On trips to the West Coast, some players divided into Trivial Pursuit teams. A few guys slept. Dan wouldn’t be catching any “z’s” this time. He settled in with a milkshake and challenged Matt to a game.
After losing three in a row, Dan settled in front of a movie. Serendipity was on. Being a John Cusack fan, he tried it. The romantic theme reminded him of Holly. But instead of being depressed, he enjoyed remembering their time together. Skip moved over to the seat next to him and was soon sucked into the film too.
“This guy’s an idiot. He’ll never find her. What a dumb idea,” Bobby said.
“Yes, he will. It’s a movie. Has to come out happy,” Skip replied.
“Balls! Maybe it’s a dark movie. Maybe everybody gets killed in the end.”
“Yeah, like Schwartzeneggar’s gonna come on with an AK-47 and wipe them all out? You’re the idiot,” Skip said.
“Shut the fuck up! I can’t hear. What did he say?” Matt asked, moving over to join them.
They started taking bets as to how it was going to come out. Was he going to hook up with her in the end or not? Dan, ever optimistic, guessed he would.
“Is it like that with you and Holly?” Matt asked.
“Sort of.”
“How?”
“After the trial, she has to go away into witness protection until sentencing or an appeal is turned down.”
“How long will that be?”
“Who knows?” He made a fist.
“You’ll still be able to talk to her, right?”
Dan shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Matt stared at him.
“They give her a new identity, new job, move her to a new place, and don’t tell anybody.”
“Damn!” Matt took a handful of popcorn.
“And a new cell phone too.”
“You can’t even text, or should I say, sext?”
Dan sighed. “Nope.”
“What if she meets somebody else?”
“I’m screwed.”
“What if you meet somebody else?”
“Not likely. There’s nobody else like Holly. Not for me.” Dan turned his attention back to the screen.
The movie ended up happy. The guys got up to stretch and get food.
“Sure hope you end up like that,” Skip said, patting the pitcher on the back.
Dan smiled. His buddy had read his mind.
The plane landed, and the team boarded the bus to a posh hotel. Dan unpacked then stretched out, staring out the window at the moon. The only thing he could count on was their race to the playoffs. They had to win.
* * * *
Barb pulled up in front of a brick townhouse on Fuller Street, right off of Main in Candlewood, Pennsylvania.
“The landlady is Mrs. Hatch.”
Holly nodded.
Barb smiled. “I wasn’t sure Al’d get a conviction. You were convincing, though.”
“Even though the defense guy tore me apart?”
“Yep. Something about the sincerity of your voice or the look in your eyes.”
“When I was shooting daggers at that bastard?”
Barb chuckled. “Yeah.”
“I was telling the truth. Now that Flash has been convicted, when’s the sentencing? What’s next?”
“I expect the motion for an appeal will be filed in a couple of days. Sentencing will be put off until that’s resolved.”
“You probably don’t have the answer to this, but how long do you think that will take?”
Barb shrugged.
“Thought so.”
“If the appeal is denied and he’s sentenced, I’ll call you as soon as he’s behind bars for good.”
“Then, I’m free to go?”
“Hey, you’re not a prisoner here. You can leave any time, but at your own risk.”
Silence.
“Last time they found you. I wouldn’t chance it, Holly.”
She sighed. “I suppose not. It’s just. Well. Forget it.” She moved to get out, but Barb’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.
“I get it. If it’s real love, he’ll wait for you.”
“Yeah, right. He’s got women crawling all over him. What does he need me for?”
“You’re unique, Holly. Not many women would have the guts you’ve shown. You’re brave.”
“Great. That and a couple of bucks will get me on the subway.”
“You don’t regret what you did, do you?”
“No. It’s the first unselfish, decent thing I’ve done with my life.”
“Do I hear a ‘but’ in there?”
“My parents have just about disowned me. And Dan. Well, we’ll see. But I’m not holding my breath.”
“I thought your father gave you something when the trial was over.”
