All of Me

by Jennifer Bernard

  “They’re on top of your head, Duke,” called Stark.

  With a grumble, Duke slid his glasses into place. “The headline says, ‘New Information Clears Catfish Pitcher.’ ”

  The guys all stomped their feet and clapped their hands. Caleb wanted to snatch the paper from Duke’s hands and devour the details, but stood frozen to the spot as Duke began to read.

  “The Kilby Press-Herald has acquired explosive new information that has sent the investigation into the so-called ‘Triple A Gambling Scandal’ in a radical new direction. As this edition goes to print, the police are questioning members of the locally prominent Wade family in connection with a scheme to establish an illegal bookmaking operation. Police Chief Wade has recused himself from any involvement in the investigation.

  When asked what this means for Thurston Hartwell II, the ex-convict at the center of the scheme, Betsy Clark, his lawyer, said, ‘Details are still under wraps, but we are working on a plea agreement that will allow my client to tell the full truth.’ She added, ‘One thing we’d like to make clear is that Caleb Hart has never had any involvement in the situation and in fact knew nothing about it at any point. My client would have come forward earlier, but he was under threat from individuals who cannot be named yet. We urge the District Attorney to do a thorough investigation into all aspects of this case, including the threats made against my client, Thurston Hartwell.’

  When asked what specific threats were made, Ms. Clark said only that they involved, among other things, planting evidence that would have implicated Caleb Hart.

  These explosive charges have rocked City Hall and the political leadership of Kilby. The Wades have long been a very influential family, ever since they founded Kilby in its Wild West days. Some have accused the Wades of skirting the law, but no allegations against them have ever been proven. Now, Mayor Trent says, things are about to change.

  ‘I was voted into office on a platform of preserving the Kilby way of life. The Kilby way of life should not include intimidating witnesses, unfairly influencing America’s pastime for the sake of greed, or unnecessarily smearing a baseball player’s reputation. I will be urging the authorities to take this case very seriously. On behalf of the City of Kilby, I’d like to apologize to Caleb Hart. He’s an outstanding ballplayer and a fine human being, which he proved by donating his time and celebrity on behalf of the endangered horn-toed slugs. Caleb, I hope you knock it out of the park in San Diego.’ ”

  At this, Duke looked up from the newspaper. The entire clubhouse seemed to be holding its breath. “I already faxed this to the GM. You’re back in, Hart. I hope you still have your bags packed.”

  The applause erupted all over again, amid a din of foot-stomping and hooting and hollering. Caleb stared around the room at his teammates. Mike Solo grinned at him and held up two fists in a victory gesture. Trevor Stark’s cool smile and lackadaisical clapping was about what he would have expected. Dwight Conner kept thumping a fist against his chest, then pointing at Caleb. Even though he’d only played with these guys for part of a season, they were cheering for him.

  And then they were surging forward to shake his hand, pound his back, even hug him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sadie wipe away a tear and Bieberman hop up and down like a bunny.

  “We got some extra grub to celebrate,” Duke called over the din. “Italian place sent over some lasagna, and we got burritos from Tico Taco. Dig in, kids! Just go outside if you gotta fart.”

  More applause, then a virtual stampede as the players converged on the banquet table. “I’ll get you some lasagna,” whispered Sadie. He nodded, but when her hand slipped away from his, he regretted it. He’d rather have Sadie by his side than a lifetime of lasagna.

  Bieberman joined the crowd at the table, but Mike Solo moved to Caleb’s side. He drew him away, out of earshot, and lowered his voice.

  “No one here believed any of the crap they were saying, but management ordered everyone to keep their mouths shut. Duke called a meeting and said it’s easy for words to get twisted and the best thing we could do for you was shut the fuck up.”

  “It’s all right, dude. It wasn’t anyone else’s problem anyway.”

  Trevor Stark, who’d been so recently starring in his pitching target, joined the two of them, ambling up with that tigerlike prowl that he used to intimidate pitchers. “Well, that’s not exactly right, now, is it?”

  Mike Solo elbowed the slugger. “Go away, Trevor. Why can’t you ever lay off?”

