The Shortstop (23 page)

Annie

Most wouldn’t consider sixty-two days a long time. Only a tiny blip when measured over the course of seventeen years, just a few grains of sand in the hourglass of my life. They should insignificantly pass right by… Unless, during that time your life turns completely upside down… Unless, the two months become a proverbial bridge between happiness and despair… Unless, every minute of every hour of every day stretches like a dry desert with no relief in sight. It’s only been sixty-two days since I last saw him or spoke to him, yet it feels like an eternity.

Everything I know, I know via newspapers or his parents. They call weekly to share details of his progress. Emotionally, he’s no better than he was. The season passed him by. While he should have been playing with his new team as they entered the play-offs, he was sitting in a rehab center, festering with anger. The Yankees lost to the Tigers, making me wonder if things would have been different if Quint had been on that field. There’s no way to know, and a complete waste of time to speculate. Knowing him, that’s exactly what he’s been wondering himself.

Physically, not much has improved. He’s leaving the rehab facility in a few days. He’s able to walk with crutches, but still not able to bear weight on his leg. A second surgery is still a possibility. He’ll continue his therapy under Lance’s supervision. Hearing that made me feel better. Lance is good for Quint.

Surprisingly, Lance contacted me not long after we first met. He asked if I’d like to grab dinner sometime. I politely declined. That phone call between us lasted an hour. I enjoyed talking to him. I found myself telling him of the changes that occurred in Quint. Lance offered support without mentioning specifics involving Quint’s therapy. It felt good to vent. I imagined his handsome face during the course of our conversation. His infectious laugh caused me to smile on my end of the phone. We’ve had a few more phone calls since then. Each one made me grow fonder of Lance.

With each conversation, we’re becoming friends. Friendship is all I’m capable of right now.

The first person I would talk to about my new friend is the same person I’m barely speaking to. It’s also been sixty-two days since I last saw Daphne. It took some time for me to return her calls. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that upset me. Yes, she fell in love with my fiancé, kept it from me for four years, but she never acted on it. Could I fault her for falling in love with him? He used to be irresistible. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that she really did nothing wrong...yet. There in itself was my problem. Did I trust Daphne? She’s been my best friend for years, but did I truly trust her?

He’s free. Technically, there’s no reason for Daphne to hold back any longer, and that terrifies me.

She admitted she ran to Quint the next day to explain the situation. His cold response made her feel worse. Although she’s not asking for my sympathy, the hurt I’m carrying makes it impossible for me to comfort her anyway. I can tell that guilt eats at her normally carefree self. The change in her is obvious to anyone who knows the real Daphne. 

Her new sportscaster job has kept her busy. Our phone calls focus on how I’m doing in school or how she’s doing on TV. On our last call, she started to tell me that Quint was still news and her next report would be covering his recovery. Once she realized her slip, she sucked in a breath midsentence and veered on to a different subject. Needing to hear what she was about to say, I forced her to read the report to me over the phone. Tears strained as I listened to her depict Quint’s new life wrapped neatly into a newscast nutshell.

Ava has been great in calling and sending me quick texts saying she’s thinking about me. The shelter keeps her very busy. She made me promise I would let her know the next time I headed to New York. I did so fully knowing that it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

Through this mess, the one constant has been my friendship with Billy. I adore that man, hoping upon hope he finally meets someone worthy of his kind heart. Billy communicates with Quint often. Their conversations revolve around sports and Billy’s campus life. He seems happy. Not interested in a relationship, just interested in having a good time. I can’t blame him. The poor guy has suffered enough at the hands of a moody woman. Daphne has come up. She knows we talk and said that if I needed to talk to Billy about her confession that I had her blessing. So, I did.

He was stunned. I wanted him to know that it wasn’t him. It wasn’t anything that he did or didn’t do to cause their relationship to fail. I hope the truth will give him closure, allow him to move on without any regrets. He’s been here for me, visited me, and taken me out to dinner.

There aren’t any romantic feelings between us. That’s not what this is. It’s simply two good friends leaning on each other during a difficult time. My parents appreciate Billy. They’re constantly pushing me to get out, see friends. They try to be supportive, but their methods fail. Along with Quint’s parents, they try and try to distract me. I finally got all four of them to understand that I appreciate their concerns and support, I’m grateful to have them in my corner, but I really need to be left alone. I can see the angst on their faces every night when I retreat to my room. If for that reason alone, I must get my own place.

