Her Best Catch

by Lindi Peterson

I shoot dagger looks his way.

  “I could make this a business trip,” Braedyn says. “This could really help my career. What do you say, Ashton? Can I go?”

  “Ashton, give the girl an opportunity to further her career,” Trent says.

  I shoot dagger looks his way, also.

  “Braedyn, if you take pictures of the players you can’t sell them,” Ashton points out.

  Okay, I won’t shoot daggers his way.

  “I know,” Braedyn says. “But I can frame them, to hang in my studio. I could put them in a portfolio to show clients. It could bring in a whole new clientele for me. Please?”

  “Even though you can’t sell them, can you give them away?” Keifer asks. “Because I wouldn’t mind a picture or two.”

  Keifer is not helping my heart’s cause. Not one bit.

  The blanket is split. Ashton, Velvet (by her silence and glares at Trent) and I seem to be on my side. Keifer, Trent (traitor) and Braedyn are obviously on Braedyn’s side.

  “What do you think, Ashton?” Braedyn asks for the second time.

  A brilliant white flash catches my eye and I look heavenward. Red, greens and purples fill the sky. I don’t hear Ashton’s verbal response, but I don’t need to.

  Braedyn’s excitement tells me all I don’t want to know.

  CHAPTER 19

  Okay. I’m not a masochist. Therefore I don’t know why I’m parked in front of the television with Velvet and Keifer. Watching, you’ve guessed it, the All-Star game.

  Every five minutes we have to hear “I could have been there!” from Keifer whose long planned business trip was cancelled at the last minute. I mean the very last minute.

  While he was at the airport waiting to board the plane he received a phone call informing him the man he was supposed to meet with turned out to be an embezzler and had absconded with all the company funds over the weekend. Which seems to bother Keifer less than missing the game does.

  I, on the other hand, have really no excuse for feeling down. But my stomach is not well. Or is it my heart? Something in my body is out of kilter. But I don’t voice my dilemma.

  Of course we’re not expecting to see Ashton or Braedyn on the television screen. There’s no way we could pick them out in the sea of faces.

  I’m trying to decide if we ever have gotten together to watch the All-Star game before. I guess Ashton has brought a different flavor to our group.

  And flavor is good.

  Sometimes.

  The jury is still out on this one until the game is over.

  We are at Velvet’s apartment. She has a really nice studio in the Druid Hills area. She would love to buy a place, but the housing is really high, so for now she rents. Rents and paints. She has managed to paint all the rooms some shade of pink. I call her place the Pepto Palace. She doesn’t think it’s very funny.

  Crackers with cheese and a bowl of peanuts are setting on her coffee table. She has also placed little pink plates with V’s on them out for us. I find those plates very annoying even though this particular shade of pink is very subtle.

  I’m trying not to graze. Velvet is eating only the cheese and peanuts. She’s still watching those carbs. Or maybe Trent is watching her non-carbs, which helps keep her watching the carbs.

  “I think it’d be wicked if we saw Ashton and Braedyn,” Keifer says.

  Wicked? The slang gets weirder and weirder. I know wicked means great in this day in time, but when I think of wicked I think of the green witch from the west in the Wizard of Oz, which doesn’t conjure up images of great in my mind.

  “So are we supposed to be rooting for a certain team?” Velvet asks.

  “National,” Keifer replies. “The Braves are in the National league.”

  The look on his face says he doesn’t think Velvet has asked a very bright question. And she should know some baseball facts from hanging with Trent. Of course maybe Trelvet doesn’t talk about baseball. Maybe Trent filled my head with useless baseball trivia because we didn’t have anything more interesting to talk about.

  Or rather we didn’t have mushy stuff to talk about.

  “But I thought Ashton didn’t play for the Braves anymore,” Velvet says.

  “He doesn’t,” Keifer says, “but he used to, so that’s the league we are rooting for. Besides, even if Ashton didn’t play for the Braves they’re our home team. We should root for the National League anyway.”

