SWAY (Part 1) (13 page)

19

Ryan and I changed back into our clothes and sat tensely at opposite ends of the sectional, unsure what to do with ourselves. I began to wonder how long he would allow this to go on—this sort of seventh grade level making out. He wasn’t used to having to wait and I didn’t want him to be with someone else, but I also didn’t want to give it up before I was ready in order to keep him. I decided he needed a distraction.

“Hey, you got an extra glove?”

“Yeah—Why?”

“Come throw with me.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I might hurt your hand,” he sniffed, exhaling hard.

My eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you could hurt my hand if you tried,” I challenged.

“Oh, it’s like that now.”

I shrugged, cutting my eyes away.

“You’re on, Reynolds,” Ryan proclaimed.

He grabbed the gloves, a baseball and my hand and led me into the backyard.

“Do you need to warm up that arm before we get started?” I chattered.

“No. I can still set you on fire throwing cold,” he smiled, displaying his sparkling teeth for me. 

“Well let’s do this thing,
Blondie,
” I hollered, and then spit on the ground, pounding my closed fist into the center of my glove. I squatted into position. Ryan laughed riotously at my dramatization.

I let my glove hang low while I looked to my right and nodded as if I had just received a signal from the pitching coach in the dugout, like a real college baseball catcher would do, and then relayed the sens
eless signal to Ryan with my fingers as I lifted my glove for him to throw to me.

He shook his head, still laughing at my display, and then threw to me, but nowhere near as hard as he could have. I ima
gined he was throwing mid sixties—my speed. A whole thirty plus miles slower than what he was capable of, but I didn’t complain.

I loved getting to see him throw from this angle. I had only seen him pitch once before, from the side, unable to see the
concentration on his face, or his windup and release. It was perfect, and he was seriously hot when doing it.

“Are you giving him some pointers?” John winked at me as he approached.

“No. He won’t let me show him anything, thinks he already knows it all.” I winked back.

“Funny.” Ryan nodded at us. John slid his hands into his pant pockets, rattling loose change. “What are you two doing t
onight?”

“Not sure.”

“Bart Sanders from Blackman wants to stop by. I invited him to join us for dinner.”

“Why? I don’t want to go to Blackman.”

“I know son, but it would be a good idea to entertain all offers.”

“Even if I know I’m wasting the guy’s time?”

“Annie can stay, too. And the two of you can duck out early. Just give him a minute to present the offer.” Ryan didn’t look happy at all. “Does mom know?” he asked quietly.

“About Annie?”
John questioned in the same tone.

“Yes, about Annie.”

“Not yet.”

“Then we’re not staying.” Ryan turned his back to John.

“I’ll talk to her,” he said.

“What’s going on?” I asked. I was seriously confused.

“It’s nothing.” Ryan looked back at his father. “I’m going to be with Annie tonight and I don’t want her to have to deal with mom.” 
Oh
. The horrible mother, I thought, but I couldn’t let her scare me off without even meeting me first.

“I’ll stay,” I offered lightly. “Thank you, John for asking.”

“Annie,” Ryan retorted.

“What?” I smiled at him. “She can’t be that bad, can she?”

“Yes—she can.”

“I’m a big girl, Ryan. It’ll be fine,” I assured him. I wanted to know just how nasty she was going to be to me.
But you never know, John liked me plenty. Maybe she would, too, once she got to know me.

Ryan tried to talk me out of staying several times, but I wouldn’t let him. I had a sundress in my bag and was able to make myself look nice for a casual dinner, I thought. Ryan thought so, and that was really all that mattered to me.

He held my hand as we climbed the stairs to the main floor of the house. “You can still change your mind if you want,” he mumbled, his hand motionless as he held the door knob.

“No. I’m not changing my mind,” I answered. “Just go.” He e
xhaled hard, reluctantly opening the door, leading me to the kitchen where a woman stood with her back to us. Her long dark hair rested in firm waves against the back of her dress, which was short and sleeveless; cream colored wool. She was wearing black and cream stilettos and was holding a glass of red wine in one hand, flipping through a magazine with the other.

“Mom,” Ryan said. When she turned toward
us I was startled. She looked too young to be Ryan’s mother. She looked too young to be anybody’s mother. She was stunning. Beautiful and obviously took very good care of herself. I already knew she was daring because one drop of that wine would have ruined her designer dress.

“This is Annie.”

“Hello, Annie. I’m Valerie,” she said politely, smiling warmly, which confused me. I’d expected an old, hateful shrew.

“That is the cutest little dress you’re wearing,” she complimen
ted, her voice syrupy sweet.

“Thanks, it’s nice to meet you.” I smiled back.

“You too, dear.”

I wondered what Ryan had been so worried
about.  She seemed fine to me, but he was still uneasy.

“Ryan, honey, would you get the door, please?” she asked, hea
ring the chimes. He hesitated, not wanting to move.

“Please.” She smiled persuasively at him. He looked at me then gave Valerie a look warning her to behave while he was gone.

“So, Annie,” Valerie said as she sat down, sipping her wine, her eyes raking over me. “What is it that is so special about you?” she asked, peculiar tone in her voice.

“I’m sorry?” I didn’t understand what she was asking.

“There must be something.” Her lip curled slightly, her tone darkened. “Although, truthfully,” she sighed, “I’m having trouble seeing it.”

I really didn’t know how to respond to that.

“What is it about you that had my son so anxious to bring you home?”

“You’ll have to ask him, I guess.” I had to force my mouth open to spit out the words.

