by Amelia Stone
Well, all but one.
I hadn’t seen Krista Summers in ten years. Not since the day she suddenly decided to ditch me after thirteen years of friendship, giving me some bullshit excuse about going off to college and not having room in her life for me anymore.
I’d thought about her a lot, though. Every time my team was in New York for a game, I would wrestle with the idea of looking her up, maybe even inviting her out to the stadium. She’d always loved to come to my games when we were kids, cheering loud enough to be heard from several blocks away. She would undoubtedly get a kick out of seeing me play on the biggest stage in the world, live and in person.
But I could never bring myself to pick up the phone. Something always stopped me from taking that step, from crossing that divide between us. Call it anger, or pride, maybe. She was the one who’d burned the bridge. There was no way in hell I’d be the one to rebuild it.
Her sister Jess was still my friend, though, and she did her best to keep me updated, whether I wanted to hear it or not. She told me that Krista graduated with honors from MIT, then went on to start her own company. She was making video games, just like she’d always wanted to. The way Jess told the story, all of Krista’s dreams had come true. I’d been telling myself for a long time that I really didn’t care.
I almost believed me, too.
Over the years, I kept thinking there had to be something more to that day, to the fight that ended our friendship. We’d never really had one before, not in the entire time we’d known each other. We argued over what to do on a Saturday afternoon sometimes, or debated whether The Postal Service’s one album was better than Fall Out Boy’s entire body of work. (The answer, we’d both concluded, was a resounding yes.) But we’d never had a disagreement over something serious, something that actually affected our lives.
Until that day, when she told me she didn’t want to make time for me anymore.
Something told me her heart wasn’t really in it, though. That haunted look in her eyes right before she walked away told me she was as torn up as I was.
It didn’t matter, though. The reason why she’d done it was unimportant. In the end, she’d still ruined everything.
And now, with all the time that had gone by, all the distance between us, I wasn’t sure I could simply set everything aside and show up to the reunion like nothing had happened. The decade since I’d last seen her felt like a lifetime.
So if there was any chance at all that she’d be there, I would be staying the hell away from South Bay Island come Memorial Day weekend.
Heaving a sigh, I dragged my screaming joints into the hangar-size shower in the master bathroom, cranking the heat up to sauna level in hopes the steam would flush out the pain. It kinda worked. I didn’t want to insert a tap in the side of my leg to relieve some of the swelling, at any rate.
When I was clean, dry, and dressed, I gingerly made my way to the kitchen and grabbed my phone. Then I stared at the screen for a beat. Gathering my courage, I guess. Finally, I pulled up a number I hadn’t dialed in a while.
“Hey, stranger! Haven’t talked to you in forever. Not since you moved to the land of beige.” Jess Summers started razzing me the second she picked up, as usual.
“Yeah, sorry, the bay area just didn’t have any hold on me once I stopped playing,” I teased.
“Ouch!” she cried, taking the bait like I knew she would. “I thought Adam and I were your BFFs.”
Jess and her fiancé, Adam DeLuca, met when they both attended UC Berkley, and they stayed in Northern California after college, settling in at his family’s vineyard near Napa. We hung out whenever I could, since I’d spent my whole professional career with San Francisco. In a lot of ways, they really were my best friends.
And Jess knew it. Even now, it was clear she was only acting butt-hurt.
“Oh, come on,” I said, once she’d taken a breath. “You know I miss you nerds.”
“You better,” she threatened, but I could hear the smile in her voice.
“We should get together soon.”
“That we should. But it’ll have to wait for a bit. You couldn’t pay me to come to that desert wasteland.”
I snickered, because I was right there with her. I’d only been a resident of Scottsdale, Arizona for a few months, but it was a few months too many.
“And we won’t be going back to ye olde home town until after the reunion,” Jess added.
“Damn,” I muttered. I wasn’t sold on the idea of attending the event myself, but I had to admit the prospect of seeing Jess and Adam there would have made the whole thing more appealing.
