Caught Looking

by Lucy McConnell

  He yanked off his ball cap and scrubbed his hands through his hair in worry. A yellowed streetlight cast an eerie glow on the grass as the sprinklers kicked on. He jumped out of the way to avoid getting wet just as a pair of headlights turned in to the small parking lot. The engine made a light ticking noise that he recognized right away.

  Clover barely had the engine off before he yanked the door open and hugged her. She screamed and pushed against him, her efforts not strong enough to stop him, but her intent was. He jumped back. “Clover—it’s me.”

  Her hand was over her heart and she panted. “You scared the living snot out of me.”

  Dustin approached again, this time much slower. “I scared you? You haven’t returned my calls or texts for days. I thought you were in a ditch somewhere.”

  “So you decided to attack me in a dark parking lot?” She ripped off her seat belt and scrambled out of the car.

  Dustin gave her plenty of room. “I was worried out of my mind.”

  “You’re out of your mind, all right.” She pressed a hand to her head. Her beautiful hair was gathered into a messy bun at the back of her neck. She wore a long black skirt and a blush-pink blouse that made her skin look rosy—even in the ugly overhead light.

  They both stopped their restless moving and locked eyes.

  Whatever they’d been arguing about melted away, and Dustin reached for her. “I missed you.” He wasn’t afraid to say it to her, although she’d struggled to say it to him. Maybe he should have taken that as a sign …

  “Dustin.” She said his name with so much regret that it built a wall of brick between them before he blinked.

  He dropped his arms to his sides. “What’s going on, Clover?”

  She looked up as if trying to read the answer in the stars. “Nothing. I just, I have all these thoughts.”

  He lifted his eyebrows but waited silently, hating the sense of dread that seeped out of the shadows.

  She shifted, kicking a pebble off into the grass. “We come from two different worlds.”

  “So?” he challenged. She’d once thought he threw his money around and lived an extravagant lifestyle, but after the time they’d spent together, she should know better. Did she still see a spoiled child who refused to grow up? He thought they’d moved past that. Jeez, what was it going to take?

  “So, I have people who need me. I can’t take a week off to play.”

  His head spun. “Is this about the All-Star break? It wasn’t all play for me. You know that. I still had workouts and—”

  The shake of her head was hardly there, but he caught it and knew that it meant she wasn’t listening to him—not really. She’d already made up her mind. Like the pitch he’d watched fly by in St. Louis—she was going to watch him leave and be caught looking. He could read it all right there on her face: the words spelled out in her dropped gaze, the small line between her eyes, and the way she curled in on herself.

  “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” Her words were cold and breathy.

  Dustin’s heart stopped beating altogether, and he didn’t breathe for a count of twenty. When he finally sucked in air, it was quick and jabbed at his insides. He pulled his keys out of his pocket. Yeah, he drove a nice car; that didn’t make him a bad person. He’d been himself with Clover, not once pretending to be smarter or better than he was, and it backfired.

  He took two steps back even though his body fought him. His arms knew she fit inside them just right, and they hung heavy at his sides. “I’ll leave your name on the tickets if you want to catch a game.” The offer was as real as it was stupid, a lobbed ball begging her to swing.

  She stayed quiet. Her shoulders bounced, and he hated walking away while she cried. There wasn’t anything he could do about it, though. If she wouldn’t swing at the pitch, then they’d have to take the out.

  Chapter Thirty

  Several days had gone by since Clover said goodbye to Dustin by the light of a half moon. She’d stumbled into her apartment and dropped her purse by the door without even turning on a light. The next morning she woke up on the couch with a wet throw pillow— stained by her tears— under her cheek.

  Life didn’t get better after that.

  She hoped it would. Hoped the pain in her chest would subside, that the gaping hole in each day that was once filled with Dustin would stop gnawing at her.

  She seriously considered running away. The anonymity of living on the street, of once again being invisible, was tempting. The only things holding her in town were The Pantry regulars and Jane and Maddie.

