To Be, Or Not (Class of 85)

by Margo Hoornstra

  “No it’s fine. You followed my career?” The question came out on an intimate whisper. He cleared his throat. “That was nice. I’m flattered.”

  She had the good grace to show the tinge of embarrassment as she smiled then shook her head. “Not all along. People here started talking about you and your record when word spread you were coming back to town. Your sister Marcy, who works here too, and I have become good friends. She’s your biggest fan, even has your stats memorized.”

  Did disappointment cloud his features, or did her overactive imagination make it so? “I think she’s supposed to. Being family and all.”

  If she didn’t get a swift handle on her reaction to him, about the only thing left for him to do would be shove his hands in the pockets of his jeans, dip his head, slouch his shoulders and mutter an ‘Aw, shucks.’

  “I heard you got hurt.”

  He lifted his right hand. “Game four of the playoffs three years ago. A two-hundred fifty pound runner hell bent to make it over home plate. Crushed two knuckles, among other things.”

  “Sounds painful.”

  “Not half as painful as losing my career because of it.”

  “I heard the hit from the other player was blatant. Unsportsmanlike.”

  Barry nodded and lowered his hand. “He was suspended for a couple of games.”

  “You don’t sound bitter.”

  “Holding a grudge isn’t going to change what happened.”

  Amanda pulled her attention from Barry’s face and back to her desk. “That’s true.”

  “You said Personnel was where again?”

  “Two doors down on your right as you leave.” She repeated her previous direction, this time softening the ending.

  “I couldn’t remember what you didn’t want on your salad either, so I got everything and figured you could pick off the bad stuff.”

  Juggling white paper bags, Styrofoam cups and her purse, Trudy pushed the door open with her back side, then turned and froze. “Barry?”

  “Hey, Trudy. It’s been awhile.”

  Jaw dropped and eyes wide she stared at him as she approached Amanda’s desk. “It has been awhile.” She set down the bags without bothering to see where they would land.

  “Thanks for getting us lunch.” Amanda relieved her co-worker of both drinks before they tipped and splattered all over the sage green carpet.

  The way Trudy drooled, Amanda wondered if she’d brought extra napkins. What she wondered about more was why her friend’s reaction to Barry bothered her as much as it did. Amazingly, at least to Amanda, he appeared slightly uncomfortable and, could it be, at a loss for words. She cleared a spot on the small conference table near one window.

  “Sips salads are huge,” Trudy said as Amanda laid out their lunch. “I’m sure between the two of us we have enough to share. Do you want to stay and eat with us, Barry?”

  Amanda covered a squeak of protest with a cough. “I’m sure he’s much too busy for something as frivolous as lunch with us.”

  “She’s right,” he began. “Not about the frivolous part. About busy. I should get my paperwork completed and turned in to Personnel. Then we have practice at one-thirty. Nice seeing both of you again.”

  “You too, Barry,” Trudy replied. “Maybe we can all get together sometime before the reunion.”

  “Maybe,” Barry offered. “See you, Amanda.”

  “Good—yeah, see you, Barry,” she replied.

  Trudy continued to stare at the door long after he left. “You don’t think the Reunion Committee will want to do something special for him, especially once he gets re-established in the community?”

  There are others struggling to re-establish themselves. Nothing special going on for us.

  Amanda held in the snarky retort. She was getting as bad as snotty Nadine Archer.

  “I guess the Committee will do what the Committee will do. I won’t be there to see it.”

  Turning back around, Trudy glanced at the salad Amanda had yet to touch. “What do you mean? You plan to go to the reunion, don’t you?”

  Chapter Three

  For a usually slow Wednesday night, Doogan’s Pub was in full swing. Smiling waitresses bustled between tables and the bar. From a retro-style jukebox in one corner, a steady flow of oldie tunes and current hits mixed with the buzz and laughter of countless conversations. The father and son owners oversaw it all, Big Mike Doogan from behind the bar, Little Mike running mission control in the kitchen.

