Home Free (15 page)

I made myself a bacon, lettuce and tomato
sandwich for dinner and ate it and five cookies in front of the TV,
watching
Bull Durham
on TBS. I turned it off halfway through
because baseball, romance and sex all together was making me
nostalgic and depressed and horny. I went to my room and cut the
tags out of my new clothes and put them away, then hauled all of my
clothes and shoes from the middle bedroom closet and arranged them
in the closet in my new room. I showered to wash off the dust and
grime from the gravel yard. I took a
Communication Arts
magazine outside and sat on the lounge next to the pool, flipping
pages in the dusk. I heard my cell phone ringing in the distance
and went in the kitchen to answer it. It was a blocked caller, and
when I answered there was no one there. I picked up the mail that
I’d dumped next to the cookies on the counter and brought it, along
with the cell phone and five more cookies, back outside with me. A
couple of bills and a circular for a sale at Wal-Mart, plus a plain
white envelope. Lucifer appeared from who knows where and jumped up
on the foot of the lounge. He didn’t try to get closer, just patted
my bare foot with his paw a couple of times, curled up and went to
sleep. The white envelope wasn’t sealed, and I slid the paper out,
flipping it open and flinging colorful confetti everywhere. Sparkly
rainbow letters spelling out
Welcome Home Alex
were pasted
to a sheet of regular typing paper. I had no idea who’d sent it,
but I guessed Pauline might have slipped it into the mailbox when
she arrived this morning.

I had six more blocked caller hang-ups, but
other than that, no contact with the outside world for the rest of
the evening. Finally, alone with a cat on a Friday night, and
feeling like a huge loser, I went back inside, locked all the doors
and collapsed into bed.

I knew I owed Danny an apology for the other
day, and I got out of bed with a plan. I padded to the bathroom,
enjoying the squeaklessness of the trip, making a quick phone call
along the way. I showered and did my makeup, not too much because I
didn’t want to look like I was trying, but enough that I didn’t
look like I was on chemo. I dressed in a leopard print thong, my
new orange surfer shorts and a white stretchy tank, and slipped my
feet into white slip-on canvas Skechers. I put my hair in a
ponytail and stuck it through the opening in the back of my Oakland
A’s baseball cap. When I was satisfied, I went to the kitchen for a
cup of coffee and some toast.

“Morning, sweet thing,” Murphy said. He was
sitting at the counter, reading the paper and drinking coffee.

“I thought you were finished.” I reached for
the coffee pot. “This decaf?” I asked before pouring.

He nodded. “Your electrical service is
outdated. I thought I’d install a new two hundred-amp panel and
replace some of the old wiring. It’s not absolutely necessary, but
I’d do it in my own house.”

“You still haven’t billed me for the other
work. I don’t know if I can afford it.” I knew for a fact I
couldn’t
afford it. I had a couple thousand dollars left
after buying the house, but I was pretty sure he’d exhausted that
stash already, and I had no other savings. And I hadn’t exactly
been raking in the dough since I’d been here.

“I’ll just put it on your tab.” He flipped to
the sports section, and I wondered what sort of payment my tab
would require, and when.

“Want some toast?” I pulled the bread out of
the freezer and chiseled off two slices with a butter knife.

“Nah, thanks, I gotta get started.” He pushed
himself away from the counter and gave the brim of my cap a tug as
he passed me on the way to the back door. “He’ll like the cap,” he
said, and then he was gone.

It was still before eight o’clock when I
finished my toast and coffee and headed out. The weatherman was
predicting a break in the weather, but not for another day or two,
and it was already in the high eighties. I beeped the car open and
got in, arranging my shorts so my legs wouldn’t stick to the seat.
It occurred to me I hadn’t seen Lucifer this morning, and I was
annoyed that I found that worrisome. Next time I saw Debbie, I was
going to point out that cats were exactly like men. You spent the
evening with one, and then they disappeared on you. Stupid thing
would probably be leaving a mouse on some other woman’s porch by
this afternoon.

