Seems Like Old Times (5 page)

"Full count," the home plate umpire called.
"Three and two."

Only two strikes? This pitcher was better than the ones
she remembered. They used to walk everyone, including the team mascot.

She reached the snack shack, bought Miriam’s 7-Up and a
diet Dr. Pepper for herself, then headed back.

The batter had walked--some things never changed--and now
stood at first base, looking for a chance to steal. Another boy was at the
plate.

She heard the clink of the aluminum bat against the
baseball and instinctively looked over her shoulder to see the hit. Everyone
was peering upward. "Foul ball!" someone yelled.
"Heads
up!"

She lifted her head, too, and saw the ball that had been
popped high in the air coming down right in her direction.

She quickly took a step back, then another. The ball
dropped a few feet in front of her. "I'll get it, lady," a little
boy, not in uniform, said as he picked up the ball and tossed it back into
play.

"Fine," she answered, checking to see if the
soda that sloshed over the cups had landed on her dress. The dress was spared,
but a blob of sticky brown soda flattened the soft suede of one shoe.
Terrific.

She raised her eyes. Suddenly, the world screeched to a
halt, then careened backwards in time.

Standing inside the baseball field, staring straight at her,
was Tony Santos.

The sound of birds, the murmur of the crowd, the heat of
the afternoon sun, all dimmed and disappeared. She felt cold, then warm, then a
little light-headed.

She blinked. Tony. Of all the people she had known in Miwok,
he was the one she most often thought about. The one she had stayed curious
about after all these years. The one she dreaded ever facing again.

He'd left Miwok years ago, just as she had--just as they'd
both always said they'd do. Yet, seeing him here seemed so right, so
inevitable, even if she wouldn’t admit it, she knew she had imagined he’d be
here.

He wore a red Bruins cap and although it shaded his eyes a
little, she could see that they were every bit as big and dark and penetrating
as she remembered.

She felt rooted to the spot, and starkly aware of the damp
coldness of the sodas in her hands, the smoothness of the silk that skimmed her
body, the dull roar in her ears. It was somehow appropriate that even after all
these
years,
she should see him in a baseball cap.
That was how she remembered him best.

Yes, she remembered Tony.

As much as she hadn't let herself think about him, he was
always there, in her subconscious.
Tony...and Miwok.
Her insides churned as wretched memories shook her--disgust and hatred,
heartache and regret.

The loud cheer of the crowd startled her, and Tony turned
his head to see the batter get a hit and make it safely to first base. The
runner advanced to third. Then Tony turned to face her again. He didn’t smile;
he made no acknowledgement. The hell of it was, she understood why, and knew
she was to blame.

Still, she could have been sixteen once more, seeing Tony
waiting for her after school, after his team practice or after her student
council meeting. Against her will her heart raced, just as it used to do, and a
yearning, as familiar as it was startling, filled her. She had to stop this,
but instead her face burned at the sudden awareness she felt, and at the
awkwardness.

Somehow her lips curved in her television smile--polite,
charming, and not giving anything away. She lifted her hand, Dr. Pepper and
all, in greeting.

"Hey, Dad!" a boy shouted, loud enough for the
stands to hear.
"Dad!
Quick, who's in the
hole?"

Dad?

Lee stared at the child and her world became a dizzying spiral. Her
fingers tightened on the sodas.
Dad...

Tony looked over at the boy. "What?"

"Who's in the hole?" he yelled again.

"Just a minute."
He
pulled a rolled-up paper from his back pocket and checked it. His voice seemed
a little deeper now. But it was still low, sexy and musical, with a hint of
grit. She’d always loved his voice.

As her gaze leaped from father to son, she felt she was
coming apart inside. Tony's son was beautiful. He had Tony's black hair and
dark eyes. He still had baby fat where Tony was sleek and
well
toned
, and he had his father's light olive complexion. She steeled
herself against the sudden ache deep within her. Tall, dark and handsome--that
described the Santos men. That described Tony.

