To Be, Or Not (Class of 85)

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To Be, Or Not (Class of 85) Page 8

by Margo Hoornstra


  “So she didn’t do this all by herself.” Glimmers of hope filtered into Riley’s eyes. “Do you think her father forced her to swear out the complaint?”

  “Anything’s possible when people find themselves in difficult situations.”

  “Do you think that’s what happened?” Barry posed the question without first thinking it through. Anything’s possible with an asshole like Aaron Goodwin.

  The sheriff sat back in his chair. “Falsifying a complaint opens up a whole new can of worms.”

  “Which means Gina could get in trouble,” Riley said. “I wouldn’t do that to her.” An unusual strength entered his tone before he dropped his eyes. “I’d confess to whatever they want and go to jail first.” He looked up, then at the people around the table. “Nobody believes me or Gina.”

  “I believe Gina’s story,” Cockrell spoke up.

  “Do you really? Or is that just because you have to?”

  Barry came to his feet. “Okay, Riley, that’s enough.”

  Seeming to key onto the fact Barry was better able to settle things down, McElroy yielded the floor with a sweep of one arm.

  “Like Sheriff McElroy says, your anger is—” He paused, half expecting Cockrell to protest, then went on when she didn’t “—understandable.”

  Riley hit him with a sharp look. “Is it?”

  Barry smacked the look right back at him. “Yeah. It is.”

  Arms crossed, Riley stared at him. “How would you know? Something like this ever happen to you?”

  Wishing McElroy would step in, Barry couldn’t keep his eyes from straying over to Amanda. “In a way.”

  “What would you know about it?” Riley charged. “From all reports I heard, something like this never got in your way with doin’ the deed.”

  Barry sat. “You’d be surprised.”

  Riley leaned forward. “Would I?”

  “We’re not here about me.” Barry again looked to Rory for help. “No sense wasting the Sheriff and Ms. Cockrell’s time.”

  McElroy leaned back in his chair further than anyone else would have dared. “We have all the time we need. I want this done right.”

  Barry swallowed around a huge lump in his throat. The sheriff was obviously a man interested in the truth.

  No matter whose truth it was.

  With all eyes on him, Barry grew quiet. He sure as hell wasn’t going to catch a break. Maybe the time had come to seek out his own demons from the past. He sucked in a breath.

  “Well,” he began, and blew it out. With no other option, he kept talking. “I know how it feels to have people with no business being there, intrude into personal lives. People who don’t have the slightest idea what it is you’re feeling. Who think they have all the answers when, in reality, they don’t have any.”

  “I take it you speak from experience?”

  Not aware he’d done it, Barry looked toward Amanda and saw her gaze trained on his. “And if they would have left things alone, the two people involved could have worked things out for themselves. I also know how things turn out when you allow emotions to rule your life.”

  On a roll now, his gaze remained on Amanda’s and held tight. “People can do things, act in ways they don’t mean to. Hurt the people in their life they care about the most—who are the most precious to them. Even though you don’t mean to, you end up hurting yourself, but worse, you hurt the one you love.”

  “Guess you do know what you’re talking about.”

  It took a moment after Riley spoke for Barry to break eye contact with Amanda. “Yeah, I do.” He dragged his gaze away, only to have it return to hers again. “I’ve been where you are.”

  “Then you know how strong my feelings are for her,” Riley noted before his voice grew faint and his head lowered. “How much I love her.”

  “Yeah,” Barry replied on a whisper. “I do.”

  He had no idea how much time passed, when the door opened a deputy stepped through it. “Uh, Chief?”

  “This better be important.”

  The deputy started to back up, then didn’t. “Mrs. Thurgood’s on the phone. Mrs. Doris Thurgood,” he went on as if the identity of the richest and most influential woman in the entire county needed clarification. “She says it’s important.”

  McElroy obviously wasn’t impressed. “What? Someone trim her hydrangeas too short?”

  The deputy coughed into the back of his hand. Even the no- nonsense Ms. Cockrell cracked a smile.

