The Truth About Air & Water (Truth in Lies #2) (50 page)

I take a necessary breath and blow it out. “I gave up pretty much everything for you. And it’s not that you’re not without your own set list of sacrifices.
You wanted a son.
You admitted this to Pastor Dan Reeve months ago.
Before.
And you
told
somebody you wanted a son recently.
Trinna. Amy. Candy.
You told
somebody
you wanted a son and they reported it in their little story.
Okay. Then.
Maybe you’ll get one. Be happy. You’re forever free of the damaged goods—
that is me
—because I can’t give you what you so desperately want. We’ll work out the details with Cara through Marla or my lawyer or my nanny—
my people
.”

He grabs my arm.

I stop a second and take a shaky breath. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

He lets me go and looks completely broken. “Don’t do this to us. I’m begging you. I love you. I told you, Tally. I
love
you.”

It’s nuclear.

Finish it.

Geez, once you start you can’t even begin to pull back the levers even if you have second thoughts or thirds.

“So you said. Well, you have a strange way of showing it.” I try to smile and then it’s gone. “And I don’t feel the same way about you anymore. We’re done here. I’m out.”

I take the stairs two at a time heading down. I grab my bag, purse, and phone. I’m out the door and a good twenty feet ahead of him even as I can literally feel him stumble after me. Predictably, the press is there but so is Yellow Cab and while Linc is stopped by various reporters with their cameras and questions, the crowd parts for me and allows me to pass.

I’m not the story. Trinna Danner is. And Lincoln Presley. And their precious baby expected to be born in September. I’m just the barren bitch that got in the way of all of that. I’m the girl who burned a two thousand dollar wedding dress because she’d been scorned, and she’s nuclear and apparently very pissed off and still owes $28,000 and change on her Visa card.

Ninety seconds.

I leave him.

The cab speeds off in the direction of the Saroyan Theater.
Classic.
I’ll be on time.

“Wait for me,” I say to the driver when we arrive and hand him two twenty-dollar bills to ensure he does.

And that is how it’s done.

That’s how you leave them.

And that’s the end of
Tally’s Epic Plan.

From here on out, there is no plan.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Stop This Train -LINC

Plans backfire. Plans change. Clarity gets clarified. Fucking clarified. Tally’s wrath fuels me. My goals get simpler, and I become laser focused. I have to get back to San Francisco. I pitched a perfect game the night she left me and an almost perfect game on the next outing. Then in outings three, four, five, six, and seven I come close again.

My stats soar and now the Giants just look like imbeciles for keeping me here. The fans galvanize. The sports reporters start to talk, start to write, and start to print:
when is Lincoln Presley coming back to the line-up?
Talk of my return becomes the common editorial theme among all the sports pages and ESPN and I am clarified as well as justified.

Clarified.

Justified.

I am both.

We’re in Sacramento for a four-day tournament, and it’s the second day. Eight weeks less two to the day Tally left me; the call comes in from the Giants. I know it as soon as I see Coach Reynolds of Grizzlies fame comes out toward me on the pitcher’s mound during warm-ups. All the players seem to stop what they’re doing and watch the two of us—Coach and me.

Hillman’s on first. He yells, “Hoo-yah!” And fist-pumps the air even before Coach Reynolds utters a single word to me.

“Well, Prez, the brass finally took notice. You’re up. They want you pitching in Miami at the end of next week after the All Stars game. Congratulations. Way to hang in there even with all the bullshit that’s been thrown your way.”

Those headlines include: The Giants taking their sweet ass time in calling me up and Trinna Danner being sued for falsifying medical records. She’s not pregnant. Never was. Tally may have set a nuclear fire between her and me, but Kimberley ensured Trinna Danner suffered her own. So much so that Ms. Danner has left LA and returned to her parent’s home in Georgia and given up acting and issuing false paternity claims altogether. I didn’t even catch a southern accent in her speech, but then I don’t remember a lot about Trinna Danner other than how she attempted to ruin my life and get to my money. Those headlines have gone far and wide, thanks to Kimberley.

However,
Miss Cloves and Vanilla
remains very pissed off at me. Our communique consists of confirming plans around my visits with Cara. It’s a nightmare with the schedule, but I make it happen. I use Tally’s continual indifference with me as motivation toward my one and only goal—my return home.

I nod at Coach. “Thanks for helping me get there. Like I’ve said many a time, you just got to be the one who remains standing.” I force a smile.