Her gaze turned toward the
stands,
scanning them as she heard Tony call out to a boy named Jimmy that he was the
next batter on deck...scanning them as she wondered which of the women watching
the game was Tony's wife.

What had passed between her and Tony happened a long time
ago and was best forgotten. She glanced back at him and their eyes met. His
burned, and yet, he still didn't acknowledge her, didn't wave,
didn't
even smile.

She squared her shoulders, turned and walked with
deliberate slowness across the park to her aunt.

North of Miwok a string of lakes filled the gullies
between the coast
range mountains
to the west and the
foothills that edged San Francisco Bay on the east. Along these lakes were
small dairy and horse ranches.
Among them stood the Circle Z.

Tony and Ben sat in the remodeled kitchen of the farmhouse
and ate their way through a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken bought after Ben's
Little League game. Tony had spent a lot of time and money on the old house,
making it a warm and inviting home for himself and his son. The old-fashioned
spacious kitchen, filled with modern conveniences and appliances, was the room
he was especially proud of.

Tony’s father, Vic, lived in the cottage that he and Tony
had shared when Vic was first given a job at the Circle Z over nineteen years
ago. The cottages for Vic and the foreman, bunkhouse for the ranch hands, as
well as stables for the ranch horses, boarding stables, and the barn, were
grouped away from the main house. Tony enjoyed the business of raising prize
Arabian stock and of boarding horses, many of whom were purchased from his own
stables, and he spent nearly every day working with his crew.

The chicken was halfway eaten when Vic, as usual, entered
through the back door without knocking.

"How'd the game go, Benito?" he asked.

"We won, ten to seven." Ben waved a drumstick in
triumph.

"Want to eat, Pa?" Tony asked.

"I don't eat
no
food I don't
recognize. Anyway, I already ate." He opened the refrigerator and took out
a bottle of Dos
Equis
beer, then opened it. He sat at
the table and watched Tony and Ben finish eating. "You
wanna
come down and play some poker tonight?" he asked Tony.

"I don't think so." Tony picked up the plates,
rinsed them off then put them in the dishwasher without saying another word.
Ben ran outside to play.

Vic watched Tony put the leftovers in the refrigerator and
stuff the food wrappings in the trash. "What's wrong?"

Tony froze.
"Nothing!"
He slammed the under-the-sink cabinet door where the garbage was gathered,
then
he stopped and drew in his breath. He had no business
being irritable with his father. It wasn't Vic's fault that he was crackling
with nervous energy. He felt like a cat in a lightning storm, but he didn’t
know why. Or did he? He rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, would you watch
Ben for a couple of hours? I think I'll go for a drive or something."

"
You
goin
’
any place special?" Vic’s question was pointed, and Tony knew it.

"No." His answer was equally pointed.

Vic shrugged. His once-muscular shoulders had lost most of
their bulk, but kept a sinewy strength. "So, to go no place special, you
can't take Ben with you?"

Tony turned from the window. "If you don't want to
watch him, you can just say so--"

Vic waved his hand as if brushing Tony's comment aside.
"That's not what I said. You think I was born yesterday?"

Tony's jaw tightened. "What's that supposed to
mean?"

"A friend of mine saw your old girlfriend's aunt a
couple days ago. She told him Lisa was
comin
’ back
and that the two of them was gonna empty out her mother's house. Get the place
ready to sell. Now you're
goin
’ off and won't say
where."

"What? Did I say that?" Tony waved his arms as
he spoke. "Did I say I won't say where I'm going? Did I?"

"But you didn't say where."

"Jesus Christ, Pa! Maybe I don't know where. What the
hell!" He grabbed his sweatshirt and pulled it on. "I'm getting out
of here."

"You gonna go to her house?"

Tony yanked the sweatshirt into place,
then
put his hands on the top rail of a kitchen chair. "Christ, that's the last
place I want to go. Anyway, you're wrong about one thing. Lisa's not back. The
woman I saw yesterday was no more Lisa than Astroturf is a baseball
field."

