The Thirteenth Chance

by Amy Matayo

  Chapter 25

  Olivia

  Will picked me up as soon as he got back into town and brought me to Six Flags. It’s the first time I’ve been here, but I was so happy to see him that I would have agreed to almost anything. So glad he was back that I might have even agreed to a roller coaster or two. It wasn’t until later that my excitement bothered me.

  Just like it bothers me that they won every game on the road.

  Just like it bothers me that he might decide he no longer needs me to show up to any of the games.

  He just won me a giant stuffed hippopotamus in a dart-throwing game, even though of course he won it because Will knows how to throw things and makes a ridiculous amount of money because of it. This stuffed animal bothers me too. But not enough to give it away or to quit thinking about sleeping with it tonight, curled around it full-body like it’s a substitute for—

  I stop that thought before it has a chance to materialize and think of a way to redirect my mind.

  “You haven’t ridden the Batman yet.” It’s a stupid thing to say, because of course he’s going to follow it up with—

  “I’m not riding it without you.”

  I clutch the hippo to my chest. “I can’t ride it and hang on to this thing. You go without me. I’ll stand here and watch.”

  “Nice try, but you’re not standing anywhere.” He moves into the line and takes the stuffed animal from my hands. I watch while he asks the ride attendant to store it for him, then I look up and swallow. The Batman is a twisting, winding, terrifying-looking yellow roller coaster known as the scariest one in Texas. I inwardly curse myself for bringing it up.

  “Way to go, Olivia,” I mutter to myself. “Now the only reason you have not to ride is your stupid fear.”

  “What fear?”

  I look up to see Will staring at me, a concerned frown on his face. I force myself out of my fog of memories and run a hand through my hair.

  “No fear. There’s no fear.”

  Wow. Lie much?

  I duck my head and focus on the ground.

  “You look pale. Like you might faint.”

  Someone dropped a wad of pink bubble gum three inches from my feet. If I hadn’t looked down I would have stepped on it, and that makes me mad.

  “I’m not a big fan of roller coasters.” This is true, if not a big fan means that I haven’t ridden on one since I was five and hung upside down for sixty-two seconds and am deathly afraid of history repeating itself right now with Will sitting next to me to witness my meltdown. “Haven’t been since I was a little girl.”

  “Bad experience?” He props a hand on the sidewalk railing and leans into it.

  I look ahead. “A bit of one. Not something I like to revisit often.” Or ever.

  “Tell you what,” he says. “If I promise to hold your hand and not make fun of you when you throw up, will you try it this one time?”

  I level my gaze at him. “I’m not going to throw up.”

  “I don’t think you will either.”

  Tension sits in my throat and chest. “I don’t know . . .”

  “I’ll buy you a funnel cake when it’s over.”

  “That’s not fair. Funnel cake is my favorite.”

  “Then I’ll buy you two.”

  I roll my eyes. There’s no winning this one. I stare at a child in front of me and let resignation sink in. “Two and a smoothie. Strawberry. With whipped cream on top.”

  “Where do you put it, all the food you eat?” His gaze drifts down my body, a funny look on his face.

  “I run, remember? And I guess I have a decent metabolism.” I try not to blush at his scrutiny. “Fine, I’ll go on the ride. But one word about my screaming or crying . . .”

  “Or throwing up.” He holds out both hands. “Scout’s honor.”

  I take a deep breath. It does nothing to calm my erratic nerves. “I’m not going to throw up.”

  “I still don’t think you will.”

  Will

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just go get the funnel cakes. And don’t forget the smoothie.”

  “I already have the smoothie. Do you want me to bring it in now?”

  “Into the women’s restroom? Probably not a good idea.” Her voice is muffled, anguished, and for the hundredth time I want to rewind time and shove my own size-eleven shoe in my mouth. Why did I pressure her into riding that thing? “Do you feel okay?” she asks. It makes me feel worse. Here she’s the one feeling awful, but she’s asking about my well-being.

