The Shortstop (21 page)

Annie

“I miss him so much, Daphne,” I croak the words over the phone. The pain never subsides. The ache inside is now a part of me. Like those living with chronic pain, it’s constant and it’s relentless. Any time of day, regardless of what I’m doing, the pain is there. I mistakenly thought by enrolling in classes I’d be somewhat distracted. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Two weeks in has me wondering if I’ll even pass these classes I’m forcing myself to sit through.

“That’s why you should come up, spend the weekend with me. Let’s celebrate my success.” When I don’t respond, laugh at, or even acknowledge her joke, she says, “Nothing? Wow. Okay, this is an order. You are going to pack a bag, get your ass on a train, and get up here, stat.”

Up here is New York, Daphne’s new home. She landed a sportscaster job on a local news program and will be starting on Monday. Everything comes so easily for her. She’s already found a studio apartment that she loves in her price range. The way she’s jumping into her future with both feet and not bothering to look back doesn’t surprise me in the least. That’s just who Daphne is. No regrets, shakes it off, and carries on. Billy now a fond memory, she truly believes things happen for a reason. Her relationship kept her in the Maryland area to make him happy. Had they still been together, she may not have applied for the New York position.

Billy seems fine. His concern for me is obvious in the amount of texts and calls I’ve been receiving. He can somewhat relate to what I’m going through. This time around, he refuses to wallow in their breakup. In his words, he’s moving on and Maryland’s campus is just what he needs. I truly hope he finds someone deserving of his kindness and love. I adore my friend, but I’ll never understand or condone what she did to Billy.

Daphne can be kind and loving. Her friendship means the world to me, and I appreciate her support these past few weeks. I can’t fault her for knowing her limitations. Love was just not in the cards for her and Billy. You can’t force love, just as you can’t fight it.

“Fine,” I concede. “I’ll text you what time the train pulls in.”

“Yay! We are going to get rip-roaring drunk.”

“Sounds like a plan.” After a pause, I tentatively add, “Um, I want to go see him first.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I need to. It’s been two weeks and I need to see him.”

“Okay. Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I need to do this alone. I love you, though. Thank you.”

“Love you too, chica,” she says before hanging up.

As long as I’m going up, I need to visit him. My original plan to hold out and give him time now just seems like a stupid idea. I expect more of the same, where I’m rambling and he’s staring off into space. I just have to believe one of these times my words will break through. It may be a false hope, but I need to cling to that possibility.

It isn’t long before I’m packed and ready. My mom looks up when I enter the kitchen. Her frown conveys what she’s thinking when she sees my overnight bag.

“Daphne wants me to come see her new place.” I feel guilty omitting the real reason for my trip.

“Okay, sweetheart. I think a weekend with Daphne will do you good.”

She closes the distance between us and wraps me in her arms. “My heart is breaking for you, my sweet girl. Please have faith that things will turn out just as they should.”

I could easily start bawling in her arms. It has become common practice for me. Surprising her and myself, I choose to nod and smile instead. “I know, Mom. I will. Tell Dad I’ll see him in a few days.”

She kisses my forehead and smiles warmly. “Go, have fun with your crazy friend.”

The car ride to the station goes quickly, and I’m soon parking in the extended lot. I purchase a ticket to the Port Chester station with a racing heart. Of course, nerves kick in at the reality of seeing him in a few hours. He’s never kicked me out or asked me to leave. Well, he did the day of his surgery. The fact he hasn’t since could mean that he didn’t mean it that day. Every other time I visited, the only response I received was indifference.

Once I settle into my seat on the train, I decide to send him one of my pathetic texts. I do so often, sometimes calling and leaving a message on his phone. He never responds. I can’t even be sure he reads or listens to them. I need to believe they’re reaching him and maybe even comforting him in some way. If his situation is a passing storm, then maybe my constant contact is his shelter. That may sound ridiculous, but my alternative is to curl up into the fetal position and cry my eyes out. How close I am to that reality has my eyes predictably welling with tears.

The entire ride from southern Jersey to Port Chester is spent staring at the landscape. In it I see our past whirling by in a blur. Had I known we’d end up here, I would have treasured those days, committed each and every moment to memory. My mind is so scattered with thoughts I can’t even grasp one memory to hold on to. The events of these past weeks are sadly overshadowing the many, many good times we’ve had. The image in my mind is not one of a smiling, happy Quint. This injured Quint is void of all emotion, made of stone, an empty shell.

The closer I get to him, the more I regret caving in to my weaknesses. With each step I take into the facility, my heart pounds frantically in my chest. In a trance, I sign in, ask for his room number, and trek toward his room. I pause at his door to drag in a huge breath before knocking softly.

A tall guy with sandy brown hair opens the door with a warm smile. “Hi. How can I help you?”

“I’m…I’m here to see Quint.”

His smile widens and he offers his hand, which I shake slowly. “I’m Lance. Quint’s PT Manager. Come on in.” He opens the door to give me access. My eyes scan the nicely decorated room, landing on Quint, who’s sitting in a chair in the corner. His leg, sporting a thick black brace, extends before him on a small ottoman. A wheelchair sitting in the opposite corner can only mean he isn’t walking yet.

“Quint, is this your girl?” Lance asks from behind me. An awkward silence stretches between us. Lance interrupts our tense moment by asking, “What’s your name?”