“What’s the deal with that?” I asked. “I thought you’d be the first one in line to reminisce about the good old days.” Jess had been one of the most popular kids in school back in the day.
“I actually am super sad to miss it, but we have a charity thing at the winery that same night. There’s no way we can get out of it.”
“Well, that sucks. But let me know if I can chip in.”
“Oh you know I’m hitting you up, Moneybags. It’s for the American Cancer Society.”
Yeah, I would definitely be cutting a generous check for that. My mother had died of ovarian cancer when I was four. Once I’d hit the big time, I made sure to donate my time and money to the cause. No one should have to go through what my family had.
I remembered the endless stays in the hospital for treatments and surgeries. The whole thing had terrified me as a child, seeing my mother hooked up to tubes and wires and machines that made confusing noises and scary flashes. And then, after a long, painful battle, there was the inevitable loss.
Jess pulled the phone away to shout at someone in the distance, and I heard the sound of heavy equipment in the background, telling me she was probably at work. I shook away my dark thoughts as she continued a moment later.
“Besides,” she said, “we’ll have plenty of time to wax nostalgic with the old gang. We’re flying in the next day, since the wedding is the weekend after. And Kelly said something about a beach party when I talked to her last week. Everyone’s supposed to be there.” She paused for dramatic emphasis, in classic Jess fashion. “Even Mel.”
“Oh. Sounds like fun,” I said cautiously.
Jess snorted, and I didn’t have to ask why. We both knew I wasn’t really thrilled about seeing Melody Reyes again. She and I had never been friends, even as kids. But for some reason, every time I’d run into her in the past ten years, she’d been kinda… pushy. Clingy. Let’s just say that it had been pretty clear our meetings were not casual for her. My buddies on the team had called her a wannabe WAG, and I guess the description was apt.
“Mmhmm,” Jess replied. “But whatever, we can ignore her.”
“Yeah, that should work.” Being the center of attention was the woman’s modus operandi.
“Well, it’s worth a try.” Jess laughed. “So anyway. Why don’t you tell me why you really called, big guy?”
I cleared my throat at the abrupt change of subject, which was also classic Jess.
“Well, I just wondered if you’ve heard from your sister lately.” Jess had three sisters, but we both knew which one I was asking about.
And I didn’t miss the note of smugness in her voice as she answered me. This was the first time in years that I’d been the one to bring her up.
“As a matter of fact, I spoke to her a couple of days ago. She got her invitation, too. And she was not happy about it.”
I hummed, not really sure what to say.
“Yeah, she chewed me out for a good long while,” Jess added.
“Oh, really?” I replied, aiming for a casual tone of voice. I was definitely not hanging on the edge of my seat, waiting to hear more. Nope, nothing to see here, folks. Not the droids you’re looking for. Move the hell along.
“Really,” she drawled. “So it seems she will not be going to the reunion. I believe her exact words were, ‘it’ll be a cold day in Hades before I’ll willingly put myself
in a room with those assholes again.’”
I suppressed a smile. “Sounds like her language has gotten a bit more colorful since high school.”
Jess sighed. “A lot about her has changed since high school, Seth. She’s not the same girl anymore, in a lot of ways.” She paused. “But one thing hasn’t changed. She still misses you.”
I sighed, too, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. Must have been the extra run.
“I’m sure she doesn’t. She was the one who didn’t want to be my friend anymore, if you remember.”
There was a prolonged silence, so long that I actually checked my phone to see if the call had dropped.
“She had her reasons,” Jess finally replied.
“Not that she ever fucking told me,” I grunted. “What could possibly have been a good enough reason to throw away a lifetime of friendship?”
“Maybe you should ask her,” she shot back. “It’s way past time you guys grew up and had an actual conversation with each other.”
“No thank you,” I mumbled, like the moody teenager she was accusing me of being.
“Well, you can’t avoid her forever. She’s going to be my maid of honor. You’ll see her at the wedding.”
I groaned. “Is it too late to rescind my RSVP?”