  Sheriff McElroy stood and glanced around the table. “If you’ll excuse me, we can finish this when I get back.”

  After the door closed behind him, Riley addressed Barry directly. “Are Gina and I in any real trouble, Coach? I mean isn’t it serious when the sheriff himself does this stuff?”

  “Not necessarily,” he said and looked over at Advocate Cockrell. “Is it?”

  “Or does he want to throw his weight around?” Riley asked.

  “Not at all.” Cockrell’s eyes narrowed as she regarded him. “A sheriff or chief of police for that matter does his own work for any number of reasons. None of which have anything to do with bullying. Prior to his temporary appointment as sheriff, Rory McElroy was the sexual assault specialist for his department with special training and certification. That may be his reason. Or, a previous sexual assault case or cases were in some way screwed up by his underlings, and he doesn’t want that to happen again. It might be this is high profile and he wants to handle it himself. It could be it’s a favor for a friend.” She glanced at the door the man had just walked out of. “I think he’s a true, hands-on peace officer who doesn’t let an official position of authority interfere with the way he does his job.”

  Barry was the first to speak when she finished. “From what I hear, Rory McElroy is an okay guy.”

  “You heard right. Off the record,” Cockrell went on. “Not only does Sheriff McElroy insist upon the presence of a victim’s advocate. In this particular instance,” her eyes grew kind as they fell on Riley. “Miss Goodwin asked me, quite strongly I might add, to attend this session on her behalf.”

  Before Riley or anyone else could request specifics, the VA went on. “But, while the sheriff’s gone, I’m going to step out in the hall to make a call to my office.”

  The door had barely closed when Riley spoke directly to Amanda. “Any chance you believe me now, Miss Marsh?” The pleading in his voice only half of what was reflected in his eyes.

  She gave a quick glance sideways. “That Gina was as, uh, involved and willing in the situation as you were?” Her voice became a whisper. “I can see how that could happen.”

  “Really?”

  Riley grabbed a quick look at Barry then placed his gaze back on Amanda. “Don’t lie to me, please. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about Gina.”

  “We know that, Riley,” Barry assured him.

  “Yes.” Amanda kept her eyes on him. “We do.”

  Riley blew out a breath as color crept up to disappear into his hairline. “I mean some of those things did happen between us.” His gaze came back to Amanda’s. “But, only because we both wanted them to.” His scrutiny of her deepened. “Do you understand that, too?”

  “Yes.” The reply came out as a wispy breath of air. She swallowed hard. “It’s perfectly natural to want to share certain...um...activities with people you care about.”

  “I do more than care about Gina.”

  “Which might justify what happened between the two of you.”

  “Gina does more than care about me,” Riley insisted. “We love each other.”

  “Oh,” Amanda said on an exhale. “That could make a difference. As we’ve heard, no one knows what really happened except the two people involved.”

  She spoke so softly, Barry had a hard time making out what she said. But he didn’t dare move closer. If he did that, he’d have no choice but to take her in his arms and kiss away the pain he heard in her voice.

  Chapter Eight

  “Hey
, Miss Marsh. How ya doin’?”

  “Good seeing you, Miss Marsh.”

  Walking out the door of the Hornets administrative offices at the same time as practice got out, Amanda acknowledged the greetings with a few quick waves as she crossed the parking lot.

  Since taking part in Riley Sparks’ deposition, statement taking, or whatever it was formally called—his confession of love for this Gina Goodwin—she’d had her own epiphany of sorts, involving the feelings, tender feelings, she still held for Barry.

  No longer compelled to deny those feelings, she’d brought them out into the open, laid them bare under the light of day, examined them for their truth. And hadn’t found them wanting. She loved Barry Carlson, always had, always would. And, if her hunch was right, she’d recently learned something else about him that sealed the deal.

  Now all that remained was to conjure up the nerve to let Barry in on her precious findings. As a start, she’d begun accepting his invitations to lunch when their busy schedules allowed them to slip away at the same time.

