A Life of Inches (11 page)

“Say, Stubbs can I get another drink? Either this first one was defective, or you’re serving non-alcoholic liquor now.”

He lets loose a hearty bark, pours, eyes me with just a tad too much suspicion, and finishes off his maneuver by grabbing me a bottle of suds. “You’re just like your father, Ryan, no doubt about it.”

Delvin waits in the corner, right where he predicted I’d find him.

Before I take more than three steps, Stubby stops me. “Say, you ordering food tonight?”

“You know it.” Panic hits as I wonder who’ll be cooking my burgers. On most nights, Stubby mans the grill while a couple of young vixens handle the bar. I don’t want some untrained rookie ruining what my town dubbed the perfect burger.

Standing with his belly resting on the bar, Stubby says, “Listen, my son Bobby’s back there. He hasn’t mastered the art of the grill quite yet, so if you like your burger well-done, tell him medium-well. If you like it medium, say medium-rare, got it?

I nod.

He adds, “I don’t mean to brag, but he’s trying out for the high school baseball squad this year and Coach Marv told me Bobby’s stuff rivals yours.”

Judging by Stubby’s red cheeks and shifty eyes, it took a lot of gumption for him to bust my chops a little, and I can’t help but feel proud along with him as he brags about his son. I don’t have the heart to tell him I was a terrible pitcher in high school when I started, so I hope his kid can do better than me.

I raise my glass. “Congrats. Is Coach still telling his Rocky Colavito story to all the freshmen?”

I knock my knuckles on the bar a few times, say, “Talk to you later”, and head to damnation.

“That beer for me?” Delvin asks without looking up from the hard rock magazine he’s reading.

Around the bar, big screen televisions broadcast the Marlins inter-league game against the Cleveland Indians. Woodie already stretched a double into a triple and got hit by a pitch. I watch for a bit, before turning my full attention to the man across the table wearing a championship ring he didn’t earn by playing. A three inch cut snakes from under his left eye and ends on the crown of his nose. I’ll bet there’s an interesting story coupled with it, but I’ve learned with Delvin that it’s best not to ask.

Delvin continues reading the magazine without as much as a hello. I raise an eyebrow, confused by his clammed up vibe. We both know the reason for this meeting, so why can’t he lead this conversation to where it needs to go? I mean, he’s been offering to help me for years now, so why is this so uncomfortable?

“You must understand,” Delvin finally says, each word measured, “I operate my business based on many hours of research and shrewd practices, but there’s also an element of risk and gut-feeling evaluation to it. This portion of what I do requires me to take a side and play the odds in several given situations. In these cases, I often find the outcomes either net me a huge bonus or an utter soul-crushing defeat that leaves me licking my wounds. Smart businessmen strive to steer their ship past these tantalizing chunks of revenue, or play the odds without crapping out. I’m not typically shy in these situations, and my track record proves I come out on top more often than not, but…”

Giving his words time to soak in, Delvin sips his drink. In turn, I polish off my second double scotch, slug down a large portion of my beer, and wait. I can now assure Stubby his drinks are indeed working after all.

Delvin continues, “You’re an enigma to me at this point, Ryan. When I first came to you, I wouldn’t have had the slightest bit of hesitation at taking you under my wings, and I’m certain I would’ve profited handsomely in the exchange. Even a couple of years ago, I could see myself hitching our wagons together and making it worthwhile for each of us. Now, however, you must understand this whole situation gives me great pause. For the past few years, you’ve gone under the knife several times, deflating my previous confidence in your arm, and let’s face it, you’re reaching an age when most men are looking past the game toward what lies ahead. Do you have enough in the tank to not only break into the major’s, but also make an impact for enough years that I can bank the profit I need to recoup my costs and risk?”

My disappointed glare speaks more than any words could communicate.

“Hey, come on, don’t give me that look. There will never be a time that I doubt your passion to compete and win, but no matter how much I respect your killer instinct, it cannot be allowed to cloud my judgment.”

We sip our drinks. Without prompting, I head to the bar to procure the next round. I’m still reeling from his words, partly out of anger, but even more so out of understanding.

“Stubbs, I need two more scotches, two more beers, and whatever the guy over in that booth wants. I forgot to ask.”