“Sure, you can pull a no-show. Just know that you’re dooming me to a lifetime of hearing my dad bitch that Seth Holt, his baseball hero, the son he never had, scammed him out of two hundred dollars’ worth of surf-and-turf.”
Christ. Two hundred dollars for steak and lobster? The real estate business on South Bay Island must have been very good indeed, if Tom Summers had that kind of bankroll.
Also: “I’m nobody’s baseball hero, not anymore.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve been whining about it for months.” I winced at Jess’s reply, so casually brutal. “So how about you stop feeling sorry for yourself and email Mel to tell her you’re going to the reunion? God forbid you have a little fun every now and then, Seth.”
Reluctantly, I agreed with her. Jess was kinda harsh, but she was also right. I needed to get over my injury and get on with my life.
“Fine, I’ll go. It’ll be nice to dust off one of my custom suits.” I’d shelled out enough money for them, after all.
“That’s my surprisingly fashion-conscious boy!”
Her jibe brought out a laugh, and I had to admit, it felt pretty damn good. I’d been in a funk for a long time. I couldn’t actually remember the last time I’d laughed, come to think of it.
“You know it’s not about fashion,” I replied. “It’s because my thighs can’t fit in that off-the-rack shit.”
Twenty-plus years of squatting behind home plate meant that I had a lot of muscle to squeeze into my pants, enough that I either had to get them tailored, or constantly worry about busting out of the seams.
“You tell yourself what you need to, big guy,” she teased. “Anyway, I gotta go. Break time is over, and it’s back to the grind.”
I smiled, knowing work wasn’t a grind to Jess the landscape designer. I’d never met anyone who loved her job as much as she did. She’d practically been born with dirt under her fingernails.
“I’ll talk to you soon, Jess.”
“Later, dude.”
When the call ended, I took a minute to email Melody my RSVP. And then, since I was on a decisive roll, I took another minute to email Tom Summers about something I’d been contemplating for a while, something that would bring me a much-needed change of scenery. I’d moved to the Phoenix area to be closer to my dad, who’d lived here for about eight years. The dry desert climate was good for his rheumatoid arthritis, but it was bad for my soul.
I needed the waves, the salt air, the pristine beaches of my motherland. I needed the rambling streets and quirky storefronts, the homey, tight-knit neighborhoods where no two houses looked the same. I needed the down-to-Earth people, the friends and neighbors I’d grown up with.
I needed South Bay Island.
I looked out my kitchen window at the sweeping view of the Valley of the Sun. Camelback Mountain was hazy in the distance, and I spent a long moment lost in thought as I stared at it. Maybe moving back home was a risk, but it would be a risk worth taking.
And maybe, just maybe, this reunion wouldn’t be a total shit show. If nothing else, I’d get to reconnect with my friends. And there would be no danger of seeing the one person who might sour the event for me, if Jess was telling the truth.
I took a deep breath, deciding to be cautiously optimistic about returning to my hometown. After all, I was due for a win.
“Oh, come on, ump! He could have tied his shoelaces with that ball!”
It was the bottom of the ninth inning, and I was up to bat. Things weren’t looking so good: my team was down by two runs, and I’d just gotten a strike. If you asked me, though, it was a bogus call. The crowd seemed to agree with me, too, booing and jeering at the umpire. But one voice was louder than all the rest, as usual.
I closed my eyes for a second as the catcher threw the ball back, just taking in the moment. Baseball was the thing I loved most in the world. I loved the smell of fresh-cut grass, the feel of the sun on my face and the breeze coming in from the bay, the smell of the popcorn Mrs. Kilkenny sold on a folding table in the parking lot. I loved the metallic noise when my bat connected for a base hit. I loved the weight of a brand new ball in my hand, when the laces were tight and the leather was smooth. I loved the texture of my catcher’s mitt, which used to be my dad’s. It was all worn smooth now, dark and shiny from two generations of Holt men squatting behind home plate.