  Keifer tosses a sofa pillow at Velvet who is sitting at the opposite end of the couch. It hits her in the chest. I’m glad he didn’t throw it at me.

  “Oh. I see,” Velvet says as she tucks the pillow next to her.

  Personally I don’t think she sees, but oh, well.

  While Keifer and Velvet grace the ends of her sofa, I’m sitting on this old pink chair Velvet picked up ages ago from a garage sale. It’s not really comfortable, but it is really ugly.

  “Aw, man. Looks like something happened to our pitcher,” Keifer says. “Look.”

  Several people in baseball uniforms surround the pitching mound. You really can’t see anything, and in a moment they replace the circle of men with a commercial.

  “We don’t stand a chance of winning if we lose our pitcher,” Keifer says.

  “I don’t understand why the whole outcome of the game is dependent on the pitcher,” Velvet says.

  “And I don’t have enough time left on the earth to explain it to you,” Keifer counters.

  “Isn’t this an All-Star game?” I ask. “Aren’t there any other All-Star pitchers who can step in?”

  “Yes,” Keifer answers. “But none as good. Trust me, if Raines goes out, it’ll hurt us.”

  Velvet tosses the pillow back at him.

  Can you guess what color the pillow is?

  Let’s just say the pink pillow clashes with Keifer’s multi-primary colored shirt.

  The extremely manly commercials are over. Now I think I know why we don’t watch baseball games in mixed company. Some of those commercials are embarrassing. The game comes back on and the men are still hovering over the pitching mound. It’s hard to tell what’s happening. I hope the pitcher is going to be okay.

  The announcers are trying to fill in, stating facts that probably nobody but Keifer cares about.

  “Look,” Velvet says. “How cute. They’re showing couples kissing on the screen.”

  The network has kicked in their filler material. Capturing unsuspecting couples on the screen and making them kiss. The funniest part is when they show two men who act totally offended or a couple who refuse to kiss.

  If blood could freeze in veins mine would be frozen. Ashton and Braedyn are on the screen. The announcers know who he is and are encouraging him to kiss the lady sitting next to him.

  My not-feeling-so-well insides aren’t mixing with my frozen blood. The thought of his kisses should be able to unfreeze my veins, but only if his kisses involve me. They cannot involve Braedyn.

  My posture has changed. I’m now sitting straight up in the pink chair. I can’t turn away. Braedyn and Ashton are pointing at the screen, laughing. Well, Ashton is laughing, Braedyn is looking … hopeful. Yes, she looks hopeful.

  Quit hoping, Braedyn.

  “Hey. Not fair. I could have been on television,” Keifer says.

  I guess Keifer doesn’t realize Ashton and Braedyn are on the screen because they are a boy and a girl. They probably wouldn’t have shown Ashton Boyd’s picture nationwide in the “give us a kiss” portion of the show if he had been sitting with Keifer.

  Ashton leans over and whispers something in Braedyn’s ear. She has leaned into him, and her hand has come around and rested on his shoulder. I hope this attempt to get closer to him is only an effort to hear him better. The noise in the stadium is crescendoing.

  “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

  The crowd is very enthusiastic. I am not.

  They separate.

  I inhale.

  They cover their mouths with their hands and blow a kiss into the came
ra.

  I exhale.

  Ashton and Braedyn are smiling and laughing. The crowd is clapping and I am breathing.

  Then Ashton gives the thumbs up.

  You’re awesome, Allison.

  My heart squeezes. What am I doing?

  Or maybe the real question is what am I not doing?

  The prayer meetings have been permanently switched to Braedyn’s house. Randy’s children are apparently an active bunch.

  I arrive at the meeting after Ashton, which is good. I kind of slip into the room quietly, claiming my spot on the end of the couch. I look over at the end table. The picture is gone. Ashton and I no longer grace the end table.

  I wonder where we are. It’s not like we’d been replaced by anybody. The space is bare. This is a first for Braedyn. I have never seen a bare spot in her house before.

