Chapter 38
LANEY
“We’re getting ready for the matchup between the Utah Silverhawks and the Washington Nationals,” I say into the camera, making sure my microphone is close enough to hear over the constant crack of a ball against the bat during warm-ups.
“The Nationals have won three straight, and while it’s still early, the Silverhawks need to get a few wins to round out this road trip. ”
I listen for the responses through my earpiece and nod.
“I talked to Coach Roche. He said star shortstop Chase Purdee should be in the lineup today. He’s a major asset to this team and will make a difference both on the field and at the plate.”
The announcers sign off, and I breathe out a sigh.
Two more games and we’ll be home. I don’t know why this trip has worn on me more than the others. Maybe it’s because I feel so out of my element with this sport. I know it better than some others, though.
I walk over and pick up my water jug, taking a long swig. I can do this. Last night, I wrote down at least fifteen interview questions that aren’t the same as the ones I’ve been asking. Hopefully they’ll draw out better responses than the one or two-word answers I’ve been getting.
“Laney Zelinski?” a woman asks.
I turn to face her. She’s wearing Nationals gear, so I’m surprised she knows my name. “That’s me.”
“This is for you.” She hands me a small package that looks like it’s been wrapped by a four-year-old.
“Do I know you?”
She shakes her head. “I was just asked to give it to you.”
“Thank you,” I say, looking down at the package. This isn’t going to be a mini bomb that blows up, right? Or some powder substance that causes death?
I laugh. It’s been a while since my brain has gone to thoughts like that. Ever since I met Burton.
My enemy list is fairly low, so I take the risk and open it.
Inside is a package of Skittles. Why does it remind me of Burton? As much as I don’t want it to, my chest aches at the thought of what could’ve been.
Blowing out a breath, I pull back a little more of the wrapping paper. There’s a small stack of papers in it too. I pull them out and see that it’s not as clean as the one I put together, but I grin anyway.
A coupon book.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I try to push them back.
Sounds filter through my earpiece, and I look out at the field. I put the package down by the water bottle and turn my attention to the camera.
“Yes, Rasmussen will start, but they’ve got Youngberg out in the bullpen getting loose right now,” I say.
“What did the coach say about his pitching choice this game?” Curtis, one of our announcers asks.
My brain is only half-focused on the question as I start to put together the pieces from the package.
I’ve got to snap in for just a few more seconds until this is over.
“Coach said he knows things have been bumpy for Rasmussen in his starts the last few times, but he knows he’s a fighter and will give it everything he has.”
“Thank you, Laney.”
The earpiece goes silent, and I pick up the coupon book again.
Redeem when your plane gets in late. I’ll wake up just to talk to you.
Redeem for one farm chore you hate. I promise not to complain.
One post-game vent session
One goat-wrangling assist. If Pearl headbutts me, I make no promises.
Redeem for one mystery investigation—no carcasses allowed
I flip through, smiling at each of the thoughtful coupons included in this bunch. I pick up the paper it was wrapped in, but there’s no return address. Is Burton here?
Scanning the crowd, I see a sea of faces, all blurring together.
I go back to the book and see the last coupon.
Redeem for a future conversation I was too scared to start before. No interruptions. No disappearing.
I let out a laugh as tears cascade down my face.
“Are you all right?” Dean, my cameraman asks. I sniff and nod, wiping at the tears with my fingertips. “Yeah, these are tears of joy.”