  “What are you talking about?” Caleb asked.

  “You don’t go on Facebook much, do you?” said Trevor.

  “No.”

  “Stark, go eat a burrito,” said Mike. “Suck down some beans and carne asada and stop being an asshole for two minutes.”

  “Just trying to make sure my man here is staying connected. I have ten thousand ‘likes,’ did you know that?”

  “That’s because they don’t know you,” growled Mike.

  “Of course they don’t know me. You don’t know me.” His menacing stare raised Caleb’s hackles.

  “Do you have a point here?” he asked. “Because I want to sit and eat lasagna with my girl and think about my upcoming trip to San Diego.”

  That dig hit home; Trevor’s square-jawed face tightened. “Your girl? Do you mean this girl?” He whipped his phone out of his pocket in a gesture that was clearly pre-planned. A photo was already cued up. Caleb didn’t want to look, he tried not to. He tried to keep his gaze fixed on Trevor’s ice-green eyes. But the outline of Sadie’s figure drew him irresistibly—it always did, whether in real life or in a photo. She stood in that little park downtown, wearing that sexy red dress of hers. She’d only bought it a few days ago; the photo must have been taken since then. Her head was tilted up, and Hamilton Wade was kissing her on the cheek.

  “So the fuck what?” he growled at Trevor. “A kiss on the cheek. Am I supposed to be jealous? I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “That’s sweet. But you didn’t read the post.”

  Caleb pushed the phone away. “I don’t need to read the post.”

  “Want me to get Duke back here for another dramatic reading? Nah, I can do it.” Trevor started to read aloud, but Caleb snatched the phone away. Whatever nastiness it contained, he didn’t want anyone else hearing it. He stared down at the phone, trying to get his eyes to focus on the small type.

  Sadie and me about to make a NEW Sexxxx Tape! Didn’t know she was going to take it to the reporters. Would have done something different with my mouth. Doesn’t matter. We have good lawyers, but a slut is a slut to the end.

  Caleb couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. It was a lie. Impossible. It had to be.

  “A sex tape, how about that?” The nastiness dripped from every word Trevor spoke. “Someone e-mailed me a copy of it. Got it right here. Amateur hour, but then again, my standards are high. Check it out.” Trevor took back the phone, pushed a button and a video popped onto the screen. Behind the play arrow at center screen, Caleb saw a blurred image of Sadie’s bare torso and long dark hair.

  Everything went red around the edges, the way it had when he climbed into the stands to confront Bingo. “Get that away from me,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  “You haven’t even seen it yet. I didn’t know cupcake girl had it in her.”

  Trevor touched his thumb to the phone and a grainy video began to play. Sadie, unfastening her black lace bra. Her breasts popping out, to the sound of a wolf whistle and a “Work it, Sadie-baby.” Lifting her arms and gyrating, stripper style, a little awkward, while Hamilton, his back to the camera, put his hand to his crotch.

  Caleb swung at the phone to knock it away, but Trevor deftly whisked it into his pocket.

  “Delete that shit,” Caleb hissed.

  “Sure, man. You got it. But it’s getting e-mailed all over town. Figured you’d want to know how you got cleared. Did you send your girlfriend in to do your dirty work? A little slam-bam, thanks for the confession, man?
Nice to have that kind of support, dude. Seriously, nice work.”

  Mike thrust himself between Caleb and Trevor.

  “You made your point, Stark,” the catcher said in a low, tense voice. “Now you’re just being a dick.”

  “I was born a dick,” he smirked. “Secret of my success.”

  But Caleb wasn’t listening anymore. He looked over at Sadie, who stood at the long banquet table, chatting with T.J. Gates as she inserted a big serving fork under a piece of lasagna. She lifted it into the air, long strands of cheese dangling. She lifted it higher, higher, trying to break off the strings of cheese. But they wouldn’t cooperate, and she started laughing at the ridiculous sight. When she made that throaty, delighted sound, no one around her could resist joining in. It was like some sort of magical gift. The Catfish around her also chuckled. A few shot her curious looks, and Caleb wondered how many of them had seen that video.