Baseball is just a means to an end. A means back to Tally. I already know that
Miss Cloves and Vanilla
is only in town a few more days. On Thursday, she leaves for Moscow to see her friend Sasha and check out the Bolshoi Ballet. I know this because of Charlie not because Tally bothered to tell me. I also know she’s leaving Cara with her parents because I don’t think she wants to be the one to ask me if she can take our kid out of the country. I think she knows I will say
no
, so she doesn’t ask me. So my plan has come together just in time.
I’m going home.

Clarified.

We all are.

Coach Reynolds nods and quints at me before he spits onto the ground. “Just don’t let ‘em push you around so much, Prez. You’ve got the arm; you’ve got the head for it. You’ll be at the All Stars game next year. Enjoy your time off and then just avoid the line drives, okay?”

“Right.” I shake his hand. He grins wide. I spy a speck of tobacco on his front tooth that I wouldn’t dare mention to him. “Thank you for the opportunity to play. It’s been an honor to work with you guys.”

“Yeah, well, you’re easy to coach. A regular guy. You’re grounded and that’s what will take you far in this game. Keep it simple. Wife. Kids. Home.” He looks at me. “I hope everything works out for you and her. She’s still the talk of O’Riley’s.” He smiles wide. I’m shocked. I wasn’t aware he was there. He laughs to himself, turns, and saunters off.

I raise my cap to the team while they all start whooping and hollering when I yell out, “I’m out of here!”

Hillman runs over and shakes my hand and clasps my shoulder. “Go get her, Prez. She can’t stay pissed off at you forever. Just be back in Fresno in November for the big wedding with Brandy. Geez! Why did I have to fall in love with a hometown girl who will never want to leave town?" He asks with a groan and then laughs as he starts running back toward first base.

“Hillman,” I say. He turns. “Thanks for being a good friend.”

He smiles. “We’ll always be friends. San Fran isn’t that far away. Go pack your gear. Don’t make me cry. Shit, you’re probably flying out in two hours back to Fresno, and then you still have a five-hour drive after you pack up. But you’re buying me a beer next time I’m up in the City.”

“Deal,” I say.

“And there’s always November.” He salutes.

“November. Off season. Looking forward to it.” I salute him back.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Who Am I To Say -TALLY

Plans backfire. Plans change. Life gets clarified. Fucking clarified. My wrath for Lincoln Presley continues to fuel me. My goals in life get simpler. I become more laser focused. There’s Cara and ballet and Marla. I leave for Moscow in two days to see Sasha and to check out what the Bolshoi Ballet might have to offer me. Cara is staying with my parents while I’m in Russia. It’s been a few months since the nuclear war with Linc, and I am still here.

Living?
Sort of.

Breathing?
Sort of.

Clarified?
Most definitely.

“You know what your problem is?” Marla asks sweetly.

She’s three months pregnant. Thus, all the crying of a few months before has finally been explained.

I’m driving her to her gyno appointment with Dr. Eldon. Yes, we’re best friends so of course, we go to the same gynecologist.

I’m driving.

Did you catch that, too? It’s our deal. I have to give up my hangups—the triggers, and she doesn’t get to talk about Lincoln Presley like ever. It’s a fair trade. I’m driving her Escalade. She’s happy. I’m happy,
mostly,
although this boat of a car is a scary monster to drive even as we cruise down the 101 without mishap toward Dr. Eldon’s Palo Alto satellite office.

“I have problems?” I ask with a laugh. “No, I don’t. I am
clarified
.”

This is my new thing.
Clarification.
I think I mention it in every other time we talk. Clarification is my answer to everything these days. Marla hates it. She hates it that I’m clarified. She doesn’t like the new Tally that is somewhat hell-bent on life improvements of all kinds that may entail destruction give or take. I call it righting my life. Marla calls it destruction. Reconstruction. One of those. A lot of dismantling is going on. I’m getting ready to lease out Tremblay’s house. Cara and I are moving in with my parents to save money. Pay off the Visa bill. Pay off the damn dress.
Stuff.
I’m half-packed for that adventure which will happen at the end of the month depending upon what happens with the possibility of a Bolshoi Ballet job offer. Marla thinks everything about Moscow and the Bolshoi is a terrible idea but she won’t say exactly why.

“Do you ever think about what could have been?”

I glance over at her momentarily losing my happy face. “What the…hell, Marla? That is so like
mentioning him
. What are you doing? I’m
driving
. We have a
deal
.”