  Two pitchers of draft and a mounded platter of hot wings sat on top of a high round table Barry shared with long time friends Jake Holbrook, Eddie Tanner, Pete Conway and Seth Roberts.

  “Two outs, bottom of the ninth in a tie game, and our boy here hits one out of the park.” One time teammate Roberts raised a hand in Barry’s direction. “And winning that game put us into the state finals.”

  “Which we got into as a team,” Barry added.

  Though talk of a twenty-five year-old high school baseball season was usually involved, he was pleasantly surprised to find he fit back into the Summerville social scene with relative ease. Reconnecting with Amanda had proven more difficult. Since they both worked at the same place—or so he claimed as the reason for his asking—he’d invited her to lunch twice. Both times she politely refused, leaving him to try to figure out another angle to get close to her.

  “So how about this reunion thing?” He took a stab at diverting the conversation away from his accomplishments. “Like the invitation said, hard to believe it’s been twenty-five years.”

  “You’ve seen an invitation?” Tanner asked. “I didn’t get mine yet.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Barry replied. “Beth Heade gave me a preview copy when I bought the condo.”

  “Ooooh. Ready, Betty. Now there’s one who was hot to trot in high school,” Conway remarked. One would never guess the crude reminiscence came out of the mouth of a man who held a doctorate in education and taught philosophy at the local college.

  “Yeah, too bad she got wasted on Dickhead.”

  “To each their own, I suppose.” Jake Holbrook, the most mature of the group in Barry’s opinion, made the comment.

  “Raise your hand if you plan to attend the end of June.” Conway issued the request and four hands went up, some quicker than others.

  “Why not go?” Holbrook, Peace Corps veteran and CEO of local Mynderse Memorial Hospital, asked. “You never know who might show up.”

  “He’s right,” Barry said, and wondered if he was the only one to see the sadness enter Jake’s eyes. “It could be interesting, maybe even fun.”

  “Molly Carter slash McCarthy already called to get me signed up,” Conway noted. “I’m sure Mother Molly will be in touch with all three-hundred of us between now and then.”

  “Or we’ll have to talk to Ready Betty,” Tanner added making a face. “And listen to a run down of all the real estate properties she has available.”

  “That’s harsh,” Holbrook said on a laugh. “To suggest she and Dickhead put together the event for personal gain.”

  “Wouldn’t put it past them,” Conway muttered.

  “It might be nice to see old friends, rekindle past relationships.” Tanner, computer geek turned software programming genius, ran a successful internet singles site he apparently didn’t use himself. “See who can get up to Angel Wings Bluff for a hot and heavy make out session?”

  Glancing around, it suddenly struck Barry not one of the old friends he’d chosen to hang out with was married. By personal choice or fate’s chance?

  “All the money you made in the Majors and you’re still drinkin’ draft beer?” Approaching their table, another Class of ‘85 alum, Aaron Goodwin, slapped him on the shoulder. Barry automatically touched his back pocket to check for his wallet.

  In town a couple of weeks and he’d already run into Goodwin enough times to learn the guy was still a mooch. Barry lifted the foam topped glass to his lips. “Nothing better than draft.”

>   “Got that right,” Tanner replied, hoisting his. “And Doogan’s draft has always been the best.”

  Goodwin helped himself to an empty seat as his gaze shot around the table top. “You guys got another glass? I’m pretty thirsty myself.”

  Conway and Tanner spoke up in unison. “You plan to ante up on the tab when it comes?”

  “I don’t carry a lot of cash on me. But, I’m good for it, you guys know that,” he finished without making eye contact with any of them. “Right?”

  A shirt-tail relation to the Summerville’s homegrown millionaires, the Thurgoods, for whatever reason Aaron always sought a handout.

  Barry gestured to their waitress, Maggie Carpenter, as she passed by. “Could we get another glass please?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I’ll pay his share if he doesn’t,” he said in response to the skeptical glances of his friends.

  “And an extra plate,” Goodwin added with his eye on the barbecue sauced wings.