  A sex tape. Sadie in the park, in her brand new red dress. Kissing Hamilton. Sex tape. Bare skin. Long hair. SEX TAPE.

  He was drowning. Spiraling downward into a deep dark vortex where no light or laughter could reach. He flung himself away from Mike and Trevor, hearing Trevor’s phone clatter onto the floor. Mike shouted something after him, and Trevor cackled, but none of that mattered. He needed air. Air and grass and dirt.

  He ran down the corridor, then burst through the door that led into the dugout. The baseball field seemed smaller at night, tamed and sleepy. The only light came from the crescent moon just peeking over the stands and the utility lights in the dugouts.

  When he reached the edge of the grass, he stopped, panting, shaking. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. Sadie wouldn’t do that. There must be an explanation. But he’d seen it. He had to think. Had to figure this out.

  “Caleb?”

  Fuck. She’d followed him. He couldn’t talk to her right now, couldn’t look at her. If he spoke to her now, he’d say something bad. “Go away, Sadie.”

  Her quick indrawn breath felt like a dagger in his back. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you celebrating?”

  Celebrating? Yeah, he should celebrate being made a laughingstock. Celebrate Trevor Stark shoving that “sex tape” in his face. “Need a minute,” he choked out. “Just give me a minute.”

  “But . . . talk to me, Caleb. Don’t keep putting up a wall between us. I . . . I want to be part of it, whatever just happened. Whatever upset you.”

  He simmered on the edge of explosion. He didn’t want to explode, didn’t want to hurt her. But if she stayed one more second or said one more word, he might. He tried one more time. “Later.”

  “Caleb—”

  Boom. The dam broke. “You went to your ex.” He couldn’t say the name. Couldn’t say the word “tape.”

  “Yes, I did, because—”

  “You promised you’d stay out of it.”

  “I know, but—”

  “You went behind my back. To that asshole.”

  “I had to. I had to get him on tape.”

  “You made that tape.”

  “Yes. I had to. I know it’s not admissible in court, and kind of a sleazy thing to do, but it was enough to use as leverage to get Dean Wade to make a deal. I made the tape to help you, Caleb. It’s not as if I enjoyed it.”

  Every word she said made it worse. So it was true—she had made a tape. The words “Sexxxx Tape” flashed in his brain, mocking him. She’d made a sex tape with her evil ex-boyfriend. She’d betrayed him and made a fool out of him. With Hamilton Wade. He couldn’t deal with this; couldn’t hear anymore. Couldn’t look at her. “Go, Sadie. Before I say something I can’t take back.”

  “But—”

  He turned, giving her a full blast of the hurt and disbelief churning through him. “Go! Just get the hell out!”

  He caught a flash of her white, stunned face before she whirled around and ran off the field. The instant she disappeared, he started drowning all over again.

  Chapter 26

  AFTERWARD, SADIE COULDN’T remember much about how she got home. She was pretty sure Mike Solo drove her back. She remembered a vague conversation about the slugs, of all things. As if the slugs mattered anymore. As if anything mattered. The look of scorn on Caleb’s face and the contempt that dripped from his voice when he’d told her to get the hell out were branded on her soul with red-hot acid.

  She didn’t think she’d ever recover.

  Just when she thought she’d regained a bit of self-respect, he’d ripped it away with one glance from those steel-blue eyes.

  After sleepwalking into her bedroom, she couldn’t even summon the energy to take off her clothes. She crawled under the covers and huddled in the far corner of her bed, her arms wrapped around Pugsley, the big goofy panda that her father had won at a carnival during one of their outings. At least Pugsley had never betrayed her, despite the hardened nail polish on his paw and the Oreo crumbs ground into his fur.

  What did it say that she had better luck with a stuffed panda than with the real live men in her life? Nothing good, that was for sure.

  Have you learned your lesson yet?

  Tears coursed down her cheeks, but these were tears of anger, not pain. As they fell, it felt as if they hardened into amber, filling up the place Caleb had gutted.