“He did. A check for twenty grand. So I could live well. And away from them, for a long time. They’re the collateral damage,” Holly said.
“You could say that. They didn’t do anything wrong, but they’re humiliated anyway.”
“About sums it up.”
“Since you’ve got a nest egg, you don’t have to stay here at Teresa Hatch’s place,” Barbara said.
“That money has to last me a long time.”
“You do have a job.”
“I do? Oh, yeah, I do.”
“The apprenticeship at the bakery, remember? It pays just enough to live on.”
“Right, right.”
Barb smiled. “We try to do something to make the people in protection happy. Sometimes we can, sometimes we can’t.”
“It’s a consolation prize. But at least I’ll be learning something. Where is it?”
“Right on Main Street. Three blocks down. Theresa Hatch’s sister, Mary Placer. It’s called Bread and Butter. Hot Dog Girl, no more.”
Holly sensed a blush creeping into her cheeks. “You knew about that?”
“I read it in the paper.”
Holly took a deep breath. “Well, time for me to get going.”
Barb Finn leaned over and gave her a big hug. “Good luck. If anyone can make it through all this and come out ahead, it’s you. Keep in touch. I’ll phone you every week or two. Just to make sure you’re okay.”
“You’ll let me know what happens with the appeal, right?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.”
“Good luck.”
Holly smiled as she opened the car door. She stopped at the top of the steps, turning to watch Barb drive away. A wave of loneliness washed over her. Another new town, strangers, a new job—she’d have to prove herself to everyone all over again. Her shoulders sagged a little as she pushed the bell.
A gray-haired, slim woman wiping one hand on her apron opened the door.
“Hi.”
“You must be the new girl.” A pair of small, brown eyes narrowed.
“Carrie Thomas. Nice to meet you.” Holly stuck out her hand.
“Welcome, Carrie. Come on in. I’ll take you right upstairs to your room.”
Holly followed along, listening to the woman rattle on about the town.
“Dinner’s at six. Breakfast at six thirty. I think Mary wants you at the bakery at seven. Front door’s locked at eleven. No men in the room. Bathroom’s right across the hall. I hope you like it here,” she said, handing the girl a key. “First month’s paid up already. I collect the twenty-fifth of the month before. Rent’s three hundred.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hatch. I’m sure I’ll like it here fine.”
“Call me Tresa, everyone does.” She smiled warmly.
Holly unlocked the door. She entered a lovely room, frilly and girlish, decorated in pink and white. The bed covering was white, but the dust ruffle was pink and white striped. The same color stripes adorned the curtains. She had a corner room, with two windows facing the garden in the back and one facing Fuller Street.
There was a closet, a small writing desk, and a chintz covered wing chair. Sun streamed into the room, making it chee
rful. The walls were painted a warm white, and there was beige wall-to-wall carpeting. Holly toed off her shoes and stretched out on the bed. She wondered if she could put a bird feeder outside her window. Might be less lonely if she had birds visiting.
Holly’s thoughts wandered to Dan, as they had every day since she’d last seen him. She wondered what he was doing at that very moment.
Chapter Fifteen
Early October
The Nighthawks were in the playoffs with the Boston Bluejays. Dan was thankful they would only be riding up to Boston and back, instead of changing time zones. He’d won three games in a row, backed up by the excellent fielding of his teammates. There had been some damn close calls they’d saved. He was grateful to have them shutting down hitters, turning long fly balls into outs.
He headed for the workout room, first warming up on the treadmill then some easy exercises to loosen up his arm muscles. Afterward, he went out to the bullpen and threw some pitches with Matt. Wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants instead of his uniform didn’t disguise him from some of his fans. A few hung around, watching him, with autograph books in their hands. Most were quiet and didn’t interrupt him. Still, their presence disrupted his concentration.
“What the hell?” Matt said, standing up. “What happened to your slider?”
“Too many fans.”
“Get over it. You have to pull it together.”
