by Jean Joachim
He straightened up, remembering something else she’d said. “The bus leaves soon.” She was taking a bus in this storm? He flipped on the television and turned to the weather channel.
* * * *
“Come on, Mr. Jerk-off, time for dinner. Let’s go, Matt,” Nat Owen called through the door.
“Coming.” Matt flipped off the television, grabbed his suit jacket, and headed out.
He and Nat took the elevator to the lobby and walked toward the restaurant. In a private dining room in the back, they took the two seats their buddies had saved at one of the round tables.
“What are you doing off season?” Jake asked Dan.
“Getting married.”
“That’s a given. I mean, what else?”
“Trying to survive the wedding,” he said, slicing off a piece of steak.
“What about you, Jake?” Skip asked.
“I’m buying a new car.”
“Yeah? What kind?”
“I’m getting a Lexus GS-F, fully loaded. My dad negotiated a great deal. Right from the factory to L.A.”
“You gonna pick it up in Los Angeles?” Nat asked.
“Yep. And drive that baby cross country.”
“Road trip!” Skip called out.
“Like I’m takin’ any of you guys. Not! Besides, you’d have to fly to L.A. first.”
“Forget that,” Bobby said.
The murmurings of the men fell on deaf ears with Matt. His eyes were glued to the television in the bar, visible through the open door. Although he couldn’t hear, he watched the weather updates. His gut tightened as the wind gusts increased in strength and the prediction of heavier rainfall coincided with nightfall.
He’d called his father and begged off on getting together. He was too preoccupied with the growing August storm to focus on anything else. He’d call from New York, have a nice chat, send his dad a check, and keep the old man happy.
He swiveled in his seat to glimpse the rain beating against the windows.
“Good night to be home,” Dan said.
“No way were we flying in this,” Nat put in.
“Even dogs come in outta this stuff,” said Bobby.
Dogs yeah, but how about softball teams? He took a drink to moisten his dry mouth. His nerves kicked up. Maybe they didn’t go. Maybe they postponed the trip home.
Did he know what hotel she was in? He wracked his brain. Last time, where did she stay? At the…oh yeah, the Mayfair Queen. He remembered laughing with her over the irony of the name.
He excused himself and went to the front desk. “Can you please connect me with the Mayfair Queen?”
“Something wrong with your room, sir?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I’m trying to locate a friend. That’s all.”
The clerk smiled and dialed the phone. “Their front desk is on house phone number three,” he said, pointing to a small counter. Matt picked up the receiver.
“Is the New York Queens softball team still there? I’d like to speak to Dusty Carmichael.”
“I’m so sorry, sir. She checked out, with the rest of them.”
“Do you know if they left for New York?”
“I believe they did, sir. They were in a rush. One woman said something about racing in front of the storm, I believe.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Those were exactly the words he didn’t want to hear. His buddies finished eating and headed for the bar. Matt joined them. His nerves were so tight, he couldn’t even speak. They sat at a table and ordered whiskey. With tomorrow a travel day, a drink or two was permitted. Matt ordered a double.
The bartender reached up to change the channel.
“Don’t touch that!” Matt yelled. People turned to stare at him. “We need to know about the storm.” He wiped his face with his hand. “Someone I know is on the road.”
“Dusty?” Dan asked.
Matt nodded. The other Nighthawks turned their attention to the screen. Silence blanketed the bar as the men watched the storm grow in intensity and force. The newscaster announced power outages, downed electric lines, fallen trees, and accidents.
The catcher ordered another double. His slid his damp palms down the legs of his pants. His heartbeat echoed in his ears as he watched. Every muscle tightened slightly as he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. His drink arrived, and he took a big swig then bolted from his seat and began to pace.
The news of damage and the storm’s progress dribbled in. Pressure rose inside him. He picked up his phone and dialed Dusty. It went straight to voicemail. When the television switched to a newsman in a van, Matt finished his drink and eased down into his seat. Flashing red lights were visible.