“Oh, you’re with him, are you? That would be lemon herbal tea.”

Wiping a few beer pitchers clean, Stubby explains, “Never talk to him much, but I knew he must be an old friend to you’s guys. I’ve seen him in here going back a few years now, and I’ve seen him at some of Bobby’s baseball practices at school. Always sneaks in and slinks out without much fuss. Never drinks any alcohol, no, just those lemon herbal teas.”

“Friend to us?”

Stubby gestures at me, holding a rag in his hand. “Well, you, Woodie, and some of the other athletes. I just assumed he was an assistant Coach, ‘cause he’s always in here with players I recognize.”

I drain the first scotch, and chase it with a slug of beer. Couple the scotches with the drinks I had before and during the funeral, and I’ve got a good buzz going. I set down my drinks and make my way to the restroom.

Glancing at the doors that lead to the private room in the back, I wonder if Molly should come here rather than wasting her time rendezvousing with me tonight. She needs to be surrounded by family and friends, not wanna-be courters. I check my phone again, but so far she hasn’t called.

There must still be some people celebrating Omar, because standing just outside the party room, I can hear an agitated female voice exclaim, “...the affair went on for years and I did nothing to stop it. Nothing at all. What kind of friend am I if…”

I freeze, recognizing my mother’s voice. I slam open the door and stomp into the party room.

Chapter Fifteen

One Moment Later

Sitting at a booth against the far wall, my mother wears a navy blue pantsuit and a dark frown to match. She’s speaking in pleading, apologetic tones to Mrs. Wodyzewski. They face the entrance of the room rather than each other, as if they’re too mad or ashamed to make eye contact.

I make my entrance known by punching the door, taking pleasure in their shocked expressions. “You’re unbelievable. Sitting here crying over what you could’ve said years ago, and expecting what, sympathy? Understanding?”

My arms shadowbox my anger as I criticize this pair for keeping their dirty secret.

I jab an accusatory finger at Mrs. Wodyzewski. “If anyone has some apologizing to do, it’s you. For years now you’ve been sneaking behind everyone’s back, causing drama and stress, and, worse yet, you put Woodie and Molly in a terrible situation. When they find out how long this went on and that it was kept from them, how do you think they’ll react?”

My hands clench into fists. My own mother won’t even look me in the eye, apparently searching the wall behind me for inspiration to speak. Perhaps I’m only so mad because I know I should’ve said something as well, but that doesn’t make her or Mrs. Wodyzewski innocent.

I step a few paces closer, intent on continuing my tirade, but a soft questioning voice, strained and cracked with emotion sounds from behind me. “You knew?”

I turn, anger sprouting into guilt and defeat, and whisper, “Shit.”

Molly, sitting alone at a table, leaning against a vivid yellow and red flowered wall, appears stunned and hurt. Her puffy cheeks look like they were slapped over and over. Maybe, in a certain way, they have been.

Molly runs a hand through her tangled hair, which earlier was styled into a thick braid. “You knew my mother was having an affair and you said nothing? When did you find out?”

I look to my mother for guidance, but she seems to be tracking movement along the worn carpeted floor.

Molly stands. “So, what, because I didn’t sleep with you it’s acceptable to keep secrets from me?”

Her voice rises in volume and tension with each word, and I know I deserve whatever she has to say.

“For years I’ve trusted you, Ryan. You’ve been the one person in my life who wasn’t always posturing and working an angle on me. What, is our friendship not worth it anymore?”

“Of course it is, but—”

Molly throws her glass across the room. As it shatters against a Carlos Baerga poster, she yells, “But nothing. Just tell me if it’s true.”

She sighs, and when she speaks again her voice croaks, a hoarse whisper. “Is it true you knew about my mother’s affair?”

“Yes. I’ve known for a couple of years. Your mother—”

Molly buries her face in her hands and lets out a scream that ends on an ear-piercing note. “I don’t want to hear a damn thing about my mother, and I don’t want to hear another word from your lying mouth.”

Rage shakes her entire body.

My mother stands. “Molly, I’m sure he didn’t want to hurt you.”

Molly grabs her coat, looks between the two distraught women and then back to me. “You’re all monsters.”

She shoves her way to the door, and as rapid as my anger rose coming in, my regret spreads twice as fast on my way out.

