“Why, that little piece of . . . of . . . tiramisu.” Joey never swore, and never delivered insults. “How dare she?”
The nurse, a brisk, efficient Jamaican woman, was busy taking Joey’s vitals. She shot a sharp glance at Mike. “You’re getting my patient all revved up, mon. Can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“Good,” Joey assured her. “Very good. This is my brother, a famous ballplayer. He’s about to get called up to the major leagues.”
“Unless we’re talking about the Cubbies, I’m gonna have to root against him.”
“Understood. It’s the San Diego Friars,” added Mike. “And it’s not a sure thing, the call-up. You never know. I could get traded. I could get released. It’s baseball. Anything could happen.”
The nurse smiled and unloaded the tray of food. “Well good luck to you then. If this man here likes you, then I’ll have to make some room for a Friar in my heart. He’s a fine man, this here.”
“That he is,” Mike said tightly, because it was too true. The kind of true that could rip your heart out.
The nurse wheeled the cart from the room. Jean-Luc came to Joey’s bedside to inspect the offerings. “Another takeout night,” he proclaimed. “Are you in the mood for I Porcini?”
“Perfect.” Joey turned to Mike. “I see little point in eating anything unappetizing. At this moment, life is too short for hospital food. And I do believe I just figured something out about you and Angela.”
“What?”
“You want to make it to the majors to prove her wrong. In fact, you aren’t entirely over Angela.” Joey’s wry, knowing gaze seemed to penetrate right through to Mike’s worst secrets. The memory of his conversation with Donna in Crush’s pantry came back to him. She’d said the same thing.
“No. The first part, maybe. I mean, yes, there might have been an ‘I’ll show her’ spoken at some point. Then my natural competitiveness took over, and I want to make it because I want to be the best. The best I can be, anyway.” He leaned back in his chair. “The rest is a crock. I’m over Angela. I don’t think about her anymore.”
“You said you stopped believing in love because of her.”
“Yes.”
“Then I disagree. You aren’t completely over her. It’s not that you don’t believe in love. You’re still holding out hope that she’ll want you back.”
Mike nearly toppled his chair backward out of sheer indignation. “Not a chance.”
A lively flush flooded Joey’s cheeks. “Jean-Luc, back me up here. I’m on to something.”
“Certainly, it’s true. Beyond a doubt. A man like Mike, with such a loving heart, doesn’t simply give up on l’amour. He still feels it. Still dreams of it, in his secret self.”
“What?” Mike surged to his feet. “You’re both out of your gay little minds.”
Joey cackled. “We’ve hit a nerve.”
“Bien sur,” agreed Jean-Luc. He scanned through a menu on his phone. “Osso buco for you, mon amour?”
“And a bottle of cognac.”
“You can’t have a bottle of cognac. Aren’t you on a restricted diet? Shouldn’t you be?” Mike protested.
“No, I should not be, and I will not be,” Joey declared. “I’m doing this my own way. I will eat what I want, I will be with whom I choose, and I will say what I want. That’s how I’ve lived, and I see no reason to change that now.”
Mike burrowed a hand through his hair, feeling completely helpless. What magic words would convince Joey he was going to pull through? Was it even true? He watched his brother and Jean-Luc discuss their order with the meticulous attention of two surgeons planning a heart transplant. When they’d finally made their decision, Joey turned back to Mike.
“So. My brother. There’s something I want you to do for me.”
“Anything.”
“At two o’clock tomorrow, a small group will be gathering in the chapel to discuss end-of-life care. I want you to be there.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s important to me. Are you going to argue with your big brother?”
“I’m not arguing. Did you hear me argue?”
“I could see you arguing in your head.”
“Joey, you know how much I love you, but you can’t see into my head.”
“You might be surprised. Something happened with Donna, didn’t it?”
Mike felt his expression shift. He couldn’t maintain a poker face when it came to Donna. His whiplash emotions about her made that impossible. “You’re annoying as fuck, you know that?”
“Two o’clock tomorrow.”
At two o’clock, Mike stepped into the quiet chapel, with its single stained-glass window featuring a sapphire-blue dove against a backdrop of high-rises, and locked gazes with the last person he wanted to see: Angela. She looked incredible, curse her Italian genes. Her long ebony-black hair was swept into a braid that fell over one slim shoulder. She’d lost weight over the past four years, which made the delicate modeling of her cheekbones even more pronounced, her eyes wider and more mysterious, full of secrets.
Mike shook his head, disgusted with himself. Full of secrets? What was wrong with him? He dragged his gaze away and spotted Father Kowalski in the group. He raised a hand in greeting.
After whispering something to the priest, Angela glided toward him. She wore the kind of loose, figure-hiding dress that used to drive him crazy with wondering. “Hello, Mike.”
“Hi, Angela. How are you?”
“I’m well. And you? I’m sorry to hear about your brother.”
Mike stiffened. Sure she was. “Thank you.”
“I mean that sincerely,” she added with a spark of spirit. “I have always wished the best for Joey.”
“That’s so sweet.” He smiled with complete insincerity. “So, what’s the meeting about? Joey wanted me to stop by. I have no idea why.”