  Maggie turned on her trademark smile. “Coming right up, fellas.”

  “We were talking about our upcoming high school reunion.” Jake Holbrook was the one to bring the newcomer up to speed.

  “So what da ya think?” Tanner asked. “How many of us eligible hunks will score by Sunday night of the week-end?”

  Hoots and hollers met his question. “Hunks?” Jake laughed. “Who said anything about hunks?”

  Tanner grinned as his freckled face turned as red as his hair. “Some of us managed to maintain our sex appeal.”

  Aaron reached for a wing. “The event starts Friday night. It gonna take you that long, Tanner? Oh, wait,” he went on as he bit, chewed and swallowed. “You were still a virgin the end of our senior year. Haven’t scored yet, huh?”

  Laughter erupted as the butt of their joke sat back and pretended to sulk. “Things were tough for us intelligent ones. You dumb sports jocks got all the good stuff.”

  More guffaws and a snickered, ‘Got that right’ went silent like a frenzied rock concert put on mute.

  “You boys need anything else, let me know.” Maggie, whose son was one of their SHS classmates, set a clean glass on the table and gave them all a wise, mother look.

  “Better bring another pitcher,” Goodwin suggested as he drained the contents of one into the glass she’d brought and handed her the empty.

  Looking at Barry, she headed for the bar when he nodded.

  “Bet our boy Barry here had a whole variety of outstanding booty.” Bringing the newly filled glass with him, Goodwin sat back. “Am I right?”

  Barry leaned forward and pushed his mug to one side. “You guys have been out of high school for how long now? And sex is still your primary focus.”

  “Sex will always be foremost in my mind.”

  “Here, here.”

  “Mine too.”

  Though Holbrook was reluctant at first, four glasses were raised and stayed aloft until Barry had no choice but to bring his up to join them.

  “So, what say, Barry, my man,” Conway piped up. “Tell your old buds about some of your past triumphs.”

  The smile tugging at Barry’s mouth lacked the strength to make it to his eyes. “I played in a few All Star games.”

  “That’s not what we’re talking about,” Goodwin chimed in, reaching to grab another hot wing. “With the ladies. How’d that go for ya?”

  Though he didn’t mean to, Barry lowered his eyes. “I did all right.” If you liked no strings. And, no one who cared enough to be there when you got home.

  “Wooooo whoooo. Now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” Goodwin said between bites. “Tell us more.”

  Looking over at him, Barry was sorry he’d stepped up and invited the loud mouth to join them. “I’m not a kiss and tell kinda guy.”

  “I’ll bet some of our former female virgin classmates got some experience by now,” Goodwin noted. “‘Specially the divorced ones. Lonely equals horny.”

  “You guys are all slobs.” Barry smiled despite the slur.

  “Horny slobs,” Goodwin remarked with what Barry decided to take as a good natured punch on his arm. “You musta got a lot, bein’ a big sports figure and all.”

  Barry glanced over at Jake for help and got a raised glass and a wink before the man brought up another subject. “Anybody want to talk about anything besides sex? I’m setting up a new build for Habitat for Humanity. A house on Quincy, by the hospital. We’re working to acquire the property and hope to start construction in early July,” the Mynderse CEO went on. “Any of you slugs care to join me? We could set up a work schedule right now.”

  Various excuses as to why they couldn’t make it flew around the table from everyone but Barry. “I can probably help on days when we don’t have games or practice,” he said. “Donaldson usually lets us off on Mondays.”

  Jake raised his glass again, minus the wink. “Mondays it is. I’ll e-mail you the address.”

  “Do I need to bring anything with me?”

  “Just a strong back and willingness to work.”

  “You’re in luck. I’ve got both of those.”

  Jake’s eyes roamed the table. “How about the rest of you? Last chance.”

  “I’ll have to check my schedule and let you know,” Tanner offered. “These guys can do the same.”

  “Check your schedule, my ass,” Goodwin sneered. “When you gonna quit working out of your basement and get a real job?”

