Chapter 21
Dear July,
When I got home today, my dad was beating my mom. Again. I grabbed him and threw him across the kitchen. He hit the cabinet, maybe broke his nose? His damn turn to bleed. I’ve never been able to do that before. Might’ve scared him. He yelled some shit but didn’t come at us again. Just stomped out. Then I got to hear my mom try to justify the things he does. Try to make me “understand.” I fucking understand everything just fine. I fucking hate this life.
Joe
The question I’m wrestling with, as I drive to our last ball game, is whether friendship is the most I can hope for with July. I thought at least she still wanted me for sex, and hell, it isn’t what I want but…friendship with benefits with July would be way more—and way better—than anything I’ve ever had with anybody else. And I thought the other night in the rain she was wanting to kiss me. But no, apparently body heat and the momentary comfort of hugs and hand squeezes is as far as it goes.
Nothing special here, Joe. Move along.
I mean, I figured she’d never feel the way she used to. But somewhere deep inside me, some little spark of hope kept burning until she ducked away on the path at the lake.
But I’m not leaving Galway again. Maybe…maybe July’s just not there yet.
Besides, I want to open that youth shelter here . I like Galway, and my building is really growing on me. My research has given me some great ideas for fitting out the downstairs with a computer/homework area, a table for eating and gathering, a kitchenette with a Crock-Pot, sandwiches, and fresh fruit and vegetables right there so hungry kids can help themselves. A stacking washer and dryer beside the restroom, where I’ll add a shower. Maybe I’ll put in an area for some kind of dance game in the front room. Bookshelves with fiction and school resources… Maybe I can work with the school district and Rose’s organization to make sure I’ve got current textbooks.
It’s almost exciting enough to distract me from the thought of living and working so close to the woman I love, who already has five times more friends than she knows what to do with and who counts me as just another one.
But I’ve got friends here now too. And I can make more.
Maybe some of the team would want to have a regular hangout night. Get together every week or two for a beer or something. Maybe I’ll see if Rose and Angus want to go to dinner in Asheville with me one week, eat at that Spanish place I’ve heard so much about. As long as I’m good to July, Rose won’t plot my death, and as long as I don’t flirt too hard with Rose, Angus won’t take me apart with his bare hands.
Tonight’s the last time I have to stand behind July with a front-row view of her body moving with power and grace while I remind myself to keep my drool inside my head. That’ll be tough, since I’ve held her recently enough to be able to close my eyes and map her contours with my hands, recreate my memories of where she’s the warmest, where she’s the softest, and just where her breath teases my throat when she’s in my arms.
Jesus, it’s going to be a rough night.
I park alongside Dirk’s pickup and shoulder my bag. Dirk’s already warming up with Hiromi, but Tom needs a partner. To my surprise, he holds up a ball and raises his eyebrows at me. At my nod, he tosses it easy at first, and then harder each time, soon with more zing than is strictly necessary for warm-up.
But maybe that’s just a shortstop thing. He’s been okay lately. Guess he can tell he’s got nothing to fear from me where July is concerned.
She’s almost late. Comes jogging up at the last minute, breathless, and joins Andi and the catcher where they’re throwing, over by the parking lot. I try to keep my focus off her, but my damn brain and eyes and assorted other parts are having none of it. Gets worse when we take the field and I’m behind her, forced to look in her direction so I know what’s going on in the game. I practically feel every one of her movements, her sprints toward the ball, her dips to scoop it up, her smooth, powerful throws. It’s like she’s pressed against me so that my body gives whenever and wherever she needs space. She steals my breath from fifty feet away.
I grit my teeth and do my job. It’s a low-scoring game, but we take a one-run lead and hold it. Then, in the bottom of the last inning, with two outs and a speedy runner on second, the other team’s cleanup batter steps up to the plate.
“Let’s go now!” Tom yells. “One more out to keep our streak.”
In the dugout during our last at bat, I heard him say something to Hiromi about this being the team’s third undefeated season in a row…if we win this one. We need to get this batter out before the runner on second can score. I yank my focus off July and concentrate on the batter. No way am I going to be the cause of us breaking the streak.
The guy pops a mile-high foul outside the third base line almost exactly halfway between July and me.
“Mine!” She charges after it—a foul fly ball is as good as a fair one for an out—and I’m moving to back her up when I see the barrel.
What jackass would position a giant metal trash can so close to the field, in playable foul territory?
July’s headed towards it at top speed, but since she’s running backwards, it’s in her blind spot. She’s going to catch that ball—no doubt in my mind about that—and then she’s going to hit the rim of that monster can at her rib level and hurt herself bad.
It’s too late for me to call her off of the ball. I move between her and the barrel, putting the warm metal against my back, and when July’s glove closes over that fly ball and she hits me like a truck, I wrap my arms around her and hold on. The can tips and we flip over it, through a shower of used water bottles, crushed candy wrappers, and soggy napkins.
My liver—or maybe that’s a spleen—is not going to be happy with me later, but July holds her glove high to show the umps she’s still got the ball, and when she turns to me, her expression incredulous, and says, “Joe, you colossal doofus, are you okay?” all I can do is laugh.
Just wipe a piece of mustard-smeared hot dog bun off my forehead and laugh.
And when the umpire calls the game for us and July hauls me up with her free hand and the team gathers around to make sure we’re really both okay, I feel as good as I can feel under the circumstances.
Because I helped her win the game for us and because she’s okay and because I’ve got another memory of the two of us together to add to my pathetic collection.
***
July
The man is a complete and total whack job.
Or maybe I am.