The first few weeks being home were very difficult for me. I left the car Quint leased for me in New York. Being dependent on my parents drove me insane. In an impulsive fit of rage, I ran out and purchased a car on my birthday. Against my father’s advice, I used part of my savings and treated myself to a used Volkswagen
convertible. Driving to the beach with the top down has become a form of therapy for me. That damn car is the only thing that puts a smile on my face.

Nothing else makes me happy. Not school, not even the neglected manuscript that sits on my laptop, untouched. I haven’t written a word in my book since I left New York. Maybe someday I’ll have the desire to finish it. In the meantime, my original career choice remains to be my main focus. I made it a priority to get a part-time job. Luckily, I found one at a day care center not far from the college I’m attending. It’s being considered an internship, so the pay is crap. If nothing else, it will look great on my resume, and it gives me enough money to co-rent an apartment. Finding a roommate completed my to-do list. My newfound friend, Lisa, and I will be moving into our new apartment one week from today. Lisa is a doll. She’s fun and bubbly, but most importantly, she’s supportive. I hope we can become good friends. Things are slowly falling into place.

If anything comes from this hell, I’m hoping a stronger more independent Annie emerges. I’m trying to focus on me. Acting has become my new talent. I act like I’m over him, even though I can’t let him go. He’s constantly on my mind. Everything I see, everywhere I go reminds me of him.

Having been together so long, we had many anniversaries…from our first kiss to the first time we made love. Today marks the day we made the flip from best friends to a couple. We were fifteen. Up until that point we kissed and fooled around, experimenting with our newfound lust for each other. We were in my room doing homework when I looked up to see him watching me.

Wordlessly, Quint leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. He pulled away, skimmed his thumb across my cheek, and said, “
I’m going to marry you, Annie Weber. From this day on, no one else gets to kiss you, touch you, love you but me
.” He then pulled out a simple silver ring. “
I promise to replace this someday with the real deal. Until then, promise me you’ll always be my girl
.”

And I did. I promised him that day and many days since. The ring still remains on my right hand.

Today is the seventh of November.

Today marks three months since his injury.

Today was supposed to be our wedding day.

Impulsively, I texted him this morning, immediately hating myself once I hit that fucking send button. With two simple words, Happy Anniversary, I stupidly conveyed that I’m still not over him. The significance of this date was one of the reasons we chose it for our wedding. The other reason was his baseball schedule. I doubt he forgot what was supposed to happen today, and by seeing my text, he knows I’m still stuck in my lame state of limbo. I still wear my engagement ring. My gown hangs in my closet. I refuse to get rid of it, because that would be the final nail in our coffin.

Billy insisted on coming up, taking me out to keep my mind off the significance of this day. We agreed to meet at a diner. Sitting here now, I regret saying yes. I can’t focus. I haven’t heard a word he’s said. I’m sure he’s noticed, but he keeps chatting about all the fun he’s having at school. The food on my plate looks unappetizing as I continue to push it around distractedly.

Billy reaches for my hand and squeezes. “Maybe this was a bad idea?”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t stop my brain from going there.”

“Annie, you don’t have to apologize. We can continue to sit here and force you to listen to me babble, or we can go to a bar and get plastered, or I can take you home. We’ll do whatever you want. I just hate seeing you like this. It’s killing me. Seeing you like this makes me want to take a bat to his other knee and his fuckin’ skull. If that were the only way to knock some sense into him, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’m not sure how to get through to him.”

This is the first time Billy has become angry over the situation.

“It’s hopeless. I did all I could. No one can accuse me of bailing on him or our relationship. The kicker is if he were to call me tomorrow, I’d be in his arms within the hour. That’s the part I’m still struggling with. That’s the part that scares me to death. How dumb can I be?”

“You’re not dumb, you love him. Annie, I can relate to acting dumb over someone you love. This is all him. You did nothing wrong, just as I didn’t do anything wrong with Daphne. You helped me see that. I hope one day you’ll find happiness again. If I can give you any advice, and I know our situations are not nearly the same, each day it does get better. I promise you that one day you’ll see things differently, and you will move on.”

