At least not that I know of.
She had asked her aunt to come by and stay at the house while she was gone. Aunt Becky was one of the few relatives on Emma’s side who was still around. Emma could call her at nine at night and know Becky would help out.
Emma wasn’t sure what she was going to say or do when she knocked on Cory’s door at the motel. But it didn’t matter, because when she turned into the parking lot, his pickup truck wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
An idea came to mind. She knew Cory. People didn’t change that much in ten years or even forty.
Emma had always known she couldn’t hold Cory back. He had to get out of this place. He had to see the world.
He had to get away from the pain of those first eighteen years.
She drove back to the field. Sure enough, there was a truck in the outfield with its lights on. A figure stood in the back of the truck.
What is he doing?
As she slowed down to park, Emma rolled down the window. The night was cool and still. She could hear the sound of a baseball game being blasted from the truck’s speakers. Every few moments she heard the thwack of a bat connecting with a ball. Then she heard him yell something.
Emma thought about leaving, knowing that this could be messy. She knew the state he was probably in.
She sighed, then climbed out of the truck and began walking toward him.
As she approached, she heard the sound of something else being hit. Not a baseball. What was he hitting?
“Foul.” Cory’s wail could probably be heard for five miles.
He threw something up and swung at it, sending it exploding with a plume of liquid. A beer can. Cory staggered a bit at the back of the pickup, leaning over to reach for something. He tossed up another beer and then tore into it, sending it spinning wildly forward as it erupted in a foamy mess.
“Way back, way back, it’s going, it’s gone.”
Emma stopped about twenty feet from the truck, hoping not to get hit or sprayed with beer. She called out his name several times, then shouted it over the sound of the radio.
At first Cory looked stunned to see her, then he looked embarrassed. He dropped the bat like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t.
He’s still that boy I met and couldn’t run away from, and he always will be.
“What are you doing?” Emma asked as Cory moved to the back of the pickup and sat on the edge.
She stepped over a couple of burst beer cans and then noticed the truck bed was littered with empty cans.
“Hey,” Cory said in a tired, drunken voice.
His eyes looked glazed, and she could tell he was bombed. She saw an empty case of beer in the pickup and another half-empty case on the other side of the truck bed.
“Nice,” she said, not even trying to hide her disdain. “Okay. Well, I wondered if you were doing all right after the all-star news. But I see that you—are the same as always.”
She couldn’t talk to him in this state. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was doing here. She wasn’t his caretaker or his lover or even his friend. She turned and began to walk back to her truck.
“Come on,” Cory shouted behind her. “Don’t leave me here. It was the all-star thing. I didn’t get the votes.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, not even bothering to look back.
“Emma, come on. Give a guy a break. I was upset. My career’s not looking so hot. I mean—I don’t even know what I’m doing here in this town.”
Emma turned around and looked at the pitiful sight sitting on the back of the truck. “Well, I’m sure it’s very disappointing. But then, adults cope with disappointment all the time. Want to ask me how I know?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cory said, not looking at her. “I disappointed you.”
She knew Cory was used to giving apologies. It was just a line from a man who was used to giving lines.
“I didn’t just leave to play baseball, you know?” Cory was now looking at her, a dejected look filling his face. “The thought of being a dad scared the life out of me.”
And you think it didn’t terrify me?
If she were closer she might have slapped him on his pretty face. She couldn’t say a word.
“But I’ve changed, Emma.”
This line—no, not just a line, but a lie—snapped her out of her silent anger and made her want to tear into him. He actually sounded like he believed what he was saying.
She laughed in contempt. “Clearly you’ve changed.”
Cory wasn’t about to back down. Not now. The cool and calm Cory who made everybody laugh and love him was gone. This was the drunk Cory, the one who would do whatever it took to have his needs met.
It was the same when he was sixteen or twenty.
“I’ve been thinking,” Cory said. “I want us to be a family. I never feel like the kind of man I do when I’m with—”
“Stop talking.”
He had the gall—the drunken delirious audacity to actually suggest—
She began walking away again, and she could hear him get off the truck and start rushing toward her. Then she heard him stumble and let out a moan in pain. Emma looked around. What a mess of a man Cory had become.
“Better be careful,” she said.
“Emma, stop. Listen to me—I’ve changed. I want to be Tyler’s dad.”
She looked at him and wanted to make sure he heard what she was about to say. She wanted to make it crystal clear, to know that Cory got what she was going to tell him.
For ten years she had wondered if this conversation would ever happen. She was ready.