A smile touched her lips. “Perhaps he wanted us to cross paths, after all this time.”
He frowned uncertainly. She was probably right; why else would Joey have insisted he come to this particular meeting? Did he really believe that Mike still wanted Angela, and set this up as a way to get them back together? “If he weren’t on his last kidney, I might have a word with him about that.”
An expression of distaste marred the perfection of Angela’s face. A very familiar expression. He used to tiptoe around that look, dreading its appearance. He’d forgotten that feeling, as if he was a little boy getting the kitchen floor dirty.
It crossed his mind that Donna would have found that funny. And that she never looked at him with distaste. Even in their most down-and-dirty sexual . . .
Oops. Chapel. Angela. Broken engagement.
“Anyway, we’re just wrapping up. Would you like to get a cup of coffee in the cafeteria?” Angela was asking him. Just wrapping up, huh? Joey definitely must have planned it this way. After a long hesitation, he agreed, and they left the chapel. It felt completely surreal to be walking beside the woman who had shattered his heart. The woman who had enthralled his horny young imagination for so many years. The woman who’d granted him her virginity once they were engaged, and taken his. Now they were strolling down the hospital corridor as if they were strangers. Punching the elevator button. Watching for the light that would herald the elevator’s arrival.
And he felt . . . nothing.
When he’d first asked Angela to a movie, his heart had been racing so fast he’d practically gasped the words. The first time they’d made love, he kept losing his erection out of sheer anxiety. He’d wanted it to be perfect. Since his only experience was with kissing, he’d holed up in his room with The Joy of Sex and How to Bring a Woman to Orgasm Every Single Time. The first time he unsnapped her bra, his hands had been shaking so hard he punched his own fist. Bruised a knuckle. He�
��d tried everything in the book, but if she’d experienced an orgasm, she’d kept it to herself.
Instead, she’d smiled serenely and said, “Do you feel better now?”
As if the only purpose of sex was to relieve a guy’s blue balls.
The elevator dinged, and the door opened. Great, he had to ride in an empty elevator with Angela. He didn’t want to be alone with her.
Why not? He didn’t have an answer to that, so he stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut, enclosing them in uncomfortable silence. Maybe she was waiting for him to start a conversation, since he’d always been the more talkative of the two of them. But she’d invited him for coffee, not the other way around. He cleared his throat. “Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss, Angela? I don’t have much time.” Meaning, he really wanted to get the hell out of there and get back to Joey.
Her eyes lifted to his. The dark, tranquil beauty of them hit him like a punch in the gut. “Well . . . I heard that you are no longer engaged. The ladies, you know, they like to gossip. They like to talk about you now and then.”
“You shouldn’t listen to gossip.” He didn’t want to discuss Donna with her, or his engagement, or really, any aspect of his life.
“So it’s not true?”
When he didn’t answer, she seemed to come to her own conclusion. “If it’s true, and you are free of your engagement, I wanted you to know that my parents have had a change of heart.”
“Your parents?”
“And me,” she added quickly. “My parents and me. We all think that . . . well, that things might be different if you did become a member of the Friars.”
“I don’t get it. How would things be different? I’m already a member of the Friars organization. Assigned to a Triple A team, but a member of the Friars. They’re the ones who sign my paycheck.”
“Yes, and that’s exactly it. My family believes it might be a sign, the fact that your team has a religious name, a name they can admire. And that if you did play with them, that is, on the field, with the Friars name on your uniform, and an acceptable contract, that you might be able to be trusted to take care of a family.”
Still not understanding, he stared at her blankly. What family was she talking about? An image of goofy Zack giving him a high five flashed into his mind. But Angela didn’t even know Zack. She couldn’t be talking about him. Then it clicked.
Ohhhhh.
“Are you fucking serious?”
She flinched, again with that expression of distaste. Great, he’d offended her with his language, and they’d barely exchanged three sentences. What were they doing? God, these must be the slowest elevators in creation.
“Sorry. I’m used to ballplayers, not sheltered ladies who tap-dance around reality. Let me get this right. Your family would accept me as their son-in-law if I do in fact make it onto the Friars’ roster?”
She flushed a deep crimson, like a color from a stained-glass window, fixing her gaze on the doors as the elevator slowed to a stop. “I know how this might sound. I’m not presuming that you want to be with me again. You were very angry with me. But you always used to say I was the only girl you’d ever loved. So I thought, if there was a way we could try again, maybe you would like to know about it.”
Finally, the elevator doors slid open, and she slipped into the busy lobby. He followed, torn between wanting to flee this conversation and being riveted by it. It was absurd—surreal—did she even want to get back together with him? She hadn’t mentioned any sort of emotion along those lines. Then again, she’d always been an enigma to him.
“What about my brother? He’s still gay.”
“Yes, but . . .” Her gaze slid away from his. “They’ve agreed to overlook that. They might not go as far as family dinners, but it’s still a big step.” She gestured toward the sign for the cafeteria, a movement as graceful as a love sonnet. “Shall we?” That hand. He remembered how he used to watch her studying in school, registering every turn of a page, every raising of her hand.