“Looks like a parking lot, here on the Pennsylvania turnpike. About three miles ahead, there’s a ten-car pile-up. Seems a bus ran into a car, spun around, and ran off the road, hitting several vehicles in the process.”
The sharp shriek of sirens pierced the air in the bar. Matt’s heart stood still, his mouth as dry as gym socks. He ground his teeth and gripped the arm of the chair with everything he had.
“There are several cars off the road. Seems as if there was some flooding. Bus must have hydroplaned.”
The station switched to a woman in a poncho on the scene.
“From what I can see of the bus…it’s halfway down the hill…looks like it was carrying a women’s softball team from New York. I think it says ‘Queens’?”
That was all Matt needed to hear. He jumped up. “I’m going. Where can I get a car?”
“You’re too drunk to drive,” Dan said, grabbing his buddy by the shoulder.
Matt shook him off. “Fuck that. I’m going! Did you hear me?” Matt yelled, his voice straining, his chest heaving.
“Then, I’m going with you. I’ll drive.”
“Where’s he going?” asked the bartender.
“His girl is on that bus,” Nat Owen said.
“I’m going too,” Bobby said.
“Me too,” from Skip.
“And me,” said Jake.
“Hell, you’re not leaving me here,” Nat piped up.
“Take my van. You’ll need it,” said the bartender, flipping the keys to Dan.
Matt slapped a hundred bucks on the bar. “We promise to bring it back safe and sound.”
The man nodded and shook Matt’s hand. “Good luck.”
Cal Crawley walked in as the infielders rose to leave. “Where are you going?”
“Dusty’s out there,” Matt said.
The manager looked at Dan and the others. “You all have to go?” He raised his eyebrows.
They nodded.
“Shit. All right. All right. But get your asses back to New York by tomorrow night, or you’ll be fined!”
“Thanks,” Matt mumbled.
Cal patted him on the back. “I hope she’s okay.”
The men took off their suit jackets and held them over their heads for shelter against the rain as they headed for the parking lot.
Matt got in the front seat, and Dan slid behind the wheel.
“You ever drive one of these?” the catcher asked the pitcher.
He shook his head.
“Jesus Christ,” Matt said, rolling his eyes.
“There’s a first time for everything.” Dan shrugged and inserted the key.
The rest of the infield piled in.
“I can drive this thing, if you can’t,” Bobby said.
“Me too,” Skip piped up.
“Let’s go! Let’s go. We can argue about who’s gonna drive when we’re on the road.”
Matt gave directions to the Turnpike. Dan cranked up the windshield wipers to their fastest speed, took a deep breath, and stepped on the gas.
Chapter Fifteen
Dusty sighed as she watched rain drops run down the window in the bus. Nicki sat next to her in the aisle seat, snoozing. Her friend’s head lolled onto the pitcher’s shoulder. It reminded her of cuddling in bed with
Matt.
The Queens had lost the game the day before to their biggest rivals, the Pittsburgh Pythons. Dusty hadn’t pitched, but had rooted hard for her team. They had been scheduled to play again today, but the game had been called. The Queens had to return to New York, as they had a double header scheduled for the next day. They were neck-and-neck with the D.C. Dancers for a spot in the play-offs. All she could do was hope that D.C. had lost too.
Her fingers automatically went to feel the fourth finger of her left hand. As awkward as the engagement ring had felt at first, she’d gotten used to it. Now, it’s absence called to her. She ran her thumb over the skin there as she watched cars pass by.
She had tried to sleep, but once she shut her eyes, all she could see was Matt. She recalled his scent, warmed by the sheets still hot from lovemaking, mixed with a touch of sweat and a bit of spice leftover from his aftershave. The uniqueness would stick in her memory forever. She’d never forget how he smelled, or the feel of his skin and muscles.
An ache started in her chest. She wanted to talk to him about her game, cry on his shoulder, kiss him, hug him, but that was over. Matt Jackson was out of her life. Had she made the right decision? How long could she play softball, anyway? Was a couple—well, maybe five more years—worth giving up a lifetime married to Matt?