I drove away, air conditioner blasting. When
I got to Vista del Mar, I pulled over to the side of the road to
consider my options. I could buzz Danny and lose the element of
surprise. Not to mention he probably wouldn’t let me in. Mrs.
Dunbar wasn’t trustworthy. I could try another neighbor, but that
wasn’t a sure bet, either. I was about to leave the car where it
was and jump the fence, when somebody pulled past me and turned
into the complex, opening the gate with a thingamajig that looked
like my garage door opener. I pulled out and followed the car
through the gate.

I parked in the guest spot in front of
Danny’s house and tried hard not to be elated that there wasn’t a
car already in the spot. I guessed there was a chance he’d had sex
once or twice in the twelve years we’d been apart, but thinking
that it could have been last night, when I was three miles away,
bored and lonely and horny, with a cat for company, was problematic
for me. I tiptoed around the Element and along the side of the
house to the back gate and pulled the string. The gate opened and I
ninja’d into Danny’s backyard. My plan was to knock on the back
door, duck to the side so he couldn’t see me, and rush past him
into the house when he opened the door to check. Since he was
sitting there on the patio, though, I decided to switch to Plan B.
He was reading the paper at the patio table, no shirt, his back to
me. There was a cup on the table, evidently coffee, judging by the
steam.

“Hey.” Plan B.

He jumped up and spun around. “What the hell?
Oh, for crissake, Lex, what are you doing here?” He was wearing
blue and green boxers and nothing else, and that
Abs of
Steel
video was obviously working a helluva lot better for him
than it ever had for me. I watched the muscles ripple along the
curve of his biceps as he snapped the paper shut and tossed it on
the table.
Damn
. I looked around for something to lean
on.

“I surrender.” I waved an imaginary white
flag. “Truce?”

He eyed me warily. “Surrendering armies don’t
usually mount a sneak attack.”

“I didn’t think you’d let me in.” I attempted
to surreptitiously check my pulse.

“You thought right.”

I sighed. I hate groveling. “I made an ass of
myself the other day. I’m sorry. I want to make it up to you.”

“Don’t sweat it.” His face was drawn and his
shoulders slumped a little, and it was clear the nightmare that had
begun a week ago was taking its toll.

“Come on, get dressed, let’s go.” We had
someplace to be, but mainly I wanted him dressed so my blood
pressure would go back to normal. I felt a stroke coming on.

“If I say no, you’re not going to leave, are
you?”

“It’s doubtful.”

Big, dramatic sigh. “Come in.”

I fixed myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen
while he went up to the loft to change. “Hey, is this decaf?”

He leaned over the half-wall and hollered,
“Not a chance in hell. Where are we going, anyway?”

“Wear shorts and a t-shirt. And
sneakers.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

He came downstairs in long khaki cargo
shorts, a black t-shirt and Nike Air running shoes. I mentally
swore at him for being so friggin’ perfect, then I choked on my
coffee.

He had his keys in his hand. “I’m driving.
I’m seriously considering leaving your ass somewhere.”

“Whatever.”

There was a door to the attached garage at
the end of the hall, next to the bathroom. We went in and Danny hit
the button to open the roll-up door. Two Mustangs were parked side
by side, a white 2012 GT and a red 1965 convertible, a classic.
Danny loved Mustangs. I’d always been a Corvette girl myself, not
that I’d ever be able to afford one.

We took the GT. It wasn’t a convertible, but
it had air conditioning and a badass stereo. “Where to?”

I gave him directions that led towards the
lake. Finally, I had him turn on Old Lake Road and into The Fun
Zone parking lot. The Fun Zone has miniature golf, a little go-cart
racetrack and a huge video arcade. Plus, batting cages.

He idled in the driveway and said, “Lex, this
place isn’t even open. It’s only nine in the morning.”

“Not open for other people, maybe. But it’s
open for us. Park the damn car.”

He parked, and I hopped out to meet the
skinny dark haired man ambling towards the gate.

“Alexis!”

“Hi, Uncle Teddy. Thank you so much for
opening up early for me.”

“Anything for my favorite niece.” I was his
only niece. Actually, I was the only female of my generation on my
mother’s entire side of the family, which made for lots of
cheek-pinching as a child. But also lots of attention and more
gifts than all the boys in the family combined.