  “I’m fine. I didn’t even see anything happen.” It’s a lie. I saw everything; Olivia’s white knuckles, Olivia’s face as it turned green and then white and then yellow and then—

  It wasn’t a pleasant sight, but at least I wasn’t unlucky enough to be the poor guy sitting behind her. I’m not sure he’ll ever recover. After he yelled a few choice words into the air and then subsequently at Olivia’s face, he stomped off in disgust. Can’t say that I blame the guy, although his suffering didn’t stop me from hurling a few choice words of my own in his direction. He might have been covered in a mess, but it was hardly Olivia’s fault.

  I mean, it was her fault. But it was also mine. A little more hers, but I’ll keep that thought to myself and wait here against the wall.

  Finally she walks out of the restroom. She’s still a little pale, but I think she’s turned a corner. A slight corner from the looks of it; I’m praying to God that there won’t be any detours or speed bumps on this very perilous road in the near future. Dear God, anything but that.

  She grabs the smoothie out of my hand and takes a long gulp. “Let’s go get a funnel cake.”

  I study her. “Are you sure you—”

  “A funnel cake, Will. You owe me two, and I will have them both eaten before we leave here.”

  “Okay, I just—”

  “Funnel cakes, Will.” She points one finger ahead and takes off walking, sucking on that straw like it contains her dignity and self-respect. Knowing Olivia, she’s mentally lacking in both right now, even though she’s putting up a brave front. I admire her for it. She turns to look at me. “And then I want you to win me a stuffed pig to go along with this hippo here. Can’t head home with just one zoo animal. What would the neighbors think?”

  “The neighbors would think you’re crazy, that’s what they would think.”

  “One of them already does.”

  When she winks, I’m not going to lie, my knees go a little weak. The hair, the smile, the eyes . . . Olivia doesn’t even know she possesses such a killer combination. We walk to the funnel cake stand in silence. I make it until we’re second in line, and then I can’t take it anymore. Bravery can hit a person at the strangest times. Like when you’re at an amusement park with a girl you’re fake dating and you realize maybe you don’t want things to be so fake anymore. Or when someone asks you what you want to order and all you can think is that what you would really like is a lean platinum blonde with a killer smile on the side and you start to wonder what her skin feels like.

  So you reach for her hand just so you’ll finally know.

  And you link your fingers through hers because you feel a little possessive and a whole lot proud.

  And she looks down at your hands joined together and then back up at you, scanning your face to find out what it all means.

  And she smiles. And you have trouble remembering that this is supposed to be pretend.

  And you swallow.

  And try to command your racing heart to slow down.

  But it doesn’t.

  So just to lighten the moment a little—just to make it feel a bit less tense and important—you make a joke. Because sometimes humor is the only way you know to mask your true feelings.

  “I still can’t believe you threw up on that ride. That poor man behind us . . .”

  “Shut up, Will. And I’ll take three funnel cakes,” she says to the man behind the counter just to stick it to you because there’s no way she c
an eat them.

  And now you’re both joking, both working overtime to lighten the mood.

  But you can’t help but notice that your grip . . . her grip . . . they both get a little tighter.

  And that, for the rest of the night, neither of you lets go.

  Chapter 26

  Olivia

  I’ve snapped more than a dozen pictures on my phone before I realize what I’m doing. Lowering the phone to my lap, I stare at the last one—the one I took of Will on the pitcher’s mound just as he was winding up to throw. His right leg is in the air, elbow up, bottom lip tucked into his teeth in concentration, hat slightly off-center like he accidently knocked it askew. It’s a clear shot with the sun setting on the horizon behind him, adding a slight shadow to his form. It is reminiscent of a movie poster or a magazine cover, like many I’ve seen before. My hands burn with the desire to flip through the others, to memorize them, to compare and contrast Will in motion, Will in flight, Will on his game.

  The game I keep forgetting to hate.