She’d followed her heart, her rule, and her commitment to her career. Was that the right decision? Today, as the rain pelted the vehicle, she had no idea. Nicki had been no help, either. All she could do was talk about how dark brown Nat Owen’s eyes were, or the width of his shoulders. Dusty chuckled to herself. She had been the same way after the initial hate for Matt had worn off.
Water danced hard and fast on the pavement. She sensed a slight sway in the bus. Must be the wind. She eased her phone out of her pocket, trying not to disturb Nicki, who muttered something in her sleep and shifted. Rubbing a spot on the window so she could see out, Dusty searched for a town marker. A sign touting an exit for Chambersburg flashed by.
She punched the name of the town into her phone. The weather report predicted high winds and several inches of rain. Crap, it’s practically a hurricane! Turning her gaze to the window, she noticed the rainfall was so dense that visibility was reduced to a few feet. The bus slowed, and traffic thickened. No cars zoomed past now, they had reduced their speed and stayed abreast with the bus. A sudden swerve kicked her nerves into high gear. The driver maintained control, and they continued forward.
As suddenly as the storm had intensified, it seemed to lift. Are we in the eye? The bus picked up speed and nearby cars did too. Fog replaced the pelting rain. Dusty watched vehicles in the next lane grow faint and gradually disappear.
The bus slowed again. She tried resting once more. Closing her eyes, exhaustion took hold and sleep came. Images of playoff games mixed with ones of Matt Jackson. She shifted in her seat, mumbling. There he was, at the game. Then, he was her catcher, sending signals she didn’t understand. Then, he came out to the mound and started taking off his clothes in the middle of the inning. Dusty yelled at him, but he kept undressing.
A few potholes in the road jostled her awake momentarily. She frowned, remembering her dream. She went back to a fitful sleep, but rest eluded her. More bumps in the road sent her into Nicki, where they bashed noggins. She raised her hand to her head, rubbing, her eyes struggling to stay open. Cursing, she looked around. Everyone was sleeping, including her friend, who had stirred for a few seconds then returned to her light snore.
Glancing out the window, Dusty wondered how far they were from Harrisburg. She was ready to be home and in her own bed. The rain had returned, as vicious as before. Her window fogged up, obstructing the view.
Grumpy and restless, she stretched. The bus bumped something. She heard a crash, the sound of breaking glass. She was thrown forward, banging her head sharply into the seat in front of her. She bounced off it and into the side as the bus careened off a car and went into a skid. It hydroplaned into a guard rail and right through it, down a steep incline, backward.
The Queens’ players were tossed around like corn in a popper, crashing into each other. None of them had worn seatbelts. Nicki pushed Dusty into the window frame. When the vehicle came to a stop, it was on its side and smoke from the engine filtered through the air.
Some of the girls were screaming, some crying, some totally silent. Something warm oozed into Dusty’s eyes as she lost consciousness.
* * * *
“Can’t you go any faster?” Matt’s heart pounded in his ears.
“No. Hey, it’s horrible out here. It won’t help Dusty if we all get killed.”
Matt understood how the tigers in tiny cages in the zoo felt. He wished he could pace, but all he could do was sit there, stare out the window, and try to sober up.
“We should stop for coffee,” Jake suggested.
“And to take a leak,” Skip put in.
“Hang it out the window. We’re not stopping.” Matt ripped off his tie, folded it, and put it in his jacket pocket.
He knew they were at least an hour later than the Queen’s bus, but he figured the pile-up gave them time to catch up. As insane as his mind was, his body wound down. Before long, his eyelids were too heavy to keep open. Sleep rescued him from anxiety.
The jerking of the van to an abrupt halt woke him.
“Wha? What? Where are we?” He rubbed his eyes.
“Stopped. Looks like the pile-up just got bigger,” Dan said.