Without looking away from Quint’s cold eyes, I respond to Lance’s question. “Annie. Annie Weber.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Annie. We were just reviewing his schedule for today. I’ll give you guys some privacy.”

“No!” I quickly reply, blushing from my outburst. “Um. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come back.”

Quint has yet to speak. He remains seated, staring out the window, pretending I’m not even there.

“Nonsense. He rarely gets visitors. Sit with your friend…maybe you can cheer him up. I’ll be back.”

Lance leaves the room, shutting the door on his way out.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. I feel like an errant child who did something wrong. His silence causes the familiar feelings of anger to bubble up inside of me. His typical response to my visits always sparks my anger. It’s usually short-lived, though. With time, it morphs into a deep sadness that ends with a feeling of total defeat. 

“I’m due in therapy,” he finally says. “How are you?”

His question causes a sarcastic laugh to erupt. “You’re serious? How do you think I am?”

“I hope you’re good. I hope you found a way to move on.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as if he’s trying to channel his own anger. Well, fuck him. I refuse to make this easier in any way. This time I stand stubbornly, refusing to scurry away like I usually do. “Why can’t you understand I’m here and I want to be here? Why can’t you accept that I still love you and I know you still love me?”

His nostrils flare slightly when he waves a hand and says, “See this. This is my life. The same shit happens day after day. I get to stare at these fucking walls. I get to hate everyone around me including myself. I then get to sit in a therapy room with a team of people who are trying to get my motherfucking leg to work again. You know what? It’s not working. I’ve made no progress in six days. None. All I can think about is this hell I’m forced to live in and, believe me, it’s taking up every goddamn inch of my mind. So much so, I have no room for anyone else. My only relief from the pain comes in the shape of a little white pill or when I pass out every night. This is my life, Annie. Isn’t it exciting? Isn’t it a fucking party on wheels?”

I desperately try to contain myself. I want to slap him, punch him, and physically hurt him in some way to release the hurt he’s causing me with every word.

Instead, I choose to inflict pain on myself by digging my nails into my palms, hoping to draw blood. You’d think it’d be enough, but it’s not. Neither is the stabbing pain centered in my heart with each breath I drag into my lungs. I feel as if a knife is protruding from my chest. It reminds me of our situation, the uncertainty of our future, but it doesn’t satisfy my sudden sadistic needs.

Somehow I find the ability to speak. Through clenched teeth, I seethe with anger and finally let out all I’ve been toxically holding back. “There’s going to be a day when I won’t be able to take this anymore. I know this isn’t devastating to hear, since pushing me away is your one and only mission. Just know when that day comes, I don’t think I can ever come back. When and if that day comes, I’ll be falling off my cliff and there won’t be anything left of me to put back together. I love you more than anything in this world, Quint Lawson. So much so, that I’m willing to be your punching bag. I can handle it, and I’ll continue to handle it. But with each punch, I feel like we’re playing Russian roulette, and the bullet to my head is inevitable.”

I angrily swipe away my tears, and for the first time, turn to leave without my normal kiss good-bye or confirmation of my love. I just don’t have it in me today.

In the hall, I come face-to-face with Lance.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks as I continue to wipe away tears that refuse to stop.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

He gauges me for a few seconds and nods knowingly. “It’s his way to handle what’s happening right now. I don’t know your relationship, but if it comforts you at all, know it’s normal. When something this traumatizing suddenly happens, the climb back to be the people they once were becomes as daunting as the recovery.”

I get he’s trying to help, but he doesn’t know how far Quint has fallen. He may never be able to climb back up. “Thanks, I appreciate it. Just, take care of him, please?”

Lance smiles and nods. “We will.”

Putting on a brave face, I turn to walk away. I stop for a second and ask, “I know you can’t tell me details of his recovery or therapy. Um…” Struggling to find the right words, I simply ask, “Can I leave my number in case anything changes?” His smile wavers slightly. “You know what, forget it.”

Compassion alters his features. He pulls out his phone and looks up expectantly. I robotically recite my cell number before saying, “Thanks, Lance. I appreciate it. I’ll understand if you can’t give me details. I just need sporadic updates on how he’s holding up.”

“Sure.”

“It was nice meeting you.”

“Same here, Annie.”

On my way out, clarity hits me with a sudden force. I can’t keep doing this. I spend the ride to New York City chastising myself. He’s not budging. There’s still too much anger, and it’s still too fresh. It’s time to step away, let him be, and hope as he recovers, so will his heart.

“You look hot, chica.”

“Hmm, I don’t feel hot, but thank you.” Daphne has me made up like a runway model. Based on the pound of foundation she dabbed under each eye, I’m guessing my dark circles have gotten worse. I made her promise we weren’t going to talk about either Billy or Quint. I need a night off from my depressing love life.

She scrutinizes her handiwork and drags me by the hand out the door. I love her apartment. Daphne’s touch created a warm, comfortable, trendy place. I can see myself in a place just like it one day. A small gasp escapes when I realize my visual didn’t include Quint. Tears prick my eyes and I quickly blink them away. She notices and turns to face me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” With a pointed finger, she threatens without having to say a word.

“So where are we going?” I deflect and distract.

“It’s such a cool place. One of the station hands told me about it. Many of my colleagues hang out there on weekends, the single ones at least. You’ll love it.”