  The target of his jab pushed round horn rimmed glasses further up on his nose as four sets of eyes exchanged glances.

  Dweeb Savant in high school, Tanner had turned an obsession for video games into a multi-national enterprise. The fact he still ran the business, for the most part, out of his basement may have been odd. If the basement wasn’t located inside his mansion in the affluent Corn Hill section of the city.

  “Same time as you get a ‘real’ job, Goodwin,” he murmured while the others at the table chuckled.

  It was common knowledge Goodwin had yet to make a ‘real’ success of the insurance office he owned with his almost as worthless father. Though the father and son duo seemed in perpetual denial about their miserable level of accomplishments.

  “You and Amanda Marsh were a pretty tight duo in high school,” Aaron spoke up as if the previous comment was never made. “So tell us. You and she ever do the deed?”

  Barry slowly set his glass down, though he so wanted to splash its contents into the asshole’s face, and splayed his fingers out before he made a fist to throw at an unsuspecting jaw. “That is so none of your business.”

  “Is that a yes?” he chortled. “I’m takin’ it as a yes.”

  “You’re takin’ it wrong,” Barry shot at him, putting his mouth in gear ahead of his brain. “So how about it, Goodwin? You in on working on Jake’s house project?”

  “My schedule’s always pretty full,” he said, then looked surprised when Jake and Barry scowled at him. “Here’s an idea.” He gestured with the hand holding his glass and ignored a glob of suds sloshed over one side. “What say we all agree to a little monetary wager on this scoring topic? Say one-hundred, two-hundred bucks each?”

  “I’m not sure that’s a bet I want to take,” Conway said. “Carlson could top us all.”

  Jesus. Barry was finding it difficult to hold on to a good old boy congenial expression. Get off it already.

  “Bet you get lucky Saturday night, Carlson.”

  “I’ll take Saturday afternoon.”

  “I got a ballgame to coach that afternoon.” Barry made an effort to end the asinine dialogue.

  Well aware, except for Jake and possibly Tanner, his former classmates would be hard pressed to make good on any substantial amount, he was proud of himself when he came up with a viable alternative.

  “Money alone can be pretty boring,” he began. “Let’s make this more interesting.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin before he spoke again. “How about we use this to benefit more than our sorry ass selves?” At another
glance at Jake, he noticed he’d managed to earn some interest. “First one of you to score at the reunion—”

  “—won’t have to work on Jakey’s little mission project,” Goodwin finished for him.

  “Something like that,” Barry agreed, and ignored Holbrook when he raised a speculative eyebrow.

  Since first getting wind of the reunion, Barry’s intention was to use the week-end to properly court Amanda Marsh. Then, when the time and place was perfect, ask her to be his wife. But, no way was he about to share something that special in his life with a bunch of random jokers sitting in a bar. As far as Barry was concerned, the bet was beyond harmless. Not caring that he lost, what he did care about was getting the other guys to help Jake who seemed to have picked up on that.

  “Habitat for Humanity always needs sweat labor,” Jake intoned. “Nothing like the sweat around this table to fulfill that need.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ll be available during the All Star break,” Barry said, hoping to set an example for the others.

  The hospital exec took out his cell, touched the screen, then scrolled one finger on the lighted surface. “That’s when, early July?”

  “Sixth until the twenty-first.”

  Jake tapped the screen. “Perfect. I’m off one of those weeks.” He glanced up and gave Barry a visual once over, then smiled. “You up for working eight to ten hour shifts for, say, five or six days?”

  Barry automatically sucked in his stomach and flexed well muscled arms. “If you’re up to it, old man, I am, too.”

  Jake lifted his half filled mug. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Barry did the same. “Droppin’ the gloves are we?”

  “Hey, Carlson, there’s your sister,” someone noted then let out a low wolf whistle. “And she brought a friend.”

  “Hey, it’s the ice queen herself.” Goodwin, who single-handedly had downed most of a third pitcher, proclaimed loudly. “Bet she hasn’t had any in awhile.”