Ted unlocked the gate and motioned us in,
then relocked it. He gave Danny a pat on the back. “Danny, how are
you? Sorry about all the troubles I’ve been hearing about.”

“Thanks, Ted. So this is retirement,
huh?”

My uncle Ted had retired from the fire
department a couple years ago. Aunt Marie was going to kill him if
he didn’t get out of her way, so he bought The Fun Zone last year,
and they both seemed much happier now. Now if only my cousin
Nicky’s wife would start popping out babies, Ted and Marie’s lives
would be perfect.

We followed Ted to the concession stand, and
he selected two aluminum baseball bats from a bin that held the
bats upright in little individual cubbyholes. He slid the bats
towards us on the carpeted counter, then added two helmets.

“When you said you were bringing a friend, I
assumed you meant Jack Murphy,” Teddy said. He turned to Danny.
“You know, those Murphy boys are damn fine contractors. The arcade
was practically falling down when I bought this place, and I hired
them to rebuild it. They came in on time and under budget.” He was
shaking his head, obviously still in awe.

I looked sideways at Danny. His eyes were
glazing over and his jaw was getting tight. One more word about
Jack and he was going to lose it.

I quickly pulled a ten out of my purse and
shoved it at my uncle. “Do I need tokens, or quarters?” I
asked.

He pushed a roll of quarters at me and
refused my money. “Have fun, you two. We open for regular customers
at eleven, so you should have plenty of time. I’ll be in the office
if you need anything.”

I hugged him across the counter.
“Thanks.”

The batting area was enclosed by a chain-link
fence around all the sides and over the top, about thirty feet
high. A large pitching machine was in the center of the area, and
it had cannon-like barrels that fired baseballs or softballs at ten
separate batting cages that lined the front, seven for various
speeds of hardball, two for fast-pitch softball, and one for
slow-pitch softball. Each individual cage contained a home plate
with the outline of the batter’s boxes painted on the concrete
floor on either side of the plate, as well as a machine to put the
quarters in. A long row of bleachers ran behind the batting area
for coaches, parents, teammates, teenagers making out and other
assorted spectators.

I shoved Danny towards the seventy mile per
hour cage, the fastest one The Fun Zone had to offer.

“This is stupid,” he growled.

“Oh, for crying out loud, quit your whining.”
I sat on the bench and dropped my bat and helmet to the ground,
rummaged around in my pocketbook for my sunglasses and slid them
on, then deposited my purse with the other things at my feet. I
leaned back against the bench behind me, stretched my legs in the
sun and handed Danny the roll of quarters.

“Knock yourself out.”

He shook his head in resignation, took the
quarters and went into the cage, latching it closed. He set the
roll of coins on the machine and took a couple of warm-up swings,
then donned his helmet and inserted some money.

Danny took his position in the batter’s box
and adjusted his stance, legs wide, knees bent, the bat back over
his right shoulder, his hands choked up about an inch or so from
the end. The first pitch came, a little high, and he swung hard,
knocking it into next week.

He reset himself and waited for the next
pitch. It continued like that for some time, Danny aggressively
chasing every pitch, swinging with everything he had and absolutely
punishing the ball.

After twenty pitches, the machine stopped
throwing, and Danny turned to insert another dollar’s worth of
quarters. I could see the sweat running down his face, but he
looked less haggard than he had earlier.

He was friendlier to the next twenty pitches,
settling back into a more relaxed rhythm and waiting for the ball
to come to him, then swinging fast but easy and smacking the ball
away like a pest. It was effortless, graceful and more than a
little sexy.

He played two more dollar’s worth in the same
manner. I poked at my leg to see if it was getting sunburned. It
looked a little blotchy, and I’d forgotten the sunscreen. Again. At
least I knew where to get wigs if I developed skin cancer and my
hair fell out.

When the machine stopped again, Danny
pocketed the quarters and sauntered over to me, the bat in one hand
and the helmet in the other. “Your turn.”

“Not my kind of therapy,” I answered, looking
up, shading my eyes against the sun. His hair was wet and his shirt
was stuck to his chest and arms, molded to the contours of his now
pumped-up muscles. I felt like a diabetic at a dessert buffet, and
I think I was salivating just as much.