Following Molly, I shoot Delvin a quick glance. His nod assures me he saw Molly and understands what I must do.

I push a few people aside as gently as I can, maneuvering through the thickening crowd. “Molly, wait.”

Just as I exit, Molly sprints across the parking lot. A heavy summer rain pounds down during an unseasonably chilly night in Cleveland.

“Molly, come on, wait up.”

I know she can hear my pleas to stop, but Molly continues her retreat. Losing her father, finding out her mother has been having an affair, and then learning out her good friend withheld the information could prove too much for any one person to handle.

Under the cover of the oncoming night, I jog across the street and follow Molly into the park. A quick glance around confirms that Molly decided against waiting for me out in the open. That would be too easy for a competitor like her, I’m sure. Molly is hidden somewhere in here, being soaked by the cold rain, waiting for me to hunt her down. Everything is a game to us, and of course, I am ready.

I follow the paved pathway until I reach a three-pronged fork. If I go left, the path leads up an incline toward a playground area with swings, slides, seesaws, and Molly’s favorite monkey bars. Beyond the playground lies a cemetery boasting a small selection of local military, political, and law-enforcement heroes from the area’s past. Molly’s grandparents came to their final rest here several years ago, just after she and I first met, but I don’t think she’s intending to visit them tonight.

If I follow the path downhill to the right, I’ll end up in the woods where the path twists and turns until the trees give way to an open meadow, the perfect spot for lazy days playing football, throwing a Frisbee, or enjoying a cookout. The woods also provide ample hiding places for Molly.

Choosing the third option, which leads to our basketball court, I wipe the rain from my face and let the hunt begin. This court has always been a place of happiness and joy, yet here I am clenching my jaw like an anxious kid on the first day of school.

Molly’s voice breaks the silence like a bullwhip. “It’s good to see you, Ryan.”

I search the familiar surroundings, unsure how to respond. It’s good to see her too, that is, it would be if I could see her.

To my dismay, the wind carries her voice in every direction. I walk the court in a slow circle before deciding that she must be in the woods somewhere. Maybe even up in a tree. She always loved climbing around and showing off her strength and balance. Even tonight in her dress, Molly can out-climb most people.

As I peer into the dark tree line, Molly’s voice echoes. “Did you come because your father called you? Would you have come if I called? I can’t help but think you wouldn’t, and it tears me apart to feel this way.”

I snap back. “I’m not the one who pushed away and started dating behind your back. You carried on two separate relationships for months, and how did I find out again? Oh, that’s right, your mother dished, just so she could belittle me for her own enjoyment. You were the one who always said you wouldn’t commit to me because I was traveling all year. The next thing I know, you jet off west with Woodie, who was doing the same thing.”

Silence.

I push, “I’m not the one hiding now.”

“Of course you are, Ryan. You’ve been hiding for years now, going around the country playing baseball and avoiding this town, and me, like the plague.”

Approaching the edge of the woods, I direct my comments deep into the trees, so she and all the animals there know how I feel once and for all. “Sure, I can reach you anytime. I just read the papers and check where the latest political wildfire burns and know you’re not too far behind. You can’t commit because I play baseball, and yet you travel around the country as much as I ever have.”

I sigh, releasing some of my anger. I give myself a few moments to calm down. When I speak again, I want it clear that I’m in control of my emotions. “Molly, I’m nearing the end of my playing days. My body’s breaking down, so be prepared to no longer have that excuse at your disposal.”

I pause, unsure how hard to press. “Look, I’m sorry it didn’t work with Woodie, but you know you could’ve called me and I would’ve been there for you. Like I’m here now.”

As I finish, leaves rustle and branches snap. Either Molly jumped down from a tree, or I just woke up a raccoon.

Her warm voice cuts through the wind, originating back toward the playground. “You don’t keep up with current events very well.”

I hunt for her as she continues. “Sure, I love him. And I always will, but Woodie’s a stranger now. For a while everything between us was fine, until he came home unannounced and found me fawning over someone else. He left me that day and I became bitter and untrusting.”

She speaks as though from a moral high ground that I find lacking.