  It’s the bottom of the seventh inning and a saunalike heat is hovering in the stands. The headache I developed a few days ago has ebbed and flowed since, and right now it’s pounding at the forefront of my temple. Chalking it up to the oppressive heat, I pull my shirt away from my skin, cringing at the feel of sweat on my stomach and back. No matter how long I live here, I will never get used to a Dallas summer.

  “It’s so hot tonight. I don’t know how they play in this heat.” Fanning my face, I press the off button on my phone just after Kimberly leans into me.

  “I think I’ve lost three pounds just sitting here. Wait, what was that?” She nods to my phone. “Can I see?” She reaches for my phone before I can toss it into my purse. Of course I wasn’t fast enough. Story of my life.

  With a quiet sigh, I push a button and watch the screen light up, dread sitting like a barbed ball in my stomach. It doesn’t help that my heart is pounding with the strength of a bass drum inside my chest at the mere thought of viewing those pictures again. How in the world will I be when this game is over and I’m once again able to view him up close?

  “Sure. Take a look.” I hand the phone to her, and she begins to scroll. I stare straight ahead until I can’t take it anymore, then lean in to watch her progress. Will is inside the dugout anyway; there’s nothing else for me to look at besides shelled peanuts, hot dog wrappers, and overturned beer cans.

  “Olivia, these are really good,” she says. “Have you ever taken photography classes?”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s just something I’ve always liked to do. When my brother played I—” I stop talking because this is something I never discuss with anyone. I hadn’t spoken about it in years before I accidentally mentioned it to Will. I’m not sure why I felt so free to speak this time, and it bothers me.

  “Your brother played baseball?”

  I take a minute to think, but I’ve already opened the door to this conversation and there’s no way to shut it gracefully.

  “Yes, he played in high school and college. Could have had a career in the major leagues but he gave it up.” I leave out the Cardinals part because what’s the point? His career there didn’t last long, and he did in fact give it up. Technically. “I used to sit on the sidelines and snap his picture with an old Polaroid of my mother’s. I took hundreds, maybe thousands, over the years.” There’s a drawer in my old bedroom overstuffed with those photos. Pictures of Bradley taken from a four-year-old’s perspective, a seven-year-old’s perspective, a ten-year-old’s perspective. His shoes in the dirt, his bat tilted heavenward on the upswing, his hat propped on his head, the red-billed underside showing. As far as I know, no one has ever looked through them. As far as I know, no one knows they’re there.

  “Must have been tough having to sit through that as a kid,” she says, surprising me. “It’s hard enough as a wife. All the time it takes, the separations you live through, the pressure you’re under even though no one ever thinks about what wives deal with . . .” Her voice trails off. I wonder if I can hear regret or sadness between the syllables but then recognize the emotion for what it is: loneliness. Deep, profound loneliness that I know all about because I share it. I’ve always shared it. That’s what comes from living in someone else’s very large shadow for far too long. You become so soaked in gray that your own light is significantly dimmed.

  I have to ask the question.

  “Do you regret it? Marrying a ballplayer, I mean?”

  I’m not sure what I expect. Maybe a frown, maybe a sigh, maybe just a wringing of the hands. What she gives is a smile. A slow, broadening smile that reaches her eyes. I’m jealous of it.

  “Honestly, at times, yes. It’s a tough life, living on your own most of the time, especially when your friends get to greet their husbands at the end of every day. But Blake isn’t accountant material, and he never would have made it as a businessman. He isn’t wired that way. He loves the game, and really—overall—it’s been good to us.”

  “How?” I hear what she’s saying, but this sport has been nothing but bad for me. I’m drenched in neglect and abandonment because of it, and every daddy issue in my psyche is a direct result of the sport.

  Kimberly reaches for her soda and takes a sip, her bracelets clinking together around her wrist. “We’ve gotten to travel and see things we never got to see growing up. We have a nice home and good friends. We’re happy.” She shrugs. “Plus, the money doesn’t hurt.”