“I will. I will.”
“This is a waste of time. Let’s go.”
A hot shower revived Dan. He scrubbed the bullpen dust from his skin and washed his hair. Jake was singing while he lathered up. His voice was good, and Dan wondered if the third baseman could have a career in music when his years in baseball were up.
Dan was pitching the first game of the play-offs. That worked for him. Get in first and coast for the rest of the series, as they’d never get back to him in the rotation. They’d win first. Last year, they got aced out by the Orlando Owls. But not this year. They’d creamed the Owls, who had lost their best hitter to free agency. Two of their top pitchers were on the disabled list. So, the ’Hawks took them down. They were going to the World Series this year. He knew it in his bones. He could taste it. But Holly wouldn’t be there to see it. In the locker room, getting ready, she was on his mind.
“Thinkin’ about her again?” Matt asked him.
Dan had stopped denying it. He couldn’t fool his teammates anyway. “Yeah.”
“I’ll go up in the stands and holler ‘hot dogs’ if it’ll make you pitch better,” Matt said.
Dan laughed. “You lack the necessary elements, asshole.”
Matt stuffed two rolls of toilet paper in his shirt. “This better?” He pranced around, taking tiny baby steps and sticking out his butt.
Dan laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe.
“Look, guys, Matt’s gone over to the other side,” Nat piped up.
Within seconds, the room was filled to capacity with Hawks, in various states of undress, hooting, applauding, and hollering “take it off.”
Dan punched his buddy in the shoulder, and Matt shed the rolls and stuck his legs in his uniform pants.
Cal Crawley sauntered in and called the men over. “They’re starting Figueroa today,” he said. “Bringing their biggest gun up against Dan. Rowley Banner is off the DL and playing today.”
“No sweat,” Matt muttered.
“I know Dan can hold most of their lineup, but Banner’s tough.”
Dan nodded.
“My money’s on Dan,” Jake piped up. The room was abuzz with murmurs of agreement from the rest of the team.
“Don’t be a God damn hero, Alexander. If you’re losing it, for Chrissakes, give the signal. I’d be surprised if you make it to seven innings today.”
“I can handle them.”
“Got that Hot Dog Girl out of your head?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. When you’re focused, no one can beat you. Skip, watch for Mullins to steal. He likes to come in cleats first. Same with you, Jake. He’s lookin’ to break a record this year, and this game counts.”
The two infielders nodded.
“Well, we’re on our way. This time, we’re going all the way. World Series. You’re the best. You deserve it. Now, go out there and play like the team you are.”
The men applauded.
Crawley headed for the door, but stopped and turned. “Dan!”
“Yes?”
“Stay away from the press. They’re likely to ask you a ton of shit about that ruckus with the girl and the trial. Just a waste of your time. No distractions today.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll handle those nosy reporters,” Cal said, then his lanky frame disappeared through the doorway.
The men suited up and put their hands in for their team cheer. When I put this cap on, Holly will disappear from my mind. With cap in hand, Dan loped out onto the field with his teammates and stood for the national anthem. During the song, he said a prayer, hoping Holly was safe. When it was over, he donned the cap, and narrowed his eyes. Dan Alexander, star pitcher, headed for the mound. The duel between the ’Jays and the ’Hawks was about to begin.
* * * *
Holly had no television in her room. She had to share the one in the den with the Hatch family. Theresa, her husband, Zack, and their eighteen-year-old son, Sean, piled into the small room. Tresa and her son sat on the sofa while Zack eased back in the leather lounge chair. That left only a wing chair not taken.
Holly arrived home at seven, tired after a thirteen-hour shift. But she knew the game was on and couldn’t wait to watch Dan pitch.
“Left a plate warming in the oven for you, honey. Bring it in and pull up a chair,” Tresa called out when the young woman closed the front door.
At the sound of the national anthem, she hustled into the kitchen and grabbed the plate and a glass of water. Then, she plopped down on the wing chair and picked up her fork.