As I cross the basketball court, the sharp wind stings, like a slap across the cheek. It feels good. “So, let me get this right. You’re saying you felt mistrustful and bitter because he caught you with another guy? Was it Mitch again? Sounds to me like you made a decision all on your own, and you couldn’t deal with the consequences.”

No movement stirs in the light from a slim moon. I don’t like where this conversation is going, and furthermore, I’m frustrated I can’t find her.

She’s crying now. “You don’t understand.”

I freeze in place, standing at midcourt, to hear every word. Something in her tone has changed. I want to hold her, hug her, and make sure she knows I care, but I can’t even see her.

“Woodie came home on an off-day to surprise me. I was sprawled out on the kitchen floor sobbing and hugging a picture of you.”

The words slap the cheek that the wind forgot.

She continues, “I wanted to reach out, but we’ve been so distant. I had the best two things in my life taken away, and for a while, I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. It’s ironic, for the last few years I’ve lived with so much fear about making the wrong decision about you or Woodie. Yet I did everything to sabotage my relationships with both of you, just to see who would stay. And in the end, all I wanted was to see you two again, so we could head to the park to play a ballgame or race our bikes. How sad is that? A grown woman waiting outside for her two playmates to finish dinner and come outside. I felt crazy and alone. Hell, I was crazy and alone, and I’ve been tearing myself apart, bit by bit, deciding what to do.”

The world spins faster and faster, and my breath won’t catch up to my lungs’ demands. Filled with rage, anger, love, and uncertainty, I puff out my chest, unsure if my next words will be a decree of love or a dose of venom. “I took a step back to give you and Woodie space after you chose him, and now you’re here telling me that somehow it’s my fault? The three of us have been living in limbo while we played yet another game, the waiting game, and in the end it seems we’re all going to lose. Well, you win, because I quit.”

I turn, and find Molly perched atop the basketball hoop between my car and me.

“Ryan, what do you feel? What is it you want?” Her eyes reflect every bit of the moon back toward me.

Without hesitating, I confess, “I love you, Molly, and I want you to love me back with the same passion and strength.”

Your move, Molly.

Then, for the briefest of moments, she hesitates. Always the smartest of our twisted trio, Molly’s likely triple analyzing every word before allowing her voice to commit. My blood chills as Molly’s eyes dip away from mine. That’s all the answer I need, but just to be fair, I wait long enough to see realization spill across her face. She’s not ready.

Without speaking, I walk under the basket and back to Stubby’s.

As I leave the park that holds most of my favorite childhood memories, I can’t help but admit it also has hosted some of the worst moments of my adulthood. What I wouldn’t give to be a teenager again, entering the park for a simple game with my friends.

***

I slink back into the ripped vinyl booth, officially drunk. “Stubby’s heating more water for your tea and I ordered you a burger.”

The last time I felt this low and confused was during my hospital stay following my fight and expulsion back in college.

On the wall behind Delvin, Woodie slides across home plate in stunning HD on the fifty-five inch television. A certain lucky pendant bounces around his neck. When the dust settles, Woodie trots toward his dugout and points to the sky, offering his own final thoughts to Omar.

A teenager, all zits and insecurity, serves Delvin his tea water and then sizes me up. “You’re Ryan Kelly, right?”

Caught off guard, I blurt, “Damn, Delvin, was anyone on your team as ripped as this kid?”

Delvin snorts. “Not without help.”

I fix Delvin with what I hope passes for an intimidating expression. “He one of yours?”

Delvin clears his throat. “No. Now will you talk to the kid?”

The alcohol and emotions battle for attention and I just don’t know what to say.

Stubby’s son looks uneasy. “Coach Marv talked about you at practice and I’ve watched some of your film. Your slider is wicked good. I…I hope I can learn to pitch like you did, and play in the pros someday. Um, if you’re ever bored, maybe we could go out and throw together sometime?”

Though I’m quick to hide it, the boy sees my lips tighten as I fight the urge to cry. Uncomfortable, he backpedals toward the kitchen. “I’ll, uh, I have more cooking to do.”

Before I can apologize and explain, he leaves me to complete my deal with the devil.

I slam my drink and meet the unaffected gaze of Delvin Crowe.

“Would you just hand over the stuff and let me go destroy my body?” My voice croaks in anger and escapes my throat a little louder than Delvin would prefer. His right cheek twitches.