Home Free

by Sonnjea Blackwell

  I looked sideways at Danny. His eyes were glazing over and his jaw was getting tight. One more word about Jack and he was going to lose it.

  I quickly pulled a ten out of my purse and shoved it at my uncle. “Do I need tokens, or quarters?” I asked.

  He pushed a roll of quarters at me and refused my money. “Have fun, you two. We open for regular customers at eleven, so you should have plenty of time. I’ll be in the office if you need anything.”

  I hugged him across the counter. “Thanks.”

  The batting area was enclosed by a chain-link fence around all the sides and over the top, about thirty feet high. A large pitching machine was in the center of the area, and it had cannon-like barrels that fired baseballs or softballs at ten separate batting cages that lined the front, seven for various speeds of hardball, two for fast-pitch softball, and one for slow-pitch softball. Each individual cage contained a home plate with the outline of the batter’s boxes painted on the concrete floor on either side of the plate, as well as a machine to put the quarters in. A long row of bleachers ran behind the batting area for coaches, parents, teammates, teenagers making out and other assorted spectators.

  I shoved Danny towards the seventy mile per hour cage, the fastest one The Fun Zone had to offer.

  “This is stupid,” he growled.

  “Oh, for crying out loud, quit your whining.” I sat on the bench and dropped my bat and helmet to the ground, rummaged around in my pocketbook for my sunglasses and slid them on, then deposited my purse with the other things at my feet. I leaned back against the bench behind me, stretched my legs in the sun and handed Danny the roll of quarters.

  “Knock yourself out.”

  He shook his head in resignation, took the quarters and went into the cage, latching it closed. He set the roll of coins on the machine and took a couple of warm-up swings, then donned his helmet and inserted some money.

  Danny took his position in the batter’s box and adjusted his stance, legs wide, knees bent, the bat back over his right shoulder, his hands choked up about an inch or so from the end. The first pitch came, a little high, and he swung hard, knocking it into next week.

  He reset himself and waited for the next pitch. It continued like that for some time, Danny aggressively chasing every pitch, swinging with everything he had and absolutely punishing the ball.

  After twenty pitches, the machine stopped throwing, and Danny turned to insert another dollar’s worth of quarters. I could see the sweat running down his face, but he looked less haggard than he had earlier.

  He was friendlier to the next twenty pitches, settling back into a more relaxed rhythm and waiting for the ball to come to him, then swinging fast but easy and smacking the ball away like a pest. It was effortless, graceful and more than a little sexy.

  He played two more dollar’s worth in the same manner. I poked at my leg to see if it was getting sunburned. It looked a little blotchy, and I’d forgotten the sunscreen. Again. At least I knew where to get wigs if I developed skin cancer and my hair fell out.

  When the machine stopped again, Danny pocketed the quarters and sauntered over to me, the bat in one hand and the helmet in the other. “Your turn.”

  “Not my kind of therapy,” I answered, looking up, shading my eyes against the sun. His hair was wet and his shirt was stuck to his chest and arms, molded to the contours of his now pumped-up muscles. I felt like a diabetic at a dessert buffet, and I think I was salivating just as much.

  He set the helmet down on the ground and took my hand, pulling me up from the bench. “I should have done this a long time ago,” he said.

  “Batting practice?” I had to squint now, even with my baseball cap and cool Nike wraparound shades on, because the glare of the sun was harsh and aimed directly at me.

  “Hunh-uh.”

  He lowered his mouth and kissed me, and I stopped squinting and closed my eyes altogether, and we stayed like that for a long while. My knees felt a little untrustworthy, so I pressed myself into him, just for support. Honest. He wrapped his arms around me. I didn’t care that he was dripping sweat on my new clothes. I thought about pie.

  Once when I was about eight, my mom made a key lime pie. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted, but Brian didn’t like it, so she never made it again. I always remembered that pie, and I would beg her to make it for my birthday, but she never would. Finally, for my going away party before I left for college, she said I could have any dessert I wanted. I asked for the key lime pie. She made it, and I couldn’t wait to taste the first bite. But it wasn’t anything like I’d remembered it. It was sour and made my face pucker, and I couldn’t believe I’d been pining away for this for almost a decade. The anticipation had been so great that nothing could have lived up to it, I guessed.