I cannot make sense of him. Why did he risk getting hurt like that? Can he just not resist being a hero? Putting his body between me and that stupid trash can… I outweigh him by probably fifty pounds, and I hit him like a freight train. Flipped him end over end. How freaking embarrassing.
And he lay there laughing.
I park in my spot in the alley and head for Lindon’s for our team celebration. I’m halfway there before I realize I’m still wearing my cleats. Joe’s messed up my mind. Again.
And what the hell was that on the trail the other day? It almost seemed as if he was going to kiss me. But I know that can’t be right…unless… Oh god. What if it was going to be a pity kiss because I’d been crying?
My long-ago dinner rolls in my belly. The thought of him donating a charity kiss to poor, fragile, upset July makes me want to vomit all over the sidewalk. That would have been the worst. It would leave me with no pride. Surely he knows that wouldn’t have been a good thing, right?
I’m shaking my head, one hand on my stomach, when I get to Lindon’s. Andi’s a few steps ahead of me and holds the door.
“Interesting play you and Joe made there at the end,” she says in my ear.
“Shut up.”
She laughs. “You okay, really? No injuries from your crash?”
“I’m fine. But he’s clearly got something wrong with him.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” Her tone is a lazy drawl. “Because I’m having trouble seeing it. Makes a woman rethink her commitment to singlehood. If you don’t make a move on him soon, July…”
I swivel my head so fast I get a crick in my neck. Another reason to glare at her.
Andi throws up her hands, laughing. “Kidding! Seriously though, what in the hell is stopping you now? You’ve gotta see he’s warmed up. Way, way up.”
I wish. I shake my head. “Nah. It’s just…we’re friends now. We bonded over a couple of kids in trouble.”
She nods as we head to the bar. Several of our teammates are shoving tables together in one corner, so we’ll grab beer. “Rose mentioned something about that.”
“Since when did you two get so cozy?” They’re both my friends, and two of my favorite people in the world, and both of them could use another good friend. I just don’t like the idea of them talking about Joe and me.
Not that there’s a Joe and me.
Andi shrugs. “She’s helping with something for the shelter. Roof sprang a leak a little earlier than my budget allowed.”
“Oh no! Anything I can do to help?”
“Nope. Thanks. We’ve got it covered.” Andi gives our order to the bartender.
By the time we join our group with two pitchers and two fistfuls of empty mugs, most of the team is there. They’ve saved us seats between Joe and Tom. I take the one next to Tom, ignoring Andi’s raised eyebrows. After a second, she settles beside Joe.
I busy my hands pouring and passing.
Hiromi holds her mug up for a toast. “To July…and Joe…who kept us from a shit show that last inning!”
Everybody laughs and pretends to pick trash off our hair and clothing. Joe says something smart-ass—I can’t make out the words, but I’m sure he was self-deprecating—and then everybody’s reliving the season, bringing up all their favorite plays and hits and umpire calls.
This has always been a great group. Nice people, good sports, lots of laughter. This season is better, though, because Joe’s joined us. I don’t think it’s just me who thinks so.
I sip my beer and watch Dirk and Andi giving him a hard time about a game where he got a triple because he just didn’t stop running. The other team kept throwing the ball a minute too late, and he’d be halfway to the next base.
“Wonder if I’d be that fast if I were that scrawny?” Tom says, beside me.
“He’s not scrawny.” The words are out of my mouth before I think about it. “He’s just really…lean.”
Compact and cut is what Joe is. Not a bit of extra. I haven’t seen him without a shirt on since he’s been back, but I’ve been pressed up against him enough times to feel the ridges of his body, his hard pecs and biceps. God knows I’ve seen those tennis star legs of his enough lately.
Something flips low in my belly, and a little growl comes out of my mouth. I have to cover it by clearing my throat and taking a quick swallow of beer.
Conversations swirl around me. On my right, Tom’s talking to the catcher and the right fielder about looking for a new car. Across the table our two pitchers are squabbling about which of the umpires is the fairest behind the plate. And to my left I hear Joe say, “So do you all get together through the year, or just during softball season?”
Hiromi eases her ponytail band down her silky hair, setting the shining mass free. She eyes Joe as Dirk and everyone else looks at her gorgeous hair. “You know, we should do that. We could get together here every week or two.”
“Yeah,” Dirk breathes. “Let’s do that.” Poor guy has been head-over-heels in love with Hiromi for at least two years. I’m not sure she’s noticed.
Beside me, Andi shrugs. “I’m in.”
Joe smiles at her before his eyes slide to me.
“I’m in,” says Tom, not to be left out of anything involving his own team. “When I can, of course.” It wouldn’t do for us to think he’s not a busy, busy man.
One by one, everybody agrees. Joe is still looking at me, and Andi turns to look too.
“Sounds fun.” What else can I say? It probably won’t be any more torture than running with him every night.
Hiromi tosses her hair back, gives Joe her best smile—a damn pretty one—and clinks her mug with his. “It’s a date, then. Wednesday nights at Lindon’s.”
He smiles down at her, his eyes crinkling in that way I’ve always loved.
Okay then, I take it back. Seeing him with other women will be much, much worse than running with him.
But I wanted him to find a home here. Friends. People he could turn into family, so that he wouldn’t be so alone. And I’ve succeeded.
Yay me.
I take part in exactly three more conversations, and then I mumble something about needing to go shower the garbage off of me.
Joe turns those bright eyes on me as I stand, but then he blinks back down to hear what Hiromi is saying.
And I slip out the door. I may not enjoy the idea of Joe getting close to other women, but I guess it’s preferable to having him aim pity kisses at me.