“You are the first of his flings that he’s brought here, which tells me he may be more serious about you than the others.” Her eyes cut to mine. “I’m not terribly worried though. From what I know of my son’s exploits he bores quite easily and I imagine it won’t be long before he tires of you as well.”

She swirled her wine in her glass, her eyes stabbing through me. “You don’t seem interesting enough to keep him sa
tisfied. Besides, my son was meant for greater things than…well, you frankly,” she said, loathing in her voice. “He will never settle down with a baseball groupie, so if I were you I wouldn’t get too comfortable around here, sweetie.”

Valerie got up, sat her glass of wine down and straigh
tened her dress, readying herself for her company, who appeared as if on cue. Ryan returned with Bart Sanders and his father in tow. I quickly composed myself.

“Bart,” Valerie lit up, holding her arms out for him. “Thank you for joining us tonight. We appreciate you making the trip,” she said, holding his hands, appearing genuinely gracious.

I smiled at Ryan, hoping not to alert him to his mother’s behavior. I was still shaking off how quickly she’d turned from polite and happy to meet me to an anaconda threatening to squish me right out of Ryan’s life. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Ryan tried to warn me.

Bart turned to me. “And who is this lovely young lady?” Valerie quickly answered before Ryan had the chance to introduce me. “This is Annie, Ryan’s little
friend
from school.” Like we were second graders on a play date. “She’s one of the transfers from Wilson,” she added, a hint of disgust in her tone as if that was something I should have been ashamed of.

“It’s nice to meet you, Annie.”

I smiled. “You too.”

“How about we sit down for dinner and talk shop?” John su
ggested. I was sure he was just as anxious as Ryan to get me out of there.

Dinner was good. I imagined that Valerie hadn’t cooked any of it, but she accepted the compliments just the same. I a
ssumed she didn’t do any household chores.

“Well, I know all about Ryan, here.” Bart looked at me. “What about you, Annie? Do you play any sports?”

“I play softball.”

“Annie’s a pitcher, too,” Ryan stated. “She’s good—throws a changeup I’d never be able to hit.”

I flushed, embarrassed by his lie.

“Annie Reynolds!” Bart declared, pointing at me, shaking his finger in recognition. Valerie appeared to have a mild stroke when Bart announced my name. “You hit the home run into the street on Thur
sday.”

“How did you know that?” I asked as politely as I could, although I was rightly surprised that a college baseball coach knew who I was. Something I knew wouldn’t help my case for not being a baseball groupie in Valerie’s eyes.

“My son was at the game,” he chuckled. “His girlfriend pitches for Hoover.”

“Really?
Small world. Huh?” John threw out, glancing at Valerie, who was visibly fuming. “It was all he talked about when he got home. Never seen a softball hit that far before.”

“Honestly, it was a fluke. I was lucky to get a hold of that fas
tball she kept throwing me.”

“You struck her out with that changeup.” Bart rested his fork against his plate and chuckled with his mouth open. “She was furious.”
Which seemed to make him happy. It’s hard on your ego; getting struck out when you’re a pitcher.

“Sorry,” I said quietly.

“Don’t be. She’s one who needed to be taken down a couple notches. Believe
me
,” he chuckled again. Then leaned toward me from across the table. “It’s a competition. The whole point is to be better than the other team.” Bart sat back in his chair. “I bet you’ve had a few of these scholarship offers yourself?”

“I’ve gotten a couple letters, but I don’t plan to play in co
llege.”

“What?
Why not?” Ryan appealed.

“Well, I still have another year of high school, but I want to co
ncentrate on getting my undergrad work finished as quickly as possible.”

“What’s your hurry, dear?” Valerie asked. I imagined she was hoping I would announce that I had a terminal illness.

“I want to go to medical school.”

“Oh, you want to be a doctor,” she beamed, falsely adve
rtising excitement for me. “What is your specialty going to be?”

“Psychiatry.”
I looked right at her when I said it.

“Oh,” she gasped, placing her hand against her chest. “I’m sorry, dear. I thought you were going to medical school to become a
real
doctor.”

“That’s okay.” I winked at her, insinuating that she and I would keep her faux pas between us. Ryan grinned slightly, but John’s eyes were about to bug out of his head.

Valerie forced a smile, not amused. “I think what you want to do is commendable. It takes a
special
person to want to surround themselves with suicidal people all day,” she said, then took a drink of her wine.

“I agree. Both of my parents are psychiatrists. Neither one of them have lost a patient in twenty-eight years of practicing. With the right therapy and drug regimen, if needed, suicide can be prevented in many cases of those considering it. And not every person under the care of a psychiatrist is suicidal, by the way.”

“That is really fantastic,” Valerie forced out through gritted teeth, moving her attention slowly away from me to Bart.

“Can I get you anything, Bart?” she asked sweetly, plastic
smile on her lips. Bart was obviously uncomfortable, understanding now that Ryan and I were more than friends, and that Valerie wasn’t thrilled about it.

“Uh…no, thank you. I…uh—I imagine I should get down to business here.” Bart nervously fumbled through his papers before pr
esenting his offer in what I thought was probably record time. Ryan was gracious and promised to consider it carefully, but I was sure the other offers were comparable. There was only so much they could legally promise him.

The moment Bart finished I was ready to leave. I offered to help clean up, annoying Valerie further. She didn’t want me to be courteous or well mannered. She wanted me to be what she ima
gined me as—unsuitable for her son.

After he saw Bart out, Ryan asked me to go on downstairs wit
hout him. “Please don’t say anything to her,” I begged him. “Just let it go. I don’t want to cause an argument between the two of you.”