  As further proof of his feelings for her, he had taken to calling her most nights, after the ten o’clock news and just before both of them headed to bed. Last night, though she’d waited up until close to midnight, she hadn’t heard from him. Part of her wanted to ask why he hadn’t called. The rest of her knew she had no right to. For the first time since she’d left the office, her confidence wavered. What if Barry had plans or, God forbid, a date. What if he said no to her invitation? Like she had done to him, too many times to count.

  Her plan for today had been to ask him out for a change. That was if she were fortunate enough to see him before she left the office.

  Scanning another group of players and coaches recently emerged from the locker room, Amanda felt a keen disappointment Barry wasn’t among them. Almost to her car and still no Barry, she contemplated calling his cell.

  Stopped beside her car, she lifted the phone from her purse and began to search in her contacts list for his number.

  “Looking for anyone I know?”

  Amanda jumped at the unexpected voice, then smiled when she looked up and saw Barry standing beside her. “As a matter of fact, yes,” she replied, enjoying the quietly sexy aroma of his aftershave.

  “Not to make plans for this afternoon, I hope.”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” she repeated, replacing the cell in her purse.

  “Oh.”

  When he dropped his eyes, she spoke up quickly. “I planned to get a hold of you. To see if you wanted to do something, together, this afternoon.”

  “Sure!” The single word was out before she finished. “Like what?”

  “Um.” Now that she’d issued the invitation, she wasn’t prepared with specifics. “Nothing special. Um.”

  “Being with you is my special,” he said. “But, here’s a plan. Tell me what you think.”

  “Fire away.”

  “There’s a boy’s baseball game at Summerville High School this afternoon. Last game of the State title playoffs for our division and the Cougars are still in it. My nephew Ryan’s on the team, but you probably already know that given your talent for having inside knowledge about my family.”

  “Does that upset you?”

  “Not in the least. It’s nice we care about the same things and people.” As Barry reached out to take hold of her hand, she thought she heard him say, “Including each other.” With his head above hers, she had no way to be sure and wasn’t going to ask.

  “It’s nice of you to say that,” she responded, just in case he had.

  “It’s nice to speak the truth.” That she heard for sure before he added, “Leave your car here and I’ll drive.”

  “Why don’t you drive, but we’ll take my car,” she suggested, handing him her keys. “It’s less conspicuous.”

  “Yeah. I really need to put more effort into selling that beast of mine.”

  “By the way,” she noted when they were settled inside. “I received a call from my neighbor this afternoon.” At the blank stare she was sure he’d practiced just for her, she went on to explain. “The single mother with the two year old boy who has health issues?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  At his nod of recognition, she said, “Someone from Findley’s Auto House on Summerville Drive delivered a new car to her the other day. From an anonymous donor. Nothing fancy, but she said it’s dependable.”

  “Was she surprised?”

  “We all were.” She cast him a sideline look. “You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

  “Should I?”

  “I guess not. But, she says thank you.”

  ****

  An old style red brick and gray mortar archway led to a small square concession building where a couple of women, no doubt members of the SHS athletic boosters, accepted money from those standing in line to enter the Cougars’ stadium.

  “Hey, Barry.” Wearing a low cut black top and regulation black and gold Cougars baseball cap, one called out when she saw him. “Come to watch your nephew?”

  “That and to support the team, Sally.”

  For a split second, Amanda wondered at the familiarity before reminding herself Barry grew up in this town. That he would know people, including women, by name wasn’t unusual. Or a threat.

  Heads turned as the exchange caught the attention of a few people standing in line. Barry took a firmer grip on Amanda’s hand as they assumed their place at the end of it.

  “They’ve only had three losses all season,” a man about Barry’s age told them.

  “Sometimes having so few losses is worse,” Barry replied. “More to live up to.”

  “Admission is six dollars each, Barry.” The eyes of this Sally as he called her, lit up as Barry and Amanda approached.

  “I can come up with that,” he said and let go of Amanda just long enough to pay.