  Stupid, silly Sadie, she lectured herself. From now on, here are the rules. You are not permitted to get involved with any more men. None. No matter how tempting. Go to law school. This is your mission. Get a degree. Get out of Kilby. Get a job. Take care of yourself. Take care of your mother. Get her out of town too. Do something useful. Help people. No more men.

  “Except you, Pugsley,” she whispered. “You can stay.”

  Eventually she drifted into a shallow sleep, from which she awoke with hot, gritty eyes. Still in her clothes from last night, she wandered into the living room, where her mother was watching a crafts show on how to make bird feeders.

  “Sadie! Don’t you have work today?”

  “Day off.” She sat on the couch and stared vaguely at the TV, feeling her mother’s questioning gaze on her.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Sure,” she said, automatically, because she knew better than to tell her mother the truth. The woman on the TV poked a hole in the bottom of a yogurt container. “Cool bird feeder.”

  They sat in silence for a moment as Sadie tried to summon the energy to pretend everything was really okay. On the TV, the bird feeder woman’s hand movements were hypnotic and her instructions strangely soothing.

  “We should make one of those,” she told her mother.

  “You think so?” Her mom sounded dubious, but Sadie could see it all now. The two of them could become bird feeder-crafting, man-avoiding, decoupaging shut-ins. It wouldn’t be so bad.

  She gave up and padded back to her bedroom.

  The time was twelve-fifteen. Caleb must be on a plane to San Diego by now. Off to his wonderful career, partly made possible by her.

  Another surge of fury left her shaking and holding onto the wall. She sank onto the floor, scrabbling for her purse. When she found her phone, she flipped through her contacts, found Caleb and blocked his number. There. She’d never have to talk to him again. He was just like everyone else—worse, because he’d claimed to be different. She’d trusted him and opened herself up to him, and then he’d judged her without listening to a word she said.

  Forget him, she told herself savagely. Erase every last speck of Caleb Hart from your mind. Gone. Gone for good.

  After blocking his number, she deleted his name. Seeing it disappear from her screen made something hot gather at the back of her throat, but she ignored it. A few people had called—Donna, for one—but she didn’t check their messages. Instead, she dragged herself back into bed and curled up with Pugsley again.

  Her mother knocked on the door, once, twice, then again later. She didn’t answer.

  She drifted off to sleep again. Sleep felt good. She could get used to sleep. She really ne
eded to sleep more often. Like, all the time. Maybe her mother had it right after all.

  When she awoke, it was dark and the house was empty. Feeling shivery and weak—when was the last time she’d eaten?—she made her way to the kitchen. In the dimness, she felt like a ghost. A ghost of the old Sadie. When she turned on the light, she saw a note from her mother, perched on top of a pile of mail: Night shift at Kroger. Maybe you should look through some of these. Love you, Wonder-girl.

  Her mother hadn’t called her Wonder-girl since fifth grade.

  She peeked under the note to find a stack of law school catalogues. Brick buildings, shining faces, sober lettering. All this time, her mother had been hiding them. She’d never liked the idea of law school. She thought it would be too hard, or that Sadie would leave and never come back.

  Now here was page after glossy page of . . . hope. An invitation to a future; permission from her mother.

  As if a spigot had been turned on, a rush of hot tears flooded down her cheeks.

  Sadie sat down with a thump and leafed through the catalogues. At first the snapshots of students in the library or delivering an answer in class were daunting. Everyone looked polished and perfect, not a shameful secret or a self-doubt to be found. But then one photo caught her eye. It portrayed a legal clinic where students volunteered. A young Latino girl and her mother were listening closely as a student showed them some paperwork.

  Yes. She wanted that. Exactly that. She wanted to know something, to be an authority, to be respected, to help vulnerable people when they needed it most. She could do that. She could be that student in the photo explaining tenants’ rights or how to file a restraining order.

  A sense of power rushed through her. Hamilton had made her into a victim. She’d felt helpless against his smear campaign, completely out of her depth. But hadn’t she turned the tables on him by getting that recording? Now he was the one scrambling to defend himself. So what if Caleb had a problem with it, which she still didn’t understand. She’d gotten her revenge in a way that righted the scales of justice. If Caleb didn’t like it, he could go screw himself.