32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Cal Truitt
I t’s the bottom of the fifth inning, our team is four runs ahead. Not one person has missed how distracted I am by Remi. I don’t care. She didn’t even make a big deal about the drive an hour from Lake Hollow. The alumni game is always played at St. James College.
Sitting between Grady and Charlie in the stands, she jumps to her feet screaming encouragement when I’m at bat or make a play on the field. Twice Charlie and I have exchanged amused looks. Remington James is a force, the type of person to back up what she says. Love us loudly she says? The fucking loudest.
Our game flies by, while former teammates and I pull further ahead. It feels damn good to be back on the field. Lala’s words coming back to me throughout… did I make the safe choice not accepting the offer for the Triple A minor league team in Texas?
My teaching internship had me learning twenty-six names, comforting two chronic criers, bandaging up knees and elbows, letting a tired kid sleep during story time, doing weird voices while reading, holding countless little hands… feeling exhausted at the end of each day. It was rewarding though. I’m juggling decisions constantly.
The only one I don’t question is Remi.
No other women exist.
Carter Kelley, our shortstop and one of my old friends, slaps me on the back before shaking me, “You’ve still got it, bro. Dynamite fucking arm.”
The alumni from our former rival school congratulate us, some of their ‘good games’ defeated sounding. I feel revitalized.
It’s time to think a little harder about what the future holds.
While Charlie and Carter start reminiscing, Remi lets go of Charlie’s hand to run to me. As I’m sweeping her into my arms, she whispers in my ear, “You were the star. Absolutely on fire.”
In front of a crowd of spectators and players I hold my girl, giving her a kiss that shows my appreciation for her being here. Whistles, teasing, and a few people knocking into me follow. By the time we’re amid the flow of people from the field to a cookout in the parking lot, our group of four has grown. Carter, his girlfriend, and a handful of other classmates all stay close. The polite distance everyone gave Grady folding too, as people keep approaching him. “God, I remember how you’d always sing those damn prescription med jingles inserting the side effects whenever someone pissed you off. Do you remember that?” Carter scoffs taking a big bite of his burnt burger.
Charlie bends slightly laughing. “He did! Until he was shamed by Father Connelly for it.”
I sing out, “Do you have moderate to severe ulcerative colitis?” Causing all my former classmates to roar in laughter.
Remi smirks. “Clever. Why did the priest have problems with it?”
“He has a problem with everything,” Carter answers her, “The man never met any fun he couldn’t tear down. He’s got a few people in Lake Hollow convinced that the lake is evil.”
I accept the burger handed to me by Grady. “He caught me singing something to one of the nuns. Which by the way, Sister MaryBeth loved my little ditties, and he lectured me on and on about my ‘smart mouth’. God doesn’t like a showboat.” I shrug, with a half-smile. Father Connelly considers himself the ultimate expert in God’s preferences. He would’ve driven the entire younger generation away from the Catholic faith if Father Lowe didn’t come along. The younger priest is more moderate, progressive and changing with the times, even liking us to call him Father Chris. He’s much more informal.
I sit back on the tailgate of my truck, watching Rem interact with my friends. The smooth way she remains genuine to herself, while relating to others. She never sees it, but she’s remarkably likeable.
I just fucking love her. My entire heart is imprinted with her name.
She looks cute as hell today, wearing a weathered old orange Lake Hollow baseball cap with the blue emblem, one of my old jerseys open with a cutoff white shirt underneath. A sketch of a frog catching a heart shaped ball on her stomach. All the nicknames she calls me in bubble letters surrounding it (hottie, ballboy, Tru, Babe, Lovie, and, man I regret telling her about my embarrassing old nickname, AC). She’s taken a pair of black skorts sewing a Lake Hollow Baseball patch onto the bottom over the hem, wearing knee high white socks with blue lines on the top, and a pair of sketched on white Keds. On her face she’d used blue and orange face paint to put my number from high school. She is committed fully to supporting me.
Charlie has already taken an obscene number of pictures of her; I still take a couple more.
I jump down to throw away my empty water bottle and napkin, overhearing Charlie, and Carter’s conversation as I pass by. “... bringing it all back. He had me convinced, but now? I don’t know.”
Charlie, Carter, and I all have the distinct displeasure of being brothers that lost their sisters to Lake Hollow drownings. Immediately, I want to pull Charlie to the side, tell him to stop fucking stirring all this up again.
“Huh. I’d heard he was back from DBD. Kid doesn’t strike me as the type to return without an agenda. Just let that marinate,” Carter says before pointing to Grady. “What’s up with Marlow? Thought he hated your asses?”
Carter continues, “If it’s about Remington, nice girl by the way, then let me just caution both of you chuckleheads. You can’t ever expect someone that sees you as a threat to support you. Marlow isn’t your friend.”
I step back towards them. “When are we going to let the past fucking rest?” I’m directing it at Charlie, but it’s Carter that answers me. Charlie’s mouth drops open.
“Maybe when people open their eyes and admit that it’s statistically impossible to have that many people drown with the same circumstances. I’m with Charlie, Wilder Lee is a problem.”
I would’ve agreed months ago. Now, I’m coming to terms with distorted memories, letting others control how I see things. One thing that has always bothered me about the accusations against Wilder… in all the dozens of arguments with Sara he never laid a finger on her. He was respectful and sweet when they weren’t lobbing insults back and forth.
“... laying on the floor outside the locker room. I freaked out.” Sara’s eyes filled with tears telling me about finding Wilder post seizure at school.
“But he didn’t want you to tell anyone?”
Sara shook her head. “Cal, he told me to stay away from the lake. Like why would he say that?”
Knowing that his visions have been right, I said, “Listen to him. Fuck, Sara… that’s messed up.”
“I just wish people would stop talking shit about him. No one understands that he’s a good person. He’s the best person I know.” She could get on rants about Wilder. The only one ever allowed to talk badly about him was her, and usually because he didn’t want to put a show on in public.
Sara being Sara.
“Charlie thinks he’s faking it.”
“Well, he can suck a dick. Stop letting him do all your thinking, Cal.”
Did I? Years ago, I didn’t put much thought into how controlling my best friend could be. Lately, it’s been getting to me. Half the time I don’t know if an idea was mine first and he stole it, or if he’s just voicing something I had thought about. As kids we were always thought of as a pair. Interchangeable. Which is strange to me now. Our dispositions, personalities, looks… none of it alike.
Charlie repeats himself, “Hey, Cal?”
Giving my attention back to them, I say, “Yeah?”
“His... episodes or whatever, they do come true.”
I know that. Jesus Christ Almighty. I’m aware.
Doing my best to shove misgivings from my mind, I join Remi playing cornhole. All the joking around playfully somewhat forced, because my old friends have picked at that festering wound on my heart.