  The home team’s bleachers were almost full as, still holding hands, Barry and Amanda climbed to where the Carlson family always sat. Amanda was slightly intimidated seeing Barry’s entire family, parents, sisters, brothers-in-law and nieces and nephews occupied the top three rows.

  “Finally able to tear yourself away, huh?”

  “About time you made it.”

  “Better late than never.”

  Barry smiled at all the teasing greetings as he and Amanda sat down. “Give us a break, huh? We both just got off work.”

  “It’s nice you could join us today, Amanda,” a woman said from two rows above them. “Welcome.”

  As they twisted around to acknowledge Barry’s mother, Amanda caught a genuine smile for her and mildly concealed speculation when Ruth Carlson’s gaze landed on her son.

  “How’s it going, Ma?”

  “Nice to see you, Mrs. Carlson.”

  “She’ll be calling me later tonight,” Barry whispered with a chuckle as they turned back to the field. “For a full update about you. And us.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Only if I fail to be completely clear about my intentions.”

  Before Amanda could seek clarification of his intentions, their side erupted in cheers. Summerville’s shortstop snagged a pop fly for out number three, and the Cougars were again at bat.

  “Ryan was a little uptight last night,” Alicia, Ryan’s mother, leaned forward to tell her brother. “He hasn’t had a hit in three games. He really appreciated you stopping by last night. Especially with so many of his teammates at our house.”

  “I’ve been where they are,” Barry shrugged. “Pre-game jitters can be pretty rough.”

  Sitting forward, Alicia rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good guy, Uncle Barry.”

  He smiled and said to Amanda, “I got home a little late last night. Sorry I missed our call.”

  “I wasn’t worried.”

  “Bottom of the ninth in a tie game, two outs and the Summerville High Cougar’s are again at bat.” Full-time assistant principal and part-time Cougars’
sportscaster, Henry Cosgrove provided the update over Summerville High’s PA system. “And Ryan Parker, our star pitcher, is at bat.”

  “Hey, Carlson, déjà vu all over again,” someone behind them hollered and Amanda heard Barry suck in a huge breath.

  “Someone always relives my twenty-five year old at bat. And I almost wish it wasn’t happening like this. Ryan has enough pressure on him without having to deal with my past.”

  Amanda reached over to squeeze his hand. “You came out on top. Ryan will, too.”

  “Let’s hope so,” he replied, gaze on the field and his nephew. “I know the pressure Ryan is feeling. I wish I could set up some form of telepathic communication with him.”

  All Amanda could do was give his hand another squeeze. “He knows you support him.”

  Pulling on his black and gold batting gloves, Barry’s nephew cinched each wrist strap tight and picked up a silver and blue aluminum slugger. With the bat held loosely between his thumb and two fingers, he took his position in the batter’s box.

  Dust flew as he stomped the toe of his left cleat into the dirt, planted one foot, then the other and raised the bat above his right shoulder. Game face strong, he focused on the pitcher’s wind-up.

  “That’s right,” Barry muttered under his breath. “Keep the right leg back for leverage. Don’t kill the ball. Just give it one hell of a long ride.”

  Leaning forward in her seat, fists on her knees, Amanda squeezed her eyes shut. “Come on, Ryan. Come on,” she said in a mantra. “Come on, Ryan. Come on.”

  Barry laid his palm on her upper back and began to gently rub his fingers across the tense triangle between her shoulders, a gesture she’d seen from John many times when comforting Marcy.

  “Strike one!”

  The hand on Amanda’s back stilled.

  “That’s it, Ryan. Never swing at the first pitch.” Barry’s mouth was so near Amanda’s ear, she was the only one in the bleachers to hear his advice, but had a feeling Ryan heard too.

  Elbows digging into her knees, she cupped her chin in opened palms and continued her chant of encouragement.

  “Strike two!”

  Barry drew in a huge gulp of air he blew out on a sort of sigh. Gaze latched on Ryan, Amanda reached over to take a death grip on Barry’s hand.

 

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