Vic’s mouth wrinkled in disgust. "Still, you
wanna
go see her."

Tony’s irritation swelled. "I don't want to go see
her! I didn't expect asking you to watch your own grandson would turn into an
inquisition."

"I'll watch Ben, but I
gotta
be sure you got the brains to stay away from a woman like her, Tony. You
gotta
stick with nice, simple women. Ones you can tell what
makes
them happy."

There was a silence, then a low, deep, growly reminder.
"I'm not a kid," Tony said, holding his agitation in check. "I
don't need your advice.
Especially about women."

Vic
harumphed
and picked up his
beer. "Don't seem to me you done so
good
without
it."

Anger surged, but died almost immediately. In its place
came regret. Tony turned to look out the kitchen window. Ben was out there
running around imaginary bases, pretending he’d hit a home run, most likely.
Somehow, watching Ben always helped bring him back on track.

From the time he’d heard of Judith Reynolds’s death, he’d
wondered if Lisa might come back here. A part of him wanted to see her, but
another part hated the thought. His feelings for her had gone from a boyhood
infatuation to black, pure hatred to, finally, just a quiet disappointment that
she had taken their affection and closeness and had made it so ugly. He'd
thought he'd forgotten all about her--that she was just another pretty face on
TV--until he'd heard yesterday that she was coming home.

Many times over the years he had wondered how it would
feel to see her again. He wondered what he would say to her, if anything. The
way they’d parted, there wasn’t much left to say. No, that wasn’t true. There
was everything to say.
Starting with why?

He had avoided watching her on TV as much as possible. It
was more than he could tolerate. His memories were too strong to handle the
one-dimensional image. The girl he knew was brilliant, ambitious, and
surprisingly tough-minded--Lisa was never the sweet little miss she'd pretended
to be--much more vivacious, much more real than the cool, golden, glittery
creation who so seriously presented the news each night. He wondered how she’d
look and sound without the make-up and hair style and jewelry and speech lessons
that went along with being a television star. Was any of the old Lisa left at
all?

Yes, he had definitely wondered what it would be like to
face her again. The only problem was that he'd never suspected it'd feel the
way it did.
Wretched, confusing, scary.
She had looked
beautiful, so god-damned beautiful it actually had made his chest ache to see
her. Even more than before, and Lisa had looked gorgeous from the first day
they’d met, even though she’d seemed scared to death of him.

What had she been doing at the park yesterday? Lee
Reynolds at a snack shack, for crying out loud, wearing an expensive blue dress
that made her glow, that hinted at the familiar gentle curves, the long sexy
legs it covered. Seeing her was like a kick in the balls, and he had reacted in
kind.

There was no damn reason she should have had that effect
on him. Not after all these years. Not after half a lifetime.

God, but he felt like an asshole for just standing there that
way, gaping at her like some star-dazzled groupie, not saying a word, not even
waving. She must have thought he was a complete jerk.

Now that he’d seen her again, gotten the shock out his
system, he’d love just five minutes with her, with that new "Lee"
Reynolds. Just five minutes to show her how little she mattered to him, to show
her how much he'd made out of his life. How easy it was, now, for
him
to
walk away from
her
.

He folded his arms and turned back to Vic. "Don't
ever think I still care about her, Pa. You'd be dead wrong. She's no more to me
than a bad memory of how ambitious and cold a woman can be."

Vic glanced at his son. Vic's weather-beaten face had been
baked hard by the sun, and his black eyes were barely more than thin slits in
heavy folds of skin. "This is a small town, Tony. It's easy for you to say
those words now, but don't forget them when you have to talk to her, face to
face. For your sake, remember how you felt when she left. Then get the hell
away from her."

"What the hell do you think? That she's been on my
mind all my life? Well, she hasn't!"

Vic folded his arms. "The sooner she gets outta Miwok
the sooner I’ll like it."

The front doorbell rang. Vic glanced at his son.