3. John
Iwoke up to a gloriously bright sunshiny day, and decided that maybe Mizzoni had a point. Driving myself relentlessly might not be the answer.
And it was only one day. I could stay off skates, maybe even not think about hockey at all, for one whole day.
In the kitchen, I got Hank his wet food as he wound around my ankles, and then glanced at my phone. I had a couple messages from Elliot, the manager my foundation had hired to run the summer camp for kids. Last year, I”d done most of the work myself, but now that Mizzoni was gone and the camp had grown significantly, the board had decided to bring in some help. He was just keeping me up to date on progress for the upcoming session, and I was almost disappointed that there was so little for me to do. But I had another message that would prove a better distraction.
Solamentes: golf.
That was very Mario. One word. It was a question, a statement. A plan, maybe? He”d included me, Van Porter, Cade Simpson, and Tyler Cornwall on the text, and by the time I was sitting down with a couple eggs and some turkey bacon, Simpson had responded.
Simpson: Yes.
Van: When and where?
Corny: Come to the club.
Cornwall”s parents were loaded, and he didn”t mind taking advantage and making sure his teammates all got the chance too. I was pretty sure his dad actually owned the country club, though maybe his name was just on everything because he was some kind of major sponsor.
I had no clue.
All that mattered to me was that the invite had come at the perfect time. I needed distraction. And while a day spent with teammates definitely wouldn”t be a day without a lot of hockey talk, it would be a break from the skates.
Me: I”m in.
Simpson: Sams, pick me up on your way. I”m at my sister”s place.
We”d figured out that Cade”s sister lived just around the corner from the house I”d bought recently. She was married and had three or four kids, and Cade seemed to spend a lot of his off time there being their favorite uncle.
Me: Sure. Time?
Solamentes: noon.
I hoped there was a lot of shade on Corny”s course. It was already tipping over ninety degrees, and it was barely ten in the morning.
Unable to stop myself, I did a quick workout in the garage—a little time on the tread and some biceps and back—and then I hit the shower and headed out to pick up Simpson at his sister”s place.
”Sams!” he boomed as he slid into the passenger seat of my truck wearing a bright pink shirt I’d never have imagined him wearing.
”Hey, Cade. Nice shirt, man.”
“Real men wear pink, John.” We did a quick fist bump and I pulled out from the curb as three red-headed kids waved from the front window of the house.
”How”s your family?”
”Nuts, man. The best thing about your sister having kids is you can go get ”em all riled up and then run away.” He cackled, the sound coming from somewhere beneath the impressive red beard he sported. Simpson was huge and intimidating on the ice, but I”d gotten to know him well enough to know that he was a teddy bear in real life. Not that I was planning to give him a squeeze or anything, but the guy had a heart of gold.
We picked up Cade”s clubs at his condo and then drove out to the country club on the far side of Wilcox and pulled into the lot next to the over-the-top silver corvette Solamentes drove. He was waiting, leaning against the hood, which he rubbed with the hem of his shirt when he stood.
”How”s your precious baby?” Simpson asked him, laughing.
”Good as long as you don”t door ding her,” he answered. ”How”s it going, Sams?”
”Good,” I told him, locking the truck after pulling the clubs out of the back. ”Glad you texted. I needed to take a day off.”
”You been working hard?” he asked, eyeing me up and down.
”I mean, no. Well, yeah, but like... off-season hard.” I sensed I was about to get the same lecture Mizzoni had offered, so I tried to make it seem like I was vacationing, enjoying the time.
”Right.” Mario Solamentes was a man of few words, but you could read most of his thoughts in his expressions. The one he wore now told me he knew I was full of shit.
We headed into the club to find Corny and Van Porter finishing up at the desk. Corny tossed a set of cart keys to Simpson. ”Let”s head.”
We divided into two groups and rode out onto the course in our fancy golf carts, which moved almost fast enough to create a tiny breeze to offset the stifling humidity. Virginia summers were hot, though they were nothing compared to where I grew up in the deep South. Still, it was a relief when the bar cart showed up around the third hole.
We had a couple big thermoses of water, and now we supplemented those with cocktails, each of us doing our best to outhit the others. I wasn”t a natural golfer, but I enjoyed the game. There was no real point trying to compete with guys like Corny and Solamentes, anyway. It was clear they”d both grown up with clubs in their hands. Simpson did okay, mostly through sheer force, but his putting game was shit.
”You hit the ball like it”s a puck, man,” Corny pointed out as Simpson tried for his fourth putt around the sixth hole.
