Announcing Trouble

by Amy Fellner Dominy

  And I can see myself standing with a packed suitcase while he walks away.

  The warning bell begins to ring. As we gather our stuff, I hope to hell it isn’t a sign.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “I think we should have a party for you.”

  Lianne says this as we’re putting away the art supplies. Her voice is hushed, but I still look over at the kids who are arranging themselves in our final circle. They have supersonic hearing when it comes to the word “party.”

  It’s Saturday morning, and the room feels like summer with a big vase of freshly picked flowers that Brandi brought in. It’s two weeks into April and wildflower season. Though I love when the desert blooms, I hate how fast the days are flying by.

  “I’ll do everything,” Lianne is saying. Her voice is a little hesitant—her eyes hopeful. She’s just so nice. She’s always here early and asking how can she help. I shouldn’t be surprised by the idea of a party, and it would be fun for the kids, but for me?

  “I’m not big on goodbyes,” I say.

  “But it’s not really a goodbye. It’s more of a good luck party.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

  After pre-school.

  Midway through first grade.

  The semester break in third grade.

  The worst was fifth grade. Mrs. Cline threw a party with red velvet cupcakes. Everyone made a card, and I could barely hold back tears. But the awful part was the end of the day because when everyone was ready to go home, they stopped being sad. They started talking about the next day. I couldn’t join in because the next day I wouldn’t be there. It was the first time I understood that they would forget me before I forgot them. It made me wonder why I’d bothered making friends at all.

  Lianne is still looking at me hopefully. “It’ll be a nice way for the kids to make the transition. A passing of the throne.”

  Though I still hate the idea, she’s right. It would make it easier for the kids and for her.

  She fishes glitter glue out of the crayon tub. “I’ll bake a cake.”

  How do I say no to that? “If you want to, then sure. Thanks.”

  Her smile is immediate. “We’ll do it your last Saturday. It’ll be here before you know it.” A quick frown shifts her expression. “You okay?”

  I’m spared from answering by a shout from Ciera. “It’s the cookie man!”

  Garrett is standing at the door. I’m not sure how he became the cookie man, but the circle collapses into chaos as kids rush to him. These are my regulars—Ciera, Fiona, Kate, Julia, Javier, and Bryson. They only met him the one time, but you’d think he was Santa Claus. Javier and Ciera each grab a hand and pull him toward the circle.

  “You have to sit,” Javier says.

  “Did you get the lips?” Ciera asks. “Josie was supposed to give you the lips.”

  His eyes are laughing as they meet mine. “She was?”

  “Pencils with lips on them,” I explain.

  “Kissing pencils.” Kate turns as pink as the bows in her hair.

  “Oh, those.” He nods, serious. “I use them to draw hearts on all my school papers.”

  The girls giggle. “We want to see.”

  “I draw snakes,” Bryson says.

  Lianne claps to get the kids’ attention. “Why doesn’t everyone settle down, and while I pass out the cookies, you can tell the cookie man what you like to draw best.”

  The kids love the idea, and I’m left to watch the whole thing from outside the circle. It’s good, though. It’s time. This is what all of us want. For them to move on so that I can, too.

  It’s Lianne who greets the parents and says goodbye to each kid. Garrett stands beside me, and we watch the process.

  “She’s good,” he says.

  “Yeah, she is.”

  “Can you head out now? Seems like she can manage without you.”

  I stiffen. “It’s still my job. What are you doing here anyway?”

  “Surprising you.”

  I slant him a wry look. “You came for the cookies, didn’t you?”

  “That, too.” He rubs at a chunk of silver glue stuck to the back of my hand. “You coming over when you’re done? We need to practice. And I want to put together a final tape of our feature.”

  “But it’s Saturday.”

  “We said we were going to get serious about this.”

  “We said we were going to try.”

  “There’s no try in a vision quest. Only do.” He heads for the door but stops and shoots me a wink over his shoulder. “Oh, and Walters? Bring the lips.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “That ball was smacked up the middle,” I say, my eyes glued to the TV. “Harris saves an easy double with that diving catch.”

  Garrett hits the pause button. The screen freezes, halting a game that happened yesterday. Garrett showed me his DVR list when I got here today. He’s recorded six baseball games, and the plan is that we watch the games on mute and try to do the broadcast on the fly. It’s nearly impossible, I’ve realized in the past hour, because I have no idea who all these players are.

  “That’s not Harris at short,” he corrects. “Harris is at first.”

  We’re both sitting on the edge of the couch, our knees touching because he’s man-sitting, his knees spread so wide he’s in my territory. I’m not giving an inch. I’m already at a disadvantage.

  “How am I supposed to remember that?” I complain. “I haven’t watched a game in years. We should call all the players Smith. Otherwise it’s not fair.”

  “It’s not a contest, Walters.”

  “Then why are you gloating every time you get it right and I don’t?”

  “I’m appreciating the vast superiority of my brain.”

  I elbow him in the ribs. “You’re such a bad winner.”

  “I am not.”

  “Winners are gracious. They downplay their glory in deference to the tender feelings of their opponents.”