  She laughs, and I try to return it even though my head feels a bit worse. I’ve seen her home; it’s ridiculous, every girl’s dream. And definitely not something one could ever afford on a teacher’s salary. But I know the truth. She would have married Blake without the sizeable bank account.

  Around us, a roar travels through the crowd. A ball sails into the outfield and over the fence. Bottom of the sixth inning and we’re ahead by three. Will is never going to let me out of this arrangement, an idea I’ve grown more and more comfortable with.

  “That boy is on fire,” Kimberly says. “And hey, you should show him those pictures after the game.” She nods to my phone. “They really show how much you care about him. Most people don’t put as much thought into photos as you put into these. If the ones you took of your brother are as good as these, I think you could have had a career in photography.” She glances at me and frowns. “You feeling okay? Your face looks a little pale.”

  “I’m okay,” I say quickly, wanting the topic off my health. “And I’ll think about showing him.” There’s no way he will see them, ever. My reasons are my own. We sit in relative silence for the rest of the game. I won’t let myself reach for my phone or even admit it to myself, but there are dozens of opportunities to snap more pictures. Will plays a beautiful, nearly flawless game.

  I spend the rest of the game alternately feeling nauseated, rubbing my temple, and sitting on my hands.

  Will

  It happened right after the game ended. I was standing on the mound, shaking hands with my teammates, when I glanced up at the stands to search out Olivia’s face. Whether she likes to admit it or not, she’s the reason I’m playing well and, in turn, she’s the reason I’m winning. Might sound dumb, but that’s just the way of it.

  I found her, and my face and heart were just starting to fill with a smile when I saw her fall.

  Her head hit a seat back.

  Hard.

  She landed at a weird angle, her body slumped over a seat.

  And that’s when Kimberly began to scream.

  I didn’t need to see it happen to hear the commotion that followed, which is the exact reason Blake took off running, me trailing right behind him. He recognized the sound of his wife’s voice from midfield, something I quickly envied despite my panicked state. What might it be like to have that kind of connection?

  We reached the stands and flew over the gate in only a few seconds, taking the steps in twos and threes—whatever might get us there faster. Blake tossed his glove
on the way up. My hat now lies on a seat somewhere unless a fan ran off with it.

  That was ten minutes ago. Olivia came to right after we reached her, and she hasn’t stopped complaining since.

  “Would you please humor me and be still?” I roll my eyes. I’m sitting on a concrete step with her head in my lap, and I’m trying real hard to be patient, but I swear the woman is driving me nuts. There’s a giant knot above her left eyebrow and a tiny cut over her ear, but you’d think she’d just received a mosquito bite the way she insists on trying to sit up. Our team doctor is examining her, and he throws me another look. What does he expect me to do?

  I rub circles on the back of her hand and try to calm us both down.

  Dr. Mike slips his lens into his pocket and stands up. “I don’t see anything wrong with your vision, and if you’re telling me the headaches are new . . .”

  “They are,” Olivia says, nodding her head on my lap. I shoot her a glare and brace her head with my fingers. I’m rewarded with an eye roll. Typical, but I don’t care; she can deal with it. “They started a few days ago and just come and go. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

  Mike crosses his arms. “For now I’ll agree with you. My guess is it’s caused by stress. But to be safe, I want you to stay awake for the next four hours, understand?” He sends me a pointed look. “She tries to fall asleep or complains about feeling nauseated anymore, you call me.”

  This time I nod. “I will.” Olivia tries to lean forward; I gently push her back down. I don’t miss the way Mike holds back a grin.

  “She’s okay to get up now. But be careful about it.” This time he addresses her. “I mean it, Olivia. No sudden moves, and I want you to take it slow.” He descends the steps. “Will, keep her awake and call me if you need anything.”

  “I will,” I say after him. As soon as he hits the bottom step, Olivia sits up and scoots away.

  “You didn’t have to baby me.” With a disgusted sound, she stands, completely ignoring the protests of Blake and Kimberly and Jerry to Stop moving so fast! Slow down, Olivia! What do you think you’re doing? You’re not going anywhere.