“Really? Really? You want to be his dad? You were too scared to be his dad ten years ago, but now you have somehow summoned your courage and you think you’re ready to be Tyler’s father?”
“Yes. I—”
“Oh, no.” Emma took a few steps closer so he could see her and hear her clearly. “It takes courage to be a parent, Cory. It’s sheer bravery to love a child—to care for him, be there for him, to love him when he pushes you away. It takes courage to put your dreams on hold, to juggle your own heartache and disappointments while you … pray for the wisdom to navigate the endless decisions—and activities.”
Emma was seething and couldn’t hold back. Not now, not with Cory in this condition, not after what he was suggesting.
“What’s too much, what’s not enough,” she continued. “And split-second choices, never knowing which ones are going to affect the rest of his life and which don’t really matter. And just when you think you might be getting the hang of it, you lose your husband. So you now get to make every choice alone—again. So while suffocating in grief you have no choice but to pull it together so you can care for the most precious, most amazing person you have ever known.”
Cory didn’t say a word. He just stood there, his face full of hurt and guilt.
“Yeah, parenting is not for the faint of heart, Cory. It’s not for the scared or the self-absorbed.”
Emma glanced around to see if they were still alone. “You ran once,” she said. “You’ll run again. People don’t change.”
“It was a mistake,” Cory yelled at her. “A huge mistake. The old man said I’d only end up resenting you and the baby the way he resented me.”
Emma paused.
No father—no parent—would be that cruel.
“He told me I’d just screw up the baby, and I believed him. I believed him.” Cory wiped his mouth. Were those tears in his eyes?
Of all the things she’d expected to hear—excuses and apologies and admissions—Emma had never expected this.
“So your only choice was to write us off.” Her voice now was weak and soft.
“That’s not true. I never wrote you off. I was coming back, but by the time
I got my guts up to call you, you were married.”
She had never heard this.
It doesn’t matter.
This was all new to her and—
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change a thing.
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
She glanced at him and hoped he fully saw her staring at him.
“Whatever is broken in you, Cory … whatever your dad did or didn’t do, I can’t fix it. And neither can Tyler. And that hurt in you will hurt Tyler. It already has.”
Cory looked defeated. Crushed. “He needs a dad.”
“He had a dad. He died. James was there for us when you left. And that amazing, unselfish man is the only father Tyler has ever known. And for now, that’s how it stays.”
She was done here. She had said enough—probably way too much—and it was time to leave. Emma turned around for the third time and began walking. This time, Cory didn’t call or run after her.
As she walked under a dark sky full of a thousand shimmering stars, she began to cry.
Tears could be stored up and poured out at any perfectly awful moment. She didn’t realize she still felt this way inside. Yet speaking those words to Cory—they broke her heart again.
The world feels a little better when you have a little help.
He’s no different from all the others who have felt the same way.
Centuries of people who have needed a little help. Just a little help to get through those dog days.
People who end up realizing that others don’t understand and don’t get it and don’t fathom all the things on your plate.
You stand here every day, and the world watches.
You need a little help ’cause God knows nobody’s gonna give you any.
You take a little, and it’s okay.
You take a little more, and you think it’s all right.
The world is crazy busy and you have to make sure you cope and you are finally able to rise above the noise.
With a little help.
Just a little.
And a little more.
And a little more.
Because that’s what you need.
And there’s nothing wrong with it. Because everybody’s doing it and everybody’s done it and everybody will keep doing it.
Nobody understands your life.
A little help isn’t going to hurt anybody.
So you pour the bottle and find the help and pour a little more and keep hoping to find that help. Over and over and over again.
Chapter Thirty-five
Bases Empty
There’d been hundreds of mornings that felt like this. Maybe even a thousand.
It wasn’t just feeling hungover. Cory didn’t really get hungover in the traditional sense, like a teenager might after downing his father’s whiskey. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone a couple of days without drinking. It wasn’t just about feeling sluggish and scrambled. It was that empty feeling, like something wasn’t right and shouldn’t be this way. The hole inside of him stayed there until he could fill it again.
That’s what he did, over and over and over again, regardless of where he was or what he was doing. Playing ball, dating models, filming an ad, working out at the gym, taking a vacation. Or in this case, coaching Little League and trying to celebrate some recovery.
The same old story followed him every time. A shadow that once resembled him, looking smaller each day. Soon there wouldn’t be a shadow left.
He remembered everything Emma said. Whatever happened in his life, he would know that it was too late. Too late for him to suddenly turn into some magical prince and save the princess. The storybook ending had been out of reach for some time.