  Since we are leaving Sunday, Randy has a big agenda for tonight’s meeting. He’s making sure we are all prepared. There’s so much to do.

  I keep stealing looks at Ashton. I don’t know if he’s stealing looks at me or not. If he is, I don’t catch him.

  But over the television, across the country he told me I was awesome. Me. Allison Doll.

  Our closing prayer is long, heartfelt, and inspiring. I am totally moved. This is why we are all here.

  “Allison, could you help me in the kitchen, please?” Braedyn asks.

  I stand and follow Braedyn to the kitchen. I pass in front of Ashton. He smiles at me. I smile back. His finger latches onto my pinky.

  I stop.

  “Did you see the game?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  I look around the room. Everyone else has grouped together and are talking among themselves.

  “Wish you could have gone. It was fun.”

  “I’m glad you had a good time.”

  I am more glad he didn’t kiss Braedyn, but I won’t reveal that information.

  “Allison,” Braedyn calls in what I’m sure is a plot to get me away from Ashton.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” I say to Ashton unlinking my pinky from his, just like I’ve unlinked myself from being his girl.

  He smiles his totally incredible smile which is permanently etched into my mind just like his scent.

  Braedyn is busy putting the food onto decorative plates when I walk into her kitchen. She always has pretty food, and she enlists me to help set it on the platters.

  “Everybody is talking about how Ashton and I were on national television. It’s kind of fun being a celebrity, don’t you think?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I say. “I’m not one.”

  “Oh, but you had your picture in the paper, I was on television. We’ve certainly come a long way since we’ve met Ashton.”

  I personally feel like Ashton has come a long way since he met us, but I’m not arguing with Braedyn.

  “I met so many people,” she continues. “Ashton knows everybody.”

  “Did you get any good pictures?”

  “I shot so many pictures,” she replies. “And a lot of them are really good. I’ll show you some of them when they’re framed. And what’s really cool is Ashton said he’d get some of the players he knows to autograph them.”

  Her excitement is contagious. I want her to succeed as much as she wants to succeed. Really, I do. Even if she wants to steal my non-boyfriend.

  “That would be great,” I reply. “Good publicity for you.”

  “I know. I’m working on getting a contract for some of the local teams. The Little Leaguers. Football is about to start. And you know kids. They’re so much fun to shoot.”

  “I’m glad you were able to go. Sounds like you’ll benefit from the trip.”

  “I hope so. If I get some sport things going and I still have my weddings and some small side jobs, I’ll be pretty busy.”

  Her sage green kitchen walls are starting to close in on me. I still don’t know her intentions toward Ashton, but at this point it doesn’t matter. We have a mission trip to focus on.

  Braedyn calls everyone in to get refreshments. My heart tries to stay uncommitted as everyone sits in the living room. Eventually the conversation turns to the game. Even with our plates in our laps, we still manage to sit where we do for the meeting. So Braedyn has ample opportunity to shine. She also has ample opportunity to touch Ashton’s arm with her fingers which causes my skin to react as if her fingers were scraping down a chalkboard.

  The gesture implies a certain familiarity. A certain level of comfort. A level that, if I’m truly honest, I don’t want Braedyn to be experiencing. At least not with Ashton.

  How different this meeting is compared to the first one we had here. So many things have changed in such a short time.

  Ashton is just one of the guys now.

  Just like I’m one of the girls.

  Just not his girl.

  CHAPTER 20

  I pull into the church parking lot Sunday morning at seven. We are due to pull out at seven-thirty. It looks like Randy, Bandy, Russell and Pixie are already here loading their gear into the church bus. The beige bus is smaller than a school bus, but big enough for our group to have a comfortable ride.

  After I park my car, I prepare to haul out my own gear. I’m already tired. This morning (at five o’clock no less) I had helped Grandma Fola and Paul carry and arrange their luggage in his Acura.

  I scan my gear. Duffle bag, sleeping bag, pillow and my huge purse/bag which holds all my odds and ends.