  Any worries I’d had that kissing Danny wouldn’t live up to the memory of him were categorically laid to rest. As amazing as the eighteen year old kid had been, the thirty year old man put him to shame, and I agreed with his earlier comment - he should have done this a long time ago. Through the haze I thought I might still be pissed at him, and the proper response was probably a swift kick in the shin, or an area a little higher, but I couldn’t remember for sure if I was mad, and if so, why. I figured I’d remember just as soon as some of the blood returned to my brain, but I wasn’t necessarily in a big hurry for that to happen. Our tongues were getting reacquainted, and they seemed to have a lot of catching up to do. No sense rushing them.

  My purse began chirping the theme from The Sting. Blood started to flow, and I remembered that I was mad, and the why, and I glared at Danny as I pulled away and picked up my pocketbook. He smiled, smug, while I rummaged around for the cell phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Alexis. I’m just reminding you about the barbecue at two o’clock.”

  “Hi, Mom. Don’t worry. I’ll be on time.”

  “Good. See you then.”

  “Bye.”

  I put the phone away. Danny hooked his finger in my waistband to pull me towards him. I flicked his hand away.

  “Cut it out. I’m still mad at you.”

  “You didn’t seem mad a minute ago.”

  “I wasn’t thinking clearly a minute ago. I had heat stroke.”

  He laughed the sexy laugh. “I have that effect on women.”

  I sneered.

  We returned the gear and the remainder of the quarters to the concession stand and yelled to Ted that we were leaving. A couple of his employees had arrived by then, and we had one of them open the gate for us. We got in the Mustang and Danny drove home, the AC and stereo at full tilt.

  “Want an iced tea?” he asked as the garage door slid into place behind us.

  “I told you, I’m still mad at you,” I growled.

  He laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I meant a real one. I’m thirsty.”

  “Oh. Yeah, okay.”

  We pulled the lounge chairs into the shade and sat, sipping our tea in easy silence. Danny had mopped the sweat from his face, but his hair still stuck to his forehead in little black circles. He had his eyes closed and he looked relaxed.

  “Thanks, Lex. That was a great idea.”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  A few minutes later, he said, “About that night.”

  I cut him off. “I’m not asking you, Danny.”

  “I know. I called my uncle Louie and told him that someone had beaten up my girlfriend. I wasn’t sure exactly what Louie would do with that information, but I knew he would do something, and that it would be violent and painful. If I’d seen Derek that night, I probably would have killed him myself, but I didn’t want to leave you alone. So I called Louie, because he was meaner than my uncle Alex, and left it up to him. I wouldn’t have been sorry if Louie had killed Derek, Lex. And I wouldn’t have batted an eyelash when your mom came home and told us about it.

  “But even if I had known who was beating up Sherry, which I didn’t, the situations were completely different. She’s not my girlfr
iend, I was never in love with her, I don’t even know her. If she’d come to me asking for help, I would have called the cops to report the guy. I would have called her folks or helped her find a shelter or rehab or somewhere else to go. I wouldn’t have invited her to stay here, let alone kill a man for her.”

  I nodded. I believed him. “That wasn’t my motivation for coming here today,” I said.

  “Uh-hunh. Let me guess, you just wanted to see me get all hot and sweaty.”

  I was thinking that if I wanted him all hot and sweaty, there were far more satisfying ways of accomplishing that than playing baseball. “I felt bad about the other day, and I wanted to make amends.”

  An evil smile started in the corners of his mouth. “You want to make amends? I know a way - ”

  “In your dreams, Salazar.” Mine, too, unfortunately.

  He switched gears. “So tell me about this husband of yours. Kevin tells me you were married for quite a while.”