  His brows lift, his eyes widen. “Did I hurt your tender feelings? I’ll kiss them and make them better.” He leans in and brushes a kiss over my cheek.

  “Stop it, Blondie.”

  “Am I missing the right spot? You keep your tender feelings…lower?”

  My snort turns into a laugh as he kisses me again, this time on the mouth.

  “Stop trying to distract me.”

  His smile makes it hard for me to breathe. He’s just so…everything. Funny and sweet and smart and sexy and outrageous and ambitious. And he’s looking at me as if I’m the one who’s everything.

  “I like you, Josie Walters,” he says.

  My heart turns to oatmeal, warm and smushy. “I like you, too, Garrett Reeves.”

  “I have something for you.”

  From under the couch he pulls out a folder that he must have stashed there earlier. With a flourish, he presents it to me. The folder is black with a strip of white that holds the ASU logo and beneath it a line that reads: Walter Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communication.

  “It’s an application packet along with a course outline.”

  My hand shakes a little. “You went to ASU?”

  “My mom did. She picked up one for me, and I asked her to get one for you, too.”

  “But.” I swallow. “We’re just trying this, Garrett.”

  “I know.”

  “If I did this…” I’m not even sure how to finish the sentence. It’s too big of a thought, too much to even comprehend. Too real. “I never said I would.”

  “It’s just so we can read about the program. See if it sounds interesting.”

  I open the folder a few inches, wide enough to see official-looking documents and a blank schedule for choosing classes. “What do I do with this?”

  “You don’t have to do anything.”

  My gaze flies to his. “Did you fill yours out?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re thinking you will?”

  Our eyes meet. Hol
d. My heart reacts, beating faster. Heavier. “I have a plan. A future I’ve been working toward. My mom…” My breath shudders as I think about her. “She’s made an appointment with the business lawyer. We’re going to file the partnership papers on my birthday, even though it’s a Saturday. She’s ordered a cake. I saw it by accident. ‘Happy Birthday, Partner.’”

  “You don’t think she’d understand?”

  “Understand what? I don’t know if I understand.”

  “People change, Josie. Dreams change.”

  I know he’s thinking of himself. But me? My skin feels hot. “I don’t have dreams. I have plans.”

  “Why can’t you have both?”

  Because plans I can control. Dreams I can’t.

  I open the folder, my eyes skimming over the papers stacked on both sides. He’s serious. Garrett is serious about this. About us.

  “We could go to your house. Talk to her about it. Together.”

  I close the folder, set it aside on the couch. “No. I couldn’t do it that way.”

  “Then what way?” He cocks his head and I know what this is really about. He confirms it when he says, “Does she even know about me?”

  “Of course she knows.”

  “Does she know I’m your boyfriend?”

  “You’re not my boyfriend. We’re just hanging out while you try and make a comeback. That’s what we agreed on. Remember?”

  He looks so hurt. “Things have changed for me. I thought they’d changed for you, too. Or is this it, Josie? Is this all you can give me? That we’re just hanging out?”

  My eyes fill with tears. “I’m afraid to trust this.”

  “You mean trust me?” The couch squeaks as he stiffens and puts space between us. “Because your dad left?”

  “It’s not just that.”

  “Then what, Josie? What did your father do that you can’t forgive me for?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Don’t get mad.”

  “Too late,” Garrett says. “You’re comparing me to your dad. Blaming me. How is that fair?”

  “It isn’t. I get that. But if you’re standing in the batter’s box and you keep getting hit in the leg by wild pitches, you start wearing an ankle guard. You learn to protect yourself.”

  “From what?” He reaches for my hand. I’m not at all petite, but his hand is bigger than mine, light hairs showing against the tan of his skin. The palms are calloused, and absently I wonder why they’re so rough. Why rough feels so good. “Tell me what happened.”

  “You know what happened. My dad went to Japan.”

  “You said it was more than that.”

  I sigh. I know I have to give him more, but how much? “You already know most of it. We had a plan, my dad and me. That while he could play, he would. And after, he’d take a coaching job and eventually I could help. And that’s what happened when he got released. He took a coaching job and I got to help run mini camps. I was good at it, too. Then, the spring before he left, he asked if I wanted to coach Little League as a father-daughter team.”

  “And you wanted to?”

  “More than anything.” My throat fills. “By then, I knew I wasn’t going to play much longer, but I loved the game. I could totally see it happening. My dad and me starting with Little League and then running a club and one day coaching in The Show.” I glance up, expecting to find him laughing over the ridiculousness of that. But he isn’t.

  “So you did have a dream,” he murmurs.

  “I did. Right up until my dad got the offer to play in Japan. He didn’t even pause to think about me—about us. He chose Japan.”

  “Yeah, but…” His eyes flicker to mine and then down. He rubs at a dark smudge on the couch.