“One moment. What about you? In this hypothetical relationship, do we invite Joey and Jean-Luc over for dinner?”
Her wide, serene gaze skimmed across his face briefly. “As you say, it’s hypothetical.”
“What if we had a son? And that son turned out to be gay? What then?”
Finally, a reaction. One hand went to her stomach, as if protecting her future offspring, and a flash of passion twisted her face. “Obviously, I would pray that wouldn’t happen. I pray a lot, Mike. I pray for many things. For instance, I prayed I’d see you again, and that you wouldn’t hate me.”
Thunderstruck, taking in the obvious tumult she was undergoing, he realized he’d never seen her express this much emotion. He’d always assumed that she’d sailed on with her life like a swan, never wasting another thought on the one-kidney wonder she’d left behind.
“I don’t hate you, Angela.”
She nodded, a quick flick of her head, and the color faded from her face, the usual creamy serenity returning.
“This is all kind of a surprise . . . to put it mildly . . .”
She stopped him with a slim hand poised between them. How many times had he kissed that wrist, traced every line on her palm, felt the pulse of her delicate veins?
“This isn’t some kind of proposal, Mike. I’ve had four years to think about things, and in some ways I’m a different person. We’d have to start over, learn about each other again. You’d have to win my family over, and you know how much effort that requires.”
“Let me ask you something. You’re at this hospital a lot, aren’t you?”
“Every week or so.”
“And yet you’ve never stopped in to see Joey. You’ve known him since we were kids. Why not, Angela? I just want to understand that.”
She held her head high, the lines of her neck long and graceful as a statue. “I didn’t want to cause any upset to anyone.”
“To your parents.”
“Or to Joey. I thought he might be angry with me.”
Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. No surprise, knowing Angela. She had always hated conflict. That’s why she’d bowed to her parents’ wishes and dumped him. Was there anyone in the world who would fit in with the DiMatteos without any friction at all? “I thought you’d already be married by now.”
“No. I . . .” She hesitated, something churning behind that serene facade. “My parents have someone they want me to marry, but . . . I’m not sure. He’s . . . a little bit older.”
He frowned, leaning closer, all his protective instincts screaming. “That sounds medieval, Angela. They can’t force you to marry someone you don’t want to.”
She let out a completely uncharacteristic snort. “No, they can’t. But they can manipulate and pressure and smother and pray and—” Breaking off, she put a hand to her mouth, as if she could barely believe she’d let those words out.
Well, well. Was Angela finally seeing the whole picture when it came to her family? Would she finally break free and make her own decisions?
Too late for her and Mike, of course. Much too late. Even though all his old hurt and anger had now been transformed into something more like concern. Would she be able to stand up to her parents in this situation? For the first time in her life?
Not his problem, he reminded himself. Not his problem. But it felt wrong, not to help her. She’d been so important to him for so many years.
His phone beeped. He scrambled to dig it out of his pocket. Jean-Luc.
Get up here now.
Without so much as a word of explanation to Angela, he spun back toward the elevator. He punched the button, then saw that the button on the tenth floor was lit up. It would take too long for the elevator to reach him. “Stairs?” he yelled wildly to Angela. Silently, she pointed to an alcove across the lobby. He r
an for it, elbowing people out of the way as he went.
She didn’t follow.
He pounded up the stairs, using every baseball-honed thigh muscle to its maximum capacity. Every wind sprint, every set of squats he’d ever performed, every weight he’d ever lifted bore him up those stairs like a magic carpet. Second floor, third floor, fourth floor . . . hold on, Joey . . . don’t go, Joey . . . I need you . . . please . . . fifth floor . . . open the door . . . where’s his room . . . go . . . go. . .
By the time he reached Joey’s room and flung himself at his bedside, their time together on this earth had run down to its last grains . . . a holding of his hand, a choked “Don’t go, Joey,” a flutter of a smile, a drift of eyelids, a sobbing Jean-Luc, beeping monitors, a last sweet breath . . .
. . . an exhalation . . .
Chapter 21
WORD SPREAD QUICKLY throughout Kilby that Mike Solo’s brother, the one he’d done the PSA about, had passed away. The Kilby Press-Herald even ran an obituary that mentioned his academic career, relation to the Catfish, and his work in the Sudan, where he’d acquired the E coli infection that eventually cost him his life. They even ran a picture of him, which Donna pored over, noticing every similarity to Mike and every difference. He looked a lot thinner, more intellectual, but just as good-humored as Mike.
Her heart ached for him. The next time she saw Zack—the emergency order had been lifted once the end of their engagement was announced—they made a card for Mike. Instead of a bunch of words, they drew hearts and gorillas and tigers and flowers. Zack added a baseball at the last minute. “Thinking of you,” she wrote at the bottom corner. “Love from Donna and Zack.” Zack wrote his own name, which he’d recently learned how to do, then added a strange handlike shape at the end of his name.
“What’s that, Zack-ino?”
“Baseball glove.”
“Hmm, very good choice. Mike loves baseball.”
“It’s the greatest game in the world!” Zack jumped up and down on his chair. She gave him a minute, then settled him back down again. “Where is Mike?”
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