  Bandy takes coffee orders and heads to the church kitchen to bring us back a cup while we wait since we are all early. Keifer is going to be five minutes late, but that’s to be expected.

  What’s not expected is to see the classic Jag pull up with Braedyn riding shotgun.

  I wish I had one.

  Not really.

  My heart of hearts tells me I wish no harm on Braedyn. And my mind needs to focus on logic.

  I told him to go away, and he went. What did I expect? A good-looking guy who seems to have plenty of money and heart for God isn’t going to fly solo for very long.

  I just wish he’d chosen a new flight path. Out of my sight.

  “Hi, guys,” Randy says as they step out of the car. I can’t help but notice Braedyn didn’t wait for Ashton to open her door. But that doesn’t mean anything.

  Everyone walks over to help them unload. Everyone except me. I stand back. There can’t be that many things to carry.

  The way the morning greetings are going, no one seems surprised by Braedyn and Ashton showing up together in the same car. Maybe this isn’t the first time this has happened.

  No. It’s not. They went to lunch the day I had the migraine, which now seems like so long ago.

  “Hey, Allison,” Ashton says as he carries a load over to the bus. He’s looking really cute in his Braves cap and Nike T-shirt. And he’s replaced the cowboy boots with tennis shoes.

  “Morning,” I say.

  “Not good morning?” he asks.

  Even though it’s July, the morning breeze is cool. The sun is beginning to peek through the clouds. I don’t think the weather is what Ashton is talking about, though.

  Did I leave the “good” off just because? Or is my mouth operating at a subconscious level?

  “It’s good enough,” I say, trying not to have an attitude.

  I can’t have an attitude as we start on this trip.

  A white van pulls up. A local television logo is plastered on the side. Antennas shoot up from the top. Did our mission trip make local news?

  A couple of camera people file out from the side of the van, and a reporter climbs from the passenger seat.

  “Ashton Boyd. Can we have an interview?”

  Of course. It’s all about Ashton.

  “Why do you want an interview?” He sounds really surprised.

  “It’s a great human interest story.”

  “What’s a great human interest story?” Ashton asks.

  “You going on this mission trip.”r />
  The sun has burst through the clouds now, its early morning rays shining down on us. The parking lot provides no shade.

  “I’m not the only one going on this trip. There are eight of us all together,” Ashton says.

  “What about your comeback? Is it true you’re going for it?”

  That doesn’t sound like a mission trip question to me. It sounds like a baseball question. And if the reporters are around now, Ashton probably won’t be around very long after we return home. I made the right decision. But he and Braedyn driving up together still hurts.

  “I’m not talking baseball this morning.”

  The reporter wipes his forehead. “Come on, Ashton. Give us five.”

  “Sorry. You need to catch us on the return. We have to finish loading our supplies.”

  The reporter shoves his microphone in Ashton’s face. “Word on the street is three managers are looking to end your free agent status before the end of the month. Any truth to the rumors?”

  “Talk to me later,” Ashton says.

  “We’d really like to talk now,” the reporter insists.

  Ashton motions for everyone who’s standing around to come to him. And they do. Braedyn is right next to him, smiling into the camera.

  “Some of these people are going on the trip,” Ashton says, “while some are here to help us load up. Regardless of anyone’s role here today, we are all on a mission. A mission for God. Together. So, my agent will call you and set up a better interview time after our return.”

  Ashton smiles his incredible smile as he steps away from the microphone.

  A mission for God? My heart warms to his words. Ashton wants to make a difference.

  Braedyn is still rooted to the spot in front of the camera. I think her little stint on television at the All-Star game has Braedyn liking the attention. The reporter and his crew (finally taking the hint no thanks to Braedyn) mumble as they file back into their van.

  Bandy appears out of the crowd with a tray carrying our coffee. The small crowd helps load the van and then we grab our coffees.

  Of course we’re still waiting on Keifer.

  But Trelvet arrives before him. Boy are they early for Sunday school. Unless they’re going to early church first.