  Every morning, on her way to The Pantry, Clover visited Serena in the hospital, taking her little treats and encouraging her to get better soon. Not only was Serena reeling from what Chad had done to her; she ached for her son. Damarius hadn’t been allowed to visit her, but she hoped once she was released she could see him at his foster home. They speculated on how long it would be before Serena’s bruises faded and the swelling on her face went down enough that Damarius wouldn’t see the horror she’d experienced.

  Clover wasn’t allowed to visit him either, and she prayed daily for his emotional and physical well-being. Chad was in jail. Serena had filed charges against him, and he wasn’t able to post bail. It would be a couple months before his case went to trial—she hoped they locked him away for a good long time. Clover applauded Serena’s newfound determination to get Chad out of her life once and for all. If anything good came from all this, it would be that Serena and Damarius could start fresh without the threat of Chad finding them hanging over their heads.

  Despite the good she saw in the world and the silver linings even around the darkest clouds, Clover couldn’t shake the blues. Her life, which had been so colorful and bright with Dustin, was now painted in shades of navy, cobalt, salt, and pepper. With a heavy sigh, she entered the hotel lobby.

  “Hey, Jeff.” She set her purse on the counter without making a sound. That was life these days, too, like she was a ghost of her former self and therefore didn’t make the same impression on the world around her. Her footsteps were slower, quieter; her voice barely sounded above a mumble in her ears; and doors shut behind her with a muted click.

  Jeff hustled about, shoving his wallet and phone in his pockets. The big screen was off. Clover had taken to leaving it dark instead of watching her team. She wasn’t ready to see Dustin yet and was, therefore, avoiding baseball altogether.

  “Thanks for coming in a little early. Tonight’s the city championships, and David left his bat in my car.” He clicked through the screens to log out for the night. “He’s called three times to see if I’m going to make it.”

  Baseball. Her soul yearned to be in the stands. If she closed her eyes, she could smell the crisp air and feel the humidity coming off the grass. In a place as dry as St. George, moisture rippled in the outfield. The Redrocks were out of town, so she wasn’t tempted to use the tickets Dustin had promised her. “You’d better get going.”

  “I am.” He rounded the desk. “Room 204 has called for a blanket, and 119 says the pool is out of towels.”

  Clover held back her sigh. “I’m on it.” Jeff left, and she clocked in. Besides the short to-do list, the lobby was quiet. She decided to deliver the blanket first. Room 204 was a woman and her elderly mother. The mother was apparently chilly, so Clover took an extra minute to show them how to adjust the thermostat. They said thank you, and she headed back to the front desk.

  Two men had come in while she was gone and turned on the television. They had sodas and bags of chips open on the coffee table and were discussing the Redrocks lineup.

  Clover stopped in her tracks and stared, soaking in the commentator’s easy way of talking about everything and anything that had to do with the sport, from the clips of the mascot teasing some guy about drinking his beer to the kids in ball caps sipping frozen lemonade.

  “I’d like to go to a game there one day. The park looks huge.”

  “Wide-angle lens,” said Clove
r before she thought better of interrupting these two.

  They flipped around. “What?” demanded the one with a large potbelly.

  Clover lifted one side of her mouth—even that much of a smile was a major effort. “The parks all look big on television, but that’s just a trick of the wide-angle lens. I’ll bet you could sit in outfield seats and still feel like you were on the grass.”

  The men exchanged a can-you-believe-this-chick look.

  Clover shrugged. “You should go. Being at a game is—” Her voice caught and she had to clear the lump from her throat before she could continue. “It’s a real treat.” She ducked behind the desk to check the phones, keeping her head down to hide the tears that threatened to fall. She missed baseball. She missed feeling like she was part of a huge family of fans. Baseball had given her the ability to break out of her shell and talk to strangers—like the men on the couch arguing with the ump behind the plate over a strike. She hadn’t hesitated to share her knowledge, and she was confident in what she knew.