“I can’t imagine that ever happening. A tether still holds my heart to his. I feel like I’m a kite that’s dangerously adrift, and he’s controlling my lift and drag. He can easily reel me back into his life or release me forever. I’m shamefully helpless against his control.”

Billy nods knowingly. There’s nothing he can say. It’s the absolute truth.

Lack of control has become the cornerstone of my existence these days.

Quint

I missed her birthday. At least a dozen times that day, I started to type out a text, or my finger hovered above the call button on my phone, and each and every time I decided not to. I thought of her all day long. I always think of her all day long, but that day was different. I asked my mother to please send her flowers, but not to add my name.

I watched as the dates on my phone inched closer and closer to the seventh of November. Today would have been our wedding day. My parents tried to keep me distracted. I told them I needed to be alone. Miraculously, they listened and gave me my space. The moment my parents left was the same moment I received her text.

An image of her in her gown, walking toward me to become my wife pushed me toward my method of choice to self-medicate. The welcome numbing sensation that started at my scalp and tingled its way down to my toes made today a bit more bearable. I take them for the pain. They want me to take them for the pain. I’m only following directions. My prescription calls for one pill, twice a day. They don’t need to know the pain is constant. Therefore, two pills a day isn’t sufficient enough.

When my bottle failed to produce more pills overnight, I panicked. Of all days to run out, this was not that day. Tomorrow, I’ll be good. I’ll go back to my normal dosage. Today, I need more. A few phone calls to a few of the derelicts we went to school with quickly hooked me up with my new best friend, Augie. For a hefty price, he got me the good shit, along with some premium pot, and delivered them personally.

Where the pills usually make me mellow and relaxed, today they are having the opposite effect. I feel wired and anxious. With a beer in hand, I flip through the channels desperately trying to find something to distract me. Landing on my go-to porn channel fails to make me hard like it normally does. Today I don’t want to visualize her naked beneath me. The constant yearning is exhausting. I’m so tired of the same shit.

Things would be easier if she would just forget me and stop hanging on to what we had. Why can’t she move on? I can’t recover emotionally while knowing she still wants me back. I’ve done everything and tried everything. I can’t understand why she hasn’t given up on me yet.

One beer turns to three, and one pill turns to three.

My body finally feels the effects and sags into the couch, succumbing to the calm. My mind resists, racing with thoughts of Annie. She can’t continue to waste her life on me. I need to find a way to get her to move on. So far, words have been my only line of defense, and they aren’t working.

Things are strained between Daphne and Annie. I only know that from Billy. Normally, our conversations avoid anything to do with either of them. Once Annie confided in him, he called me to say his piece. He believed that I had no idea she had feelings for me, and that he knows it was all her. He vented that she’s a self-centered bitch who only cares about herself. He doesn’t believe her
“Oh God, I was so drunk and didn’t know what I was saying”
bullshit. Billy and I disagree on this subject. Daphne may be self-centered, but she isn’t vindictive. She loves Annie and wouldn’t do anything to intentionally hurt her.

I have to admit I did find it odd that she ran up to the rehab center to confess what happened. Again, I don’t believe she did it to hurt Annie. She probably did it to make herself feel better, just more of Daphne stuck in her own world.

I crack open my fourth beer, and an idea formulates in my scattered mind. It makes bile rise in my throat and causes my already accelerated heartbeat to quicken. Picking up my cell, I search my contacts and make the call.

“Daphne.”

“Quint, what’s wrong.”

“I can’t…I just.” I drag in a deep breath, and she repeats my name over the phone. “Today was supposed to be our wedding day. I just want the pain to stop. I just want everything to go back to what it was. I want to play ball. I want…” I allow a sob to escape. It’s not even a fake one. My emotions are controlling things now.

“I’ll be right there,” she says before hanging up.

Exactly one hour later, Daphne is knocking on my door.

“You look awful. Why are you sweating?” she asks, eyeing me up and down as I return to lie immobile on the couch. “Quint, what are you on?”

“Pain meds, and I had a few beers. Oh, and I smoked a joint.”

“How many did you take?”

“I don’t remember.”

She disappears into the kitchen and returns with a glass of water. “Drink,” she says, holding it out for me. I shake my head stubbornly, and she says, “Drink it, Quint.”