“Nighthawks are playin’ the Bluejays,” Zack said.
Holly bit her tongue to avoid giving away that she knew exactly who was playing and, especially, who was pitching. She shoveled forkfuls of the shells with meat sauce into her mouth as she watched Dan warm up on the mound. I wonder if he misses me? Nah. Probably not. Too much on his mind.
Close up shots showed a slight furrow in his brow, a sign of his concentration as he got the sign from Matt Jackson behind the plate. God, it was good to lay eyes on him.
The wind-up and the pitch. Strike!
“Strike! Strike! He’s gonna win the game!” Holly bolted up out of her seat and danced around.
The Hatch’s stared at their boarder.
“That’s just the first pitch, miss,” Sean said.
“I know, I know. But when he pitches a strike on the first pitch, it means he’s gonna win the game.”
“How do you know that? It’s only one pitch. No use getting all excited. There’s a long way to go,” Zach said.
Holly returned to her seat and finished her dinner. At the commercial, she brought her dishes back to the kitchen, returning with a plate and a few brownies. “Here, Mary thought you might like these while you’re watching the game.”
They passed the plate around. Holly bit her lip as Rawley Banner got a ground-rule double off Dan. She growled.
“You’re taking this game mighty personally,” Tresa said, turning a quizzical gaze on the girl.
“I’m a big fan.”
“Baseball?” Tresa asked.
“Yeah. ’Specially the Nighthawks.”
“Got a crush on that cute pitcher, maybe?”
Holly couldn’t stop the heat from flooding her face. “Maybe. Sort of.”
Sean gave her a long look. “You’re pretty, but a guy like Dan Alexander can have any girl he wants. He’s probably datin’ a movie star.”
Holly covered her mouth with her hand to hide a smile then croaked out, “Probably.”
“Nope, Sean. You’re wrong about that. He’s g
ot somethin’ goin’ with that Hot Dog Girl. Don’t you read the papers?” his father said.
Holly swallowed. “Oh, look! Another strike out. And he left that big ape on second!”
Having successfully drawn the Hatch’s attention back to the game, she let out a breath. That was a close call. Too close to repeat. She forced herself to be quiet as she watched the action.
Bottom of the first inning and Nat Owen was coming to bat. Scuddy Figueroa pitched a sinker to Nat, who let it ride for ball one. Nat walked, but Skip and Bobby each struck out. Jake punched a line drive over the head of their second baseman, and Nat went all the way to third.
“Come on, Matt,” Holly said, under her breath.
But the others heard her.
“You sure are a big fan,” Zack said, with a chuckle.
“I love baseball,” she admitted.
In this game, every out, every inning, counted. They watched Matt set his jaw and glare at the pitcher.
“He’s trying to psyche him out,” Zack said.
“Never do that with Figueroa,” Sean replied.
Something had happened, because the ball came sailing right down the middle, just where Matt liked it. He pounded the sucker for a two-run homer. The fans went wild. Holly jumped up and danced with Sean, who’d come out of his seat too. A three-run lead put Dan in safer territory, though it was still early.
The ’Jays got a run in the second inning, but the ’Hawks were still leading. The next three innings went by quickly as the game became a pitcher’s duel. Tension rose in Holly’s body. She prayed for her lover to win, but a two-run lead was slim against such a good team. Tresa popped popcorn. Zack, Sean, and Holly fell on the gigantic bowl as if they hadn’t just eaten two hours earlier.
Holly watched Dan wipe the sweat from his face with his sleeve. He shook off Matt’s first sign then the second. She read the frustration in his face. It was the fifth inning.
“Alexander can’t hold out much longer,” Sean said. “He’s getting tired.”
“I bet he makes it to the seventh. I know he’d like to go the distance,” Holly said.
“How do you know?” Zack trained his gaze on her. “No one does that anymore. You can’t go for nine throwing hundred-mile-an-hour pitches.”
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