I was really good at baseball, too. Coach Hale even said I could play ball in college if I worked hard enough. College felt like a million years away, because I was only nine. But I still practiced every day, even when it rained. I was getting better every week, too. Plus Dr. Stewart, the assistant coach, said I could maybe even play professionally if I did well on my college team. And I wanted nothing more than to play pro baseball. I’d been dreaming of the big leagues for as long as I could remember.
“Batter up!”
I opened my eyes and breathed extra deep as the pitcher took the mound again. I smiled, not even caring about the smug look on his face. He may have gotten away with a strike he didn’t deserve. It didn’t matter to me, because I was determined to win this game for my team.
I’d hit a double back in the second inning that drove in our only two runs. I’d also caught a foul ball in the fourth to get the last out, and I’d tagged out a runner at home in the seventh. This was my second-best game ever, so far.
It wasn’t over yet, though. Lucky for me, I could tell that North Babylon’s pitcher, a big, ugly kid named Tim, was getting tired. His pitches were going wild, and he’d just handed back-to-back walks to Sage Michaels and Ward Hopkins to load the bases – with no one out. Now, I was ahead in the count, three to one. All I needed was one good pitch, and we’d win the game.
It was going to happen, because I had my good luck charms. The gada pendant my mom had given me was tied around my neck, and my best friend Krista was in the stands.
“Hey pitcher! My E-Z Bake oven throws more heat than you!”
I chuckled as the pitcher turned toward the stands, trying to find the owner of the squeaky voice shouting insults at him. Not like she was hard to miss, though – Krista’s long, curly hair was sticking out in all directions from under the wide-brimmed, bright blue hat she’d put on to protect her pale face from the sun.
That, and she was standing on top of the bleachers, blowing raspberries at the pitcher’s mound.
It was hilarious to me that Krista was shy pretty much all the time – except at my games. She would come up with these really creative ways to heckle the opposing team, and she would yell those insults at the top of her lungs, drawing all kinds of attention to herself that she wouldn’t have wanted otherwise. It pumped me up to see and hear it, and the crowd loved it, too. Even my dad looked like he couldn’t deci
de whether to laugh or tell her off.
But one of the kids on North Babylon’s bench obviously didn’t appreciate the heckling.
“Someone tell that pig to stop squealing!”
Their coach immediately shushed the mouthy kid, but the damage was done. I scowled as Krista slid down into her seat, her cheeks turning as red as her hair. My dad put his arm around her in a hug. He leaned in to whisper something in her ear, probably to comfort her, and she nodded. But she still looked unhappy, and from here, I could see she was blinking like she was trying not to cry.
Krista never cried. She hated it, and she always held the tears back, no matter how upset she was.
I took a step out of the batter’s box, turning toward the visitor’s dugout. I was going to give those punks a piece of my mind. But Coach Hale yelled from the base line, telling me to ignore it. And then another voice chimed in from the stands.
“Keep your eye on the ball, son!”
When I looked up, Dad caught my eye. He tapped the side of his head like he was telling me to focus, and I nodded to show I understood. He’d taught me to always keep my eye on the ball, on the field and in my life. It was one of his mottos. And I always did my best to follow his mottos.
Plus, when I looked at Krista, she gave me a thumbs up, letting me know she was okay. I knew she would want me to keep playing, because she was the biggest baseball fan I’d ever met.
So I stepped back into the batter’s box. The kids in the visitor’s dugout continued to talk smack, and a couple of them were even oinking now. But I ignored them. My grip tightened on the bat, and I planted my feet and bent my knees again as the pitcher wound up. I was more determined than ever to win this game now.
I would win it for Krista. No one hurt my best friend, especially not on my turf. I would show them.
The pitch looked like it was in slow motion, like in a movie or something. I could see it flying toward me, right in the sweet spot, and I timed my swing perfectly. The ring of aluminum echoed so loud, they could probably hear it all the way at Town Beach. And I took off like a rocket. I didn’t even wait to see if the ball was fair or not. But as I rounded first, I could see it sailing right over the shortstop’s head. His mouth popped open like he was stunned at how high and fast it was flying, and I whooped as I ran toward second.