  Surely, watching some of the game would help ease the vice around her chest. A dose of baseball was just what the doctor ordered.

  There were forms to fill out and things to do, but none of it was too distracting as the game unfolded. Truly, her heartache eased as the first two innings unfolded, and she took a deep, satisfying breath for the first time in days.

  “Crap. Colt’s up next.” The guy with the belly flung himself back into the cushions.

  Clover slammed her eyes closed. She couldn’t watch, couldn’t bear to see him look dashing in his uniform, because it would dash her to pieces. Instead, she listened to the announcers.

  “Dustin Colt has had an on-again, off-again year.”

  “That’s right, Carl. When he’s on point, he hits it out of the park, but he’s been in a slump for a while now.”

  “There’s no way to explain what happens in a player’s head when he’s at the plate. Here’s the windup … the pitch is low and inside. Dustin steps out and adjusts his grip on the bat.”

  Clover squeezed her eyes tighter to fight off the urge to peek. One glimpse of him could be her undoing.

  “Strike one. That was a wicked sinker. He’s pulled a strikeout of three guys with that pitch tonight. Colt didn’t fall for it, though.”

  Clover clasped her hands in front of her chest. Two balls, no strikes—he has a swing to give. “Come on, Dustin,” she pleaded.

  “Colt is locked and loaded. He swings and misses the curve. Now, I don’t know why he reached for that one, Carl.”

  Clover’s fingers began to turn white and tingle with loss of blood, but she couldn’t pry them apart.

  “He swings at the same pitch!” The announcer sounded horrified. “If I’m the pitcher, I know what I’m throwing next.”

  Come on, Dustin. A base hit—that’s all we need. It was all he needed, too: a chance to get on base and get some confidence back. She clearly remembered the look of devastation that crossed his face when she’d broken things off with him. In that moment, he’d questioned if he was good enough, and she was too cowardly to give him the old it’s not you, it’s me speech. If he could get a hit, she wouldn’t feel like she’d destroyed him, and maybe the guilt and anguish would lessen enough that she might survive losing him.

  “Strike three. And that’s another disappointing at bat for Dustin Colt.”

  Clover dropped her head to the desk. She’d ruined everything.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dustin sat on the bench, letting the heat bake his skin. He’d been at the field for hours of pregame work. Sweat trickled from his neck all the way between his shoulder blades. He’d have to shower before putting on his uniform—or maybe he wouldn’t. What did it matter anyway?

  “Hey—you just gonna sit there?” called Brayden. He and the other pitchers had shagged balls during batting practice. They were as sweaty as the rest of them.

  Dustin lifted a hand in acknowledgment. “Maybe in a while.” The heat made him drowsy, which made it harder to think in a straight line, which made it easier for his thoughts to drift away from Clover.

  Brayden took the spot next to Dustin. He downed half a bottle of a yellow sports drink. “Why’re you such a Debbie Downer?”

  Dustin turned away from him. He wasn’t in the mood for brotherly love today—not the way Brayden dished it out. “I stunk it up in Texas.” He gave the obvious answer.

  “You’ve stunk up other states. Why is this one bothering you so much?”

  Dustin’s jaw hurt from clenching it so hard. “Maybe I should quit now. If my stats sink any lower, they’re going to cancel my contract. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be remembered on blooper reels and strikeout recaps.”

  He suddenly wished he had a bat in his hands and a thousand balls in a pitching machine. He’d love to have something to hit; the anger that coursed through him was almost as strong as the lethargy had been.

  “Whoa.” Brayden read his face and put up both hands. “Where is this coming from? You’re Mr. Baseball.”

  “I was.” His anger deflated. Clover would have liked that nickname: Mr. Baseball. “Baseball deserves better than me.”

  Brayden shook his head. “Dude—you are baseball. You live it, you love it, you’d marry it if you could.”