The first thing he saw when he climbed out of bed was the mini-fridge. He was beginning to hate seeing that thing. Every night it looked like the smile of his best buddy. Every morning it resembled the disappointed face of—well, of everybody in his life.
Wearing only boxers and a T-shirt, Cory unplugged the half-full fridge and pushed it outside the door. Chad could have the rest of the contents. Cory was finished.
He needed to get his act together. He had only been here for two long and endless weeks, and there were six more to go.
I might die in this sad little motel room if I don’t watch out.
The restless feeling stayed with him. He knew he had to do something about it. Go find a place to work out or go jogging. He could sweat off all the beer he’d had last night.
Then he thought of something better.
The swing never got old.
The batting machine launched the ball, and Cory hit it with perfect form. He would’ve felt a little better with a few beers in his system to get rid of that unsteady feeling. But it was time for him to try, and he could do anything he wanted to. Well, pretty much anything.
He was in the old barn hitting away, just like he used to do during high school. It was always better practicing with this machine than taking wild pitches from his father. Cory had knocked on the door of the farmhouse, but nobody was home. That was fine by him.
With each ball coming his way, Cory hit harder.
The bat hitting the ball wasn’t just practice. It was a connection. It helped fill the vacancy inside. Little by little.
There weren’t enough balls in the world to completely fill that hole. But it helped. Just a bit.
Whatever is broken in you …
Emma’s voice interrupted his father’s orders.
He swung faster. Gripped the bat tighter. Smacked the ball harder.
I can’t fix it.
Nobody can, Emma. Nobody.
“I thought meth could just be like a fun thing. And I could stop anytime. I wasn’t a tweaker or nothing.”
Cory sat in the circle of men inside the small room in the church. This was what J. T. referred to as the men’s step study. Each of them, including Cory, held a workbook in his hands. The kid talking was skinny and scraggly with piercings and an old cap over his head. He looked like the oldest twentysomething Cory had ever seen.
“But coming down was hard. And then I had to have it. Stole money from my grandma’s purse to get it. I couldn’t stop. I wanted to numb out. I forced myself to start answering these dang questions.”
He smiled as he pointed to his workbook. Cory listened to the young guy and knew what he was talking about.
“Doing these books, I found out why I used.”
Cory glanced at the white space in his book. He hadn’t even opened it except at these meetings. He didn’t want to feel like he was back in school again.
“I still struggle,” the guy said. “But I don’t feel hopeless. It’s getting better. I’m changing. I feel myself changing.”
He thanked everybody for letting him share. Cory knew that this kid wasn’t talking just to talk. He probably didn’t want to be there, just like Cory. But he wasn’t making this up either.
Cory scanned the question at the top of the page.
How do you handle pain and disappointment?
Cory thought about how he’d ended up here. Knocking over Carlos and giving him a bloody nose. The incident with Pajersky. The whole meltdown over the baseball cards.
And yeah, then there’s the all-star snub.
Cory knew how he handled pain and disappointment. He lashed out, then tried to find a way to numb back up.
He could answer these questions. But what then? That didn’t mean he would magically be fixed.
If you bother reading through the booklet maybe you’ll see.
He still had plenty of time to do so. Plenty of time.
He stares at the picture Clay sent him.
Emma looks the same. She still looks beautiful and happy. He mi
sses that smile of hers and those bright eyes. Eyes that told him he was going to make it, that she knew he was going to make it.
But the boy next to Emma—Cory can’t believe his eyes.
He knows he probably shouldn’t ask Clay to send him these pics, but he’s curious.
Yet, holding this picture in his hands, he’s no longer curious.
Something deep inside feels cut and bleeding.
He still can’t believe they’re out there somewhere, living a life that he doesn’t belong in. Living a life he chose to forget.
Tyler is five, and he has his mother’s smile.
A part of Cory wonders if he’ll ever meet him. But he knows there’s no reason to. All he’d do is make a mess of things if he ever went back home and saw Emma again.
Emma is married and has her own life and that’s good. He’s happy for her, for them.
A part of him knows they’re far better off being far away from him. That’s just the cold, brutal truth.
Chapter Thirty-six
Cycle
The next time Emma saw Cory on the field, he gave her a polite nod and said a polite good afternoon and then proceeded to coach the Bulldogs. There were no high fives or shared glances. Cory kept his distance.
The camaraderie that had started to build had washed back out to sea.
Emma was cautious, knowing he could be doing this for attention, sulking like he used to so she would come back around and tend to him. But when the afternoon practice ended and the kids left and Cory said good-bye to Tyler, Emma knew he wasn’t sulking.
He was just keeping his distance.
Home Run: A Novel Page 19