  Aha! So they had been talking about me. “About five years. We went to college together and got married a couple years after graduation.” I wondered what else Kevin had told him about me and Max.

  “He broke your heart?”

  I shrugged. “We dated on and off in college. Afterwards, we both got hired by the same design firm in Huntington Beach, and we started dating again, then moved in together. Looking back, I’d say we married each other because we were there and neither of us was optimistic about getting anyone better.” I didn’t tell Danny, but the truth was, the marriage had never felt permanent to me, or I suspected, to Max. We were in Las Vegas for a design show one time, got drunk and got hitched. I didn’t change my name. We didn’t open a joint checking account. Evidently, he didn’t stop dating. And it sure as hell wasn’t Max who broke my heart.

  “And then what happened?”

  “We bought a townhouse in Huntington Beach. After a couple years, I quit the firm and started freelancing. A few months ago, he left me for Raoul.”

  “Raoul?” He had the good manners not to laugh openly, but the twitch at the edges of his mouth gave him away.

  “The pool guy at our condo.” I changed the subject. “Hey, what kind of car does your brother have?”

  “Cadillac, why?”

  “Just curious. What color?”

  “Black.”

  There was no Caddy at the yard when Pauline and I went by there, and I guessed maybe Junior drove one of the company pickups when he was working. I set my empty glass on the table and checked my watch. “I have to go meet someone.”

  Danny groaned and rolled his eyes. “Christ, am I going to have to buy a truck to compete with that guy?”

  I sped into my driveway just as Angela and Liz were pulling up to the curb. Jack’s truck was gone, and with any luck he wouldn’t come around suggesting a lunchtime tryst while I had impressionable, underage company. Angela introduced me to Liz, and I showed them in. We had to step over Lucifer, who had returned to his position on the welcome mat, and I was silently grateful that he hadn’t brought me another treat. The fact that I was relieved to see him annoyed me, as did the fact that I seemed to have named him. I guessed he was a him, because Lucifer didn’t seem like a girl’s name to me.

  I gave Angela and her sister a quick tour, ending in the office. I had gotten out some books for Angela to take home, a couple on art history and one on designing fonts and logos. Plus a big stack of drawing paper and a set of pencils ranging in hardness from eight H to eight B, very hard to very soft.

  I handed her the books. “You’re welcome to borrow these, even if you decide not to come over to play on the computer. And take the drawing supplies. You’ll make much better use of them than I will.”

  Angela looked at Liz, and the oh, please was loud, if unspoken.

  Liz nodded, “It’s okay with me.”

  “Is Monday good?” I asked.

  “Well, I brought my bike with me, so I could actually hang out now, if it’s okay with you. And then ride home later. I took some photos.” She waved my camera at me.

  We got her bike out of the car, and Liz drove off. I noticed that Debbie had planted colorful banners along the edge of her walkway, yellows and pinks and oranges, plus a big sunflower flag next to her front door, and I guessed she couldn’t come up with a current holiday either. Lucifer gave my leg a pat with his front paw as I walked back to the door, and I involuntarily reached down and patted his head, like a dog. He purred. Angela left her bike on the porch, and I held the door open for her, and Lucifer made no move to invade my home. Maybe he was okay. For a cat.

  I took Angela in the office and started up the computer. The phone rang. I answered it as I pulled out the Photoshop tutorial book and the digital camera owner’s manual. I handed the books to Angela.

  “Hello?”

  Another hang up. The blocked call display and the persistent hangups all suggested Brian was using a private line from his office to annoy the fuck out of me. It was working.

  “I’m sorry, I have to leave. I’m late for a thing at my parents’,” I rolled my eyes. “You can plug the camera into this doohickey here and follow the instructions to download the photos. Just don’t delete any of my existing files, and everything will be fine.” I dug a spare key out of the drawer in the hall table and handed it to her. “Lock up when you leave, and hang onto this so you can come over when I’m not home. If a really tall guy in an enormous truck shows up, don’t freak out. He’s the contractor, and he has a key and comes and goes at odd times. But he’s harmless. No one else usually comes by except my brother, and he’s going to my folks’ as well, so you shouldn’t be bothered. And help yourself to whatever food or drink you want from the fridge. Well, not the beer, okay?” I squinted my eyes at her, trying to look stern.