”Can”t help it. Besides, you want me to perfect my putting or keep my shot strong on the ice?”
”Ice!” we all agreed.
The day slipped by in a haze of greenery, gin and tonics, and camaraderie, and by the time we finished up and sat down to grab burgers in the bar, my mind had let go of some of the angst I”d carried out of last season.
The guys were talking about putting together a weekend at a lake house owned by another teammate, and we were all laughing and relaxed. I almost didn”t feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, but managed to answer on the last ring.
The screen read “Wilcox County Sheriff.” What was this?
”Hello?”
”John Samuels?”
”Uh, yeah. Who”s this?”
”Hey there. Sorry to bother you, Wilcox County sheriff”s department here. Listen, we brought in a prowler one of your neighbors reported, caught nosing around the side of your house, trying windows and whatnot.”
”Seriously?” I lived in a pretty small house. I hadn”t thought it would be a burglary target. ”Anything stolen?”
”No, uh, she didn”t make it inside.”
”She?”
”We”re thinking this could be a stalking situation. You being a pro athlete and everything.”
A stalker? I definitely didn”t think I was famous enough for that. ”Uh, okay. So what do you need from me?”
”Well again, sorry to bother you with this, but this woman... she”s just really feisty.”
”Okay...”
”She swears she knows you and is reaching for the phone as we speak.” His voice lowered to a whisper, like he was ducking away to keep the phone out of her grasp and hissing into it. ”She”s kind of bossy.”
Who the heck did I know in Wilcox that would be prowling around my house? And who was also bossy?
”She wants to speak with you. She says it will clear everything up. I told her this is highly unusual, but?—”
”Put her on,” I suggested, giving a shrug to the guys at the table who were all listening now.
Shuffling sounded on the other end, and then came a sweet Southern voice I hadn”t heard in years. ”Sammy? Is that you?”
”Joey?”
”Yes! It”s me. I”m so sorry about all this! Everything”s been totally blown out of proportion.”
My best friend from high school had been caught stalking me? ”Um, Joey, what”s going on? Were you prowling outside my house? How did you know where I live?”
”It”s a long story, really. But I came up here to Wilcox hoping to see you.”
”Through the window I bet,” the cop”s voice said in the distance.
”Uh, okay, well, I”m gonna be heading home here soon. Do you want to come back over? I can let you inside this time?”
”That”s the thing. These guys hauled me to the police station and they won”t let me go until you tell them you don”t want to press any charges or anything. I think they”re getting ready to make me change into an orange jumpsuit here.”
”Should I come get you?”
”Oh, would you? They made me ride in the cruiser, so my car is at your house. The sheriff here is really dedicated to his job, I guess.”
The Wilcox sheriff was notoriously underworked and overzealous, rarely following the same protocols those in bigger cities seemed to adhere to.
Simpson was practically leaning over my plate now, trying to figure out what was going on, and I was a little worried about his beard getting into my food.
”Sams, you”re being rude,” Solamentes said, reaching over and helping himself to some of my fries. I moved the plate a little closer to my body.
”Sorry,” I whispered to the guys. ”Joey, hang tight. I”ll be right there, okay?”
”Thanks, Sammy. I”m really so, so sorry about this.”
”Yeah, it”s no problem.”
There was more shuffling on the phone, then the cop”s voice came back on. ”We”ll detain the suspect until you arrive, Mr. Samuels. Sorry for the trouble.”
”Sure. Yeah, I”ll be there soon.”
Joey Baxter was in Wilcox? My head spun as I hung up and explained quickly. ”My best friend from high school got picked up by the cops trying to break into my house or something. I need to head to the police station.”
”Dude sounds a little unhinged,” Simpson said. ”You want me to come with you in case this Joey guy”s gone off his rocker since you were in school?”
”Ah, no. Actually, Joey”s a girl. Josephine.”
Eyebrows went up around the table.
”Can you get a ride with one of these guys, Cade?”
”Sure, man.” He stuffed some of my fries in his mouth. I thought about asking for a to go box for the few fries that remained and decided against it. I pushed the plate into the center of the table.
”Be careful,” Corny said.
I”d never needed to be careful around Joey. Of everyone I”d ever known, she was the one person I was most myself with. Or I had been, until we”d gone our separate ways for college and lost touch. ”Yeah, I will be.” I was already out of my seat, heading for the car.
Why was Joey here? And why did some part of me rush to grab a shovel and start digging up long-buried fantasies that involved my old pal Josephine Baxter finally realizing that we could be so much more than friends?