnic lunches. Coolers of beer on the tailgates. Kids digging in dirt piles while their moms watched their dads play.

“Got a couple college-level athletes on those teams,” he said. “It's entertaining.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Jackson, the Aces will be better, an entire team of college-level and above athletes. We'll have former minor leaguers, too. Guys from all over the U.S. And while we can't give away the entire season, if you buy a season-ticket package today, you'll get it for 50 percent off. That's like getting twenty-five games free. Plus, you get this hat.” She tapped the brim and shot him her shiniest smile. “You would look great in this hat.”

He thought about it and then took the bait. “How much are we talking here?”

“A little help, please!” The shrill voice interrupted them, and when Rachel turned to see where it had come from, she saw Mrs. Jackson dragging a full box of books toward the register.

Mr. Jackson sighed. “Sorry, Rachel. Another time maybe.”

“But the discount won't be available another time. It's one day only.”

He shrugged. “Then there's nothing I can do. Somebody has to support my wife's reading habit.”

If Rachel hadn't been so surprised and disappointed at not closing the sale, she would've given him props for being the kind of man who put reading ahead of sports—or at least a happy wife ahead of sports. But she
was
disappointed. One hour down, and she hadn't sold a single thing. How could she be so adept at selling multimillion-dollar properties and so inept at peddling baseball tickets? Fifty percent off was a huge price break! Twenty-five tickets free? That was crazy. People had to recognize the opportunity. Obviously, she needed to do a better job getting that point across.

The next sale closes no matter what.

Rachel grabbed a stack of hats and stepped out of the tent into the sunshine, where a throng of people was browsing booths during Arlington's Annual “March Spring Madness” Festival, which was billed as a way to shake off the winter blues and support your neighborhood businesses. She only cared about that last part. Someone in this crowd was willing and able to support the Aces. All she needed was a split second of eye contact to find her mark.

Bam!
She connected with someone all right—Luke and his pregnant wife. He acknowledged Rachel with a nod and then spun his wife in the other direction. Another strikeout.

Frustrated and more determined than ever, she scanned the crowd for another mark and picked a young family she'd never seen before. Two little boys.
Perfect.
She could sell four tickets in one fell swoop. “Excuse me. You're just the people I've been looking for! Have you heard about the Arlington Aces baseball team?”

Skepticism wrinkled the woman's face, while the man nodded. “That's the team moving into the old community-college field, right?”

“Yes! And today only we're giving away tickets to twenty-five home games when you purchase a full season-ticket package.” It sounded much more impressive when you said it that way.

“We're not interested,” the woman said as she took her boys by the hands and started walking away, but the man hung back.

“How much?” he asked.

Rachel smiled and reeled in the line ever so slightly, handing him a full-color pamphlet. “Those are the regular prices, but if you come with me to the Reed's Re-Readables tent, I'll ring you up for 50 percent off.”

He whistled.

“I know. It's a great deal,” she said. “For a very limited time. Today only.”

He gave back the pamphlet. “It's a little steep for me. I'm not even sure my kids will sit still for nine innings. Maybe next year.”

No! Not two in a row. “Sir …”

“Rachel!” It had only been a week, but she recognized the rasp in the distant voice before she even looked up.
Sam.
She ignored him.

“This is the cheapest you'll ever see these tickets. Next year, they'll be the hottest tickets in town. What if you only bought two … and I gave you a hat for each boy?” She shoved two hats toward him. “Do we have a deal?”

“Rachel!” It was Sam. Again. Only closer.

The man took the hats, studied them, and then said, “I don't think so.”

“Rachel!” She was going to have to face him eventually.

The man held the hats out to her, and she shook her head. “Keep them. Give them to your boys.”

“Thanks. Have a nice day.”

Deflated, she watched him take a few steps away from her before she turned to rip into Sam, but the harsh words died when she saw him making his way through the crowd with her father in tow.

“Dad?” His eyes were rimmed in red, and his expression was fearful. “Is everything okay?” She looked beyond him. “Where's Mom?”

“She's, uh …” Danny looked at Sam. “You know my wife, right? Where's my wife?”

Rachel attempted to hide her alarm by rushing a smile and taking her father's arm before Sam could get a word in edgewise. “Oh, she's probably back at the tent with Helen Anne or buying Macy a treat. Let's go find them.” She tugged once, fully intending on escaping without addressing Sam directly, but her father didn't move.

“I didn't know where I was,” he said. “Nothing looked familiar.”

This was going from bad to worse. As far as she knew, he wanted to keep the diagnosis hush-hush for as long as possible. For the sake of privacy, integrity, and all those things. She needed to get him out of here before Sam caught on.

“Dad …” She tugged again.

“But then I saw Sam beside me,” he said. “Thank you for helping me get my bearings. How's baseball? Cubbies, right?”