  “Okay.”

  “Have fun.”

  I looked at my watch. If I hurried, I had just enough time to pee before I had to go to my parents’. And with a little luck, perhaps the hair dryer would fall in the toilet and electrocute me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The cord wasn’t long enough to reach from the wall to the toilet, and I couldn’t find an extension cord, so I found myself driving, once again, to my childhood. I parked on the street behind the Mom Mobile and made my way to the gate. It was hot, but I guessed it hadn’t broken one hundred yet, so maybe the weather was finally changing. Still, sweat was clinging to my skin, and the back of my shirt was wet.

  In the back yard, Dad was working the grill. Mrs. Brian and the kids were sitting at the table while Mom and Pauline set it. Brian and Kevin were talking near the ice chest. I reached for a soda. I kept coming up with beer cans and diet sodas. Finally, my hand numb from the ice, I settled on a beer.

  “So it’s my fault I’m a suspect, even though I had nothing to do with any of it?” Kevin was clenching and unclenching his fists and his jaw, and I wondered what I’d missed. I popped the can and waited.

  “You have to take responsibility for the kind of people you associate with, Kevin. You’re not a kid. It’s not okay to just hang out with the neighbor, or some guy on your baseball team, or whatever. You have to think about how being seen with someone will affect your reputation.”

  I was pretty sure that if Kevin would hold him down, I could beat the shit out of him.

  “So it doesn’t matter that Danny Salazar is also innocent? I was with him all evening, he didn’t leave to go to the bathroom, let alone to set up a complicated explosion.”

  “He’s a Salazar.” He shrugged, as if that explained everything. As if Danny was nothing more than a clone of his father and his brother, and that fact alone was enough to convict him.

  “He’s a fucking fire captain,” I snarled, and they both looked at me, surprised. They had been so engrossed, they hadn’t seen me come in.

  “Was a fire captain.” Brian turned back to Kevin. “It’s like I was explaining to Alex, having Jack Murphy over at all hours calls her character into question and reflects badly on the rest of us.
You need to be above reproach, both of you, for your sakes as well as the rest of ours.”

  “Fuck you and your election,” I said and went in search of Pauline.

  “Oh, Alexis, come and help Pauline and me bring out the food,” my mom said as I approached. I looked at what’s-her-name, sitting on her ass, and wondered why she couldn’t get up and help. I glared at her. She looked a little shifty to me, and I wondered if she was above reproach.

  “Hi, Alex,” she said. She seemed friendly, but I knew it was just a ruse.

  When we were in the kitchen, my mother looked at me over her bifocals and said, “Orange shorts? I didn’t know those were in this season.”

  “Yeah, and nipple rings. Want to see?”

  She shook her head and handed me a bowl of Caesar salad. “Do you talk to your mother that way?” she asked Pauline.

  “I don’t talk to my mother,” Pauline answered, winking at me and carrying out a basket of hotdog buns.

  “See, at least I talk to you.”

  “Oh, lucky me,” my mother said. I think she was kidding.

  When the family was gathered around the table, Brian began to orate, practicing his speeches and regaling his wife and kids, not to mention our parents, with his brilliant political strategies. If he was so great, I wondered why the paper was reporting that the race was too close to call, with the 87-year-old incumbent Gavin Mackey holding a one percent lead over Brian.

  “Please pass the corn,” I asked. My mother never moved, didn’t hear a word I said. Pauline reached across her and handed me the bowl of corn on the cob. I rolled my eyes in the direction of The Candidate, and Pauline and Kevin nodded. “Watch this,” I told them.

  Brian was talking about freeway expansion. I took a sip of beer. I cleared my throat and announced, “I have a nipple ring. Anybody want to see?” I don’t, but it didn’t matter because no one heard. Pauline and Kevin snickered.