  “What, Garrett?” Because there’s obviously something.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way. But it’s not like he could have told Japan to wait a few years until you grew up. Sports don’t work that way. Your dad was what, thirty, thirty-one at the time? You had to know he couldn’t play for long in Japan. Not at that age. I know it’s not what you wanted, but you could have postponed your plans for two years. You could be coaching together now. You didn’t have to cut him out of your life forever.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “But you said—”

  “I wanted to go with him, Garrett.” I cut him off—my words sharp as knives, but I’m the one who’s sliced open, the memories spilling like blood. “I wouldn’t have let him go anywhere without me. He was my hero. My best friend. So while he and my mom were talking divorce, I ran to pack my suitcase. I didn’t want him to have to wait. That’s all I was thinking about. Grab what I needed and Mom could send the rest later. I rushed out to the living room with my suitcase and my coat and said I was ready.”

  I’m suddenly back in that house. Standing on gray tile. The ceiling fan clacking overhead because Dad hadn’t tightened the bolts. The air smelling of burned beans Mom had forgotten on the stove. It’s all twisted with the memory like a song that pulls you back to a moment of time.

  My breath shudders out. “I didn’t even think twice about leaving Mom. That’s how much I loved him. And he kept staring from my suitcase to my mom. She kept saying his name. ‘Clay. Clay.’ She was pleading with him. I thought for herself, but it wasn’t.”

  Garrett reaches for my hand, but I shake him off. I need to finish this. “He said he’d get settled first, and then he’d send a ticket. He said that way I could finish school. So I rolled my suitcase to the landing by the front door and I left it there. Three months,” I choke out. “That’s how long it sat there.”

  “God, Josie.”

  “I checked the mail every day, but there was never a ticket. He started texting less and less. There were no phone calls because of the time difference, he said. Still, I didn’t get it. I was pretty dense until, finally, I saw it all spelled out in an article.” I gather a shaky breath. “You know why he wanted to coach Little League? He’d found out one of the parents was a Japanese businessman with contacts in the Nippon league. It wasn’t an accident. He used me as an excuse to coach and meet the guy. All of it was a lie because he would do anything to play the game again.” I draw in a breath and lock gazes with Garrett. “The same way you would.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, Josie.”

  “You might. My own father did.” I blink back tears. “I kept that suitcase in my closet, packed and ready, for another six months because I still couldn’t believe he’d abandoned me that way. That haunts me. How trusting I was. How stupid.” Tears spill over, and I flick them away hurriedly.

  A quiet settles over us, but it’s a restless silence. My words fill the space around us, creating space between us.

  Garrett finally says, “That’s why you don’t trust me. Us,” he adds. “I guess your mom thinks I’ll turn out to be like your dad, too?”

  “You’re so much alike. She met my dad in high school. And he was sweet to my mom and charming and he made her laugh and he made her heart beat like crazy.” I wonder if he realizes he does that to me. “The things she felt are the things I’m starting to feel.”

  “The things I already feel.” His chin rises with determination. “How do I prove I’m not like your dad?”

  “I don’t know. Time, I guess. Can we take it slow?”

  “I thought we were.”

  “Slower, then.”

  He sighs, leaning forward so that our foreheads touch. I want to pull him close even as I’m trying to push him away. “If that’s what you need, we’ll try slow. But there’s another thing that might help.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Let me meet her.”

  …

  When I get home, Mom is out. A date with James. I’m glad. I need time to think.

  I set my pack on the kitchen table—it feels so much heavier with the ASU folder inside. Restless, I wander through the house we’ve turned into the first real home I’ve had. Even as I tell myself I’m not heading anywhere special, I end up
in Mom’s room, my heart suddenly racing.

  The past, like all good monsters, is hiding under the bed. Flipping up the burgundy quilt, I kneel down and pull out the plastic white tub. The lid is layered in gray dust that catches in my throat when I pop it off. Lying on top is the baseball glove my dad bought me when I turned twelve. Black leather with red laces and “Joe” stamped into the palm.

  How do you deal with the fact that your dad doesn’t want you? That maybe, most likely, he never did?

  I’d just turned thirteen when Mom told me there would never be an airplane ticket in the mail. Even then, even though the texts and emails had slowed to a trickle, I didn’t believe her. I thought she was trying to turn me against him because by then the divorce had turned ugly. But the article came out soon after. Two months later, a Google alert told me my father was in California for a visit. He never tried to see me. He never even called. I finally understood that when Dad said it would be easier for me without him, he meant it would be easier for him without me.

  After that, I didn’t know how to be me. I was confident and strong, and then I wasn’t. The day I started to feel better was the day Mom drove me to the dump and I took my Yankees-blue suitcase, still packed with all the things I couldn’t look at again, and sent it flying down to lie buried with everything else no one wanted.

  He didn’t want me? Well, I didn’t want him. I didn’t want baseball.

  I didn’t want dreams.

  The only thing spared during the purge was this glove. Mom said she wanted to keep it, without explaining why. I know now she saved it for me. I press it to my cheek, breathing in deeply. The glove smells of old leather and disappointment. But it also feels like a piece of me.

  Where do I go from here? Do I stick with my plan? Or do I consider the future Garrett is dangling before my eyes? It scares me. To pack my heart and my future in a new suitcase and follow a whole new path.

  Can I do it?

  My inner voice says no. It says don’t take the risk.

  Of course it does. It’s the voice of my thirteen-year-old self.