Matt opened the door and got out. He rolled up his sleeves to the elbow and shielded his eyes with his hand. Standing on the white line between two lanes of cars going nowhere, he looked down as far as he could see.
The occasional flash of a red light through the fog caught his attention. An emergency vehicle of some sort was up ahead.
He leaned into the car. “I’m going,” he announced to the others.
“Going where?” Skip asked.
“There’s something going on up ahead. Fire engine, ambulance. I can’t tell. Just see the red lights. I have to go.”
“Wait for us,” Bobby said.
“You guys stay here. I’ll be back.”
“Fuck that,” Skip said, shedding his jacket.
But Matt hadn’t been listening. He took a couple of breaths and started running. He stayed on the white line separating the two lanes of what had become parked cars. He didn’t see if people were staring at him or not. He kept his focus ahead, on the red lights. Rain soaked him in a few minutes, making his suit heavier. He wished he could shed his pants, but that wouldn’t happen. Marshalling all his strength, he kept up his pace as he watched the lights grow nearer and nearer.
His lungs screamed for more air, but he kept going. Firemen in full gear were heading for the shoulder. He didn’t see the bus.
“Where is it?” Matt gasped for air.
“What?” a fireman asked.
The catcher tugged on the guy’s sleeve. “The bus. Where is it?”
“Hey, buddy, this is an accident scene. You shouldn’t be here.”
“My girl’s in the bus. I want to help.”
“Matt? Matt Jackson?”
He nodded.
“Hey, man, I’m a big fan.”
“Please! I need to find her.”
“Okay, okay. You can help. Come on. Take it easy. It’s slippery as shit down here.”
The bus had tipped over on its side and slid down the embankment. Unfortunately, the side down on the ground was the side with the door. The emergency back door was open and some firemen were going in and handing the players out. Others were talking to young women through broken windows.
Adrenaline flooding his body made his heart beat so fast he thought it would burst through his chest. Fear spiked in his veins. What if she’s dead, just like Marnie? He shoved the idea out of his head, but he had to find her. Had to know she was alive.
Matt wondered what had crushed the glass and guessed it was the heads of the girls, not the rescue equipment. He sh
uddered.
“Dusty! Dusty!” he hollered, but got no response. He skidded then fell on his butt and slid down the muddy hill, stopping himself with his feet, his legs extended. He crawled over the side of the bus and yelled again.
“Here,” came a muffled voice.
Relief, so strong it paralyzed him, rushed through his body, bringing tears. Thankful for the cover of the rain, he couldn’t stop their flow. She was alive. He took a deep, shuddering breath. His mind turned to getting her out of there and finding out how badly she was hurt.
“You okay?”
“In here.”
He peered in the window and saw bodies sprawled on top of each other, moving. He crawled closer. “Dusty!”
He saw a hand waving. “Can you get to the back of the bus?”
“I think so.”
He moved across the side, like a sand crab scurrying away from a seagull.
“Look out, buddy!” One of the firemen pushed past him, carrying an unconscious member of the Queens.
And the rain didn’t quit. His shirt stuck to him like a second skin. He waited, holding his breath, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Matt?” A small voice filtered through the fog and the pelting water.
He maneuvered his way around two firemen giving first aid to one woman and applying an oxygen mask to another. His heart, pumping so fast, stopped. There she was, looking like a small child. He hair soaked, her face covered in blood and water.
“Dusty?” he croaked out.
“Oh, Matt!” She climbed over backpacks and luggage in the back of the bus. He reached over, closing his fingers around her biceps and lifted her up and out. She stumbled and slipped on a rock, but he caught her up in his arms and held her fast, crying into her hair. “Oh my God!”
“What?” She clung to him, her words muffled against his wet clothing.
“Your face. You’re bleeding.” Matt let her go, ignoring the red stains on his shirt. She saw them and gasped.
A fireman joined them. He lifted her hair and nodded. “Come on, honey, let’s get you fixed up.” He turned to Matt. “Head wounds bleed a lot. Doesn’t mean it’s serious.”