  Dustin rolled his eyes.

  “Do not swing at me—I’m starting tonight and I don’t need your crap. But I gotta ask: is this about Clover?”

  Dustin shifted in his seat. “That didn’t exactly work out.”

  “Did she get jealous of your job?”

  The image of Clover’s face lighting up when they walked into the locker room shook Dustin to his core. “The opposite. She loves baseball.”

  Brayden’s mouth fell open, and then he jumped to his feet and pulled on Dustin’s arm. “Don’t be an idiot. Get up. Go get her. And bring her right back here. I’ll call the preacher.”

  Dustin shook off Brayden’s hold. “What are you talking about?”

  “If you found a woman who loves baseball as much as you do—you’ve got to marry her. We can make this happen in under an hour. Come on.” Brayden’s grin was real. He continued to shove Dustin towards the locker room door.

  Dustin had had enough. He planted his feet and pushed back, sending Brayden stumbling. “What am I supposed to do, tie her up and throw her in the back of my car?”

  “If you think that will work.”

  “It won’t.”

  “Try it.”

  “You’re an idiot.” Dustin made for the door on his own. He was done with this conversation.

  “You’re a bigger idiot if you let her get away,” Brayden called after him.

  Dustin ran his hand down his face. They had a home game tonight, and he prayed that he’d look up in the stands and see Clover in his seats. That was the prayer he carried in his heart. The prayer that carried him through a half-hearted shower and the bitter feeling of sliding into a uniform he might not be allowed to wear much longer.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Clover scanned the parking lot, looking for a certain shiny sports car. She didn’t actually expect Dustin to be here, but Jane said his donation check cleared, so she’d hoped he’d show up for one of his annoying photo ops. The stalls were decidedly sports-car-less, and a corner of her dried-out heart crumbled away. At this rate, her heart would be completely gone by the time the Redrocks left town again.

  They were playing at home tonight, and traffic to the game was backed up along I-15. She’d taken the side roads and made it to work right on time. Gathering her strength as if she were about to hike a mountain, she slipped out of the car, gathered the groceries from the back, and slouched into the building.

  Jane was at the counter, helping a woman with three small children. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes darted quickly to Clover as she entered, daring Clover to judge her for being there.

  Clover offered a small smile, the best one she could manage these days, and headed toward the kit
chen. The door swung open, and Clover came up short at seeing someone already behind the counter chopping vegetables. “Serena?”

  “Clover!” Serena dropped the knife on the cutting board and skittered around the counter to give her a hug.

  “It’s so good to see you up and about.”

  “You too.”

  Clover set her groceries on the counter and returned the hug, feeling the delicate outline of Serena’s ribs beneath her hands. Living on the streets had been hard on Serena, and she’d bet her car Serena skipped a meal or two most days so Damarius could have more to eat.

  Clover pulled back and covertly inspected Serena as she went back to work. The right side of her face had a green cast where the bruises had been purple and black before. She moved slowly and carefully with the brace around her rib cage. They’d been fractured but not shattered. Her left hand sported a splint that held her pinkie and ring fingers still. It didn’t stop her from slicing the eggplant. The cabbage might prove to be more of a challenge; Clover would do that one.

  “What are you doing?” Clover asked.

  “I’m making dinner.” She pointed to The Pantry logo on her apron. “I am your new coworker.”

  “What?” Clover’s lips cracked when she smiled, like a book that hadn’t been off the library shelf in years. She laid out several pieces of bread and began spreading peanut butter on them.

  “When Jane came to visit at the hospital, she offered me a job here.” Serena lifted one shoulder. “It’s not much, but they’re letting me stay in the guest room until I can get my feet under me, so I don’t have to pay rent yet. I’ve never worked before, so I need some experience before I can get hired somewhere else.” She slowly bobbed her head. She spoke as if she was talking herself through the process and reassuring herself that all would be well.