“If you came here to babysit me, you can leave. I need a friend. I need you to help me forget, not make me feel like I’m a loser. I already feel like that every day.” I slur my words and lean back to close my eyes. The room is spinning, but not from the effects of the drugs in my body. The despicable act that I’m about to do makes me sick to my stomach. She places the water beside her and takes my hand.

“I hate what you’re doing to yourself. Quint, this isn’t you.” A tear rolls down her cheek and she impatiently wipes it away. “I came here because I could hear the hurt in your voice. I’m hurting. Annie is hurting. We’re all hurting. We need to stop hurting.”

I awkwardly sit up until my good leg touches hers. “There’s only one way that makes it stop.” I offer her my beer and, surprisingly, she takes it.

Beer quickly turns to whiskey. A buzz quickly turns to a drunken stupor. I keep pouring more into her, enabling her to catch up. With every drink, she admits something she shouldn’t. I shamelessly keep giving her more and more until she shakes her head in refusal. We’re sitting side by side with our upper arms touching, just staring at a bad movie and avoiding the tension that hangs in the air.

“Quint?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.” I look down at her and she meets my gaze. Her eyes are glassy and dilated. Her lips are parted expectantly. I’ve seen Daphne drunk on many occasions. She becomes the life of the party, an exaggerated version of her boisterous self. The Daphne sitting beside me looks scared and lost.

“In an alternate universe, would we ever be?”

“I don’t know.” While imagining Annie’s face upturned toward mine, waiting for me to kiss her sweet, soft lips, I bend and pull Daphne’s bottom lip in between my own. She gasps into my mouth, but otherwise sits still. I dig my hands into her hair and kiss her with abandon. I try to use her mouth, her soft lips, to forget. But instead of seeing Annie before me, I see her behind me crying. Clenching my eyes closed, I kiss Daphne harder to get rid of the image that has my chest cramping with pain. Daphne never resists, nor does she try to stop me.

This is wrong. We need to stop. This was a bad idea.

By the time my brain registers what my heart is trying to say, it’s too late to turn back.

Daphne moans and turns on the couch. I moved to the chair after she passed out, needing as much distance from her as possible.

“I’m going to be sick.” She voices my sentiments exactly before running for the bathroom. She’s wearing nothing but a bra and panties. The visual of her practically naked body running down the hall does nothing for me. I should go help her, but I can’t move. I’m numb and not from the alcohol or the drugs I took last night.

When she returns, she doesn’t look any better. With tearstained cheeks, she quickly walks to where her T-shirt and jeans lay crumpled on the floor. “Did we?” she asks while dragging them on her body.

The word gets stuck in my throat. Like a fucking coward, I choose to stare at my cast when I nod slowly.

“Oh my God.” She sobs, and again I can’t move. I sit staring, unable to console her in any way. Suddenly, she stands before me with purpose. “I never wanted this to happen.”

“Neither did I.”

“I never meant for it to happen, ever! This shouldn’t have happened!”

“It’s too late.”

Wordlessly, she leaves without a backward glance.

I can’t have this be in vain. I need to follow through and finish this once and for all. It’s early, but I dial his number anyway.

“Quint, man. What the fuck? Why are you calling me so early?” I remain silent on my end of the phone. “Dude? What did you drunk dial me? Go sleep it off.”

“Billy.” The sound of my voice leaves no question that I’m a mess.

“What happened?” I choke back a sob that he hears. “You’re scaring me, man. What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry. I never meant to do it. Yesterday was supposed to be…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It hurt so much. I just wanted to forget and make the pain go away. I was so high by the time she got here. We drank, a lot. I never meant to do it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” When he’s met with more sobbing, he yells, “Quint!”

“I fucked Daphne.” My head pounds as silence stretches over the phone.

“No, you didn’t. Say you didn’t.” I cry apologies into the phone, avoiding his command. “You fucking prick! How could you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sick of your fucking bullshit!” His voice explodes over the phone. “You want to kill yourself, then do it. Do it already! Just don’t take innocent victims with you. You have crushed Annie! You and your fucking pity party. I’m not going to let you crush her anymore. Go live your miserable existence and pop your pills and drink yourself to the grave. I’m done with you!”

Grabbing the bottle that contains the answer to my problems, I pop another pill and down it with the rest of the whiskey left in the bottle Daphne and I drank from last night. If there are phases of self-destruction, then I’m determined to enter the final phase.