The Catcher and the Lie

by Rita Oberlies

  Nick was in Florida for a three-game series against Tampa. They had completed two more sessions that week. His batting average was inching in the right direction. Abby figured one more session, pulling everything together, would help him get his numbers back to where they were prior to the slump. At least she was praying for that outcome.

  Her other prayers were in a holding pattern. Despite her intentions, they had shared little more than an occasional kiss since the night at the ball park. The kisses were creating an even deeper hunger for Abby. Nick, on the other hand, seemed more than content to treat their relationship like a sixth-grade courtship. It confused her.

  This morning she feared she had stepped over the line. On a quick trip to the mall she fell in love with a beautiful set of denim blue casual china. Without thinking it through, she purchased a set of eight complete place settings. After throwing in stemware and flatware she limped back to her car, thrilled with her selection.

  It wasn’t until she was pulling into her driveway that Abby recognized the insanity of her actions. She had no place buying kitchenware for him. Two days ago when Nick mentioned his parents had finalized plans to visit in September, she immediately thought of his puce plates. He hesitantly admitted that his Internet shopping expedition had been less than fruitful. Too many options. Too many steps. Too little time.

  The team returned on Monday. Abby figured she still had over twenty-four hours to return the plates without ever mentioning them to Nick. She would wait to decide until her brain felt less like day-old applesauce.

  When Sunday afternoon rolled around Abby was bored. Bridget was visiting her parents. The Bisons didn’t play until evening and a revised syllabus for her Freshman Literature class was sitting on Ben’s desk awaiting feedback. Sitting in her backyard within spitting distance of her Elmo sprinkler, a special gift from Grace, she thought about getting dressed. An old pair of college shorts and a cut-off T-shirt made her presentable only to the birds currently grazing at her feeder. The effort seemed hardly worth it.

  The soft spray of water carried to her legs when the air stirred, making the high temperatures bearable. She closed her eyes. Her life had been stuck in neutral for a long time. It was a safe, comfortable place but also one that left her itching for more. On the surface Abby liked playing the part of a struggling free spirit. Refusing to follow her parents’ wishes, sticking with work that suited her temperament if not her wallet. Even avoiding settling down, instead living in a much loved shoe box.

  This time the unsettled pit in her stomach wasn’t caused by envy for the fulfillment Bridget had found. She could pinpoint with certainty the cause of her present frame of mind. A phone call. An innocuous one at that.

  When her phone rang last night she had been sorely tempted to let the machine pick up. The late hour usually meant her mother. It was Nick.

  Her surprise was surpassed only by his. They talked for a long time. Curled in bed with his voice in her ear was an intimacy she hadn’t expected. She could have stayed on the phone all night. It wasn’t until the end of the call that he admitted how hard it had been to pick up the phone. In the end his desire to connect with her outweighed his hesitation. They were both in foreign territory, unsure what path to follow.

  The phone rang. It was only two in the afternoon, which meant Nick wasn’t on the other end. The disappointment was sharp. His game would start within the hour, so he would be in warm up mode right now.

  It was Ben.

  “How’s your mood, McCabe?”

  Abby smiled. “Guess? I’m sitting on a Daffy Duck beach towel, about eight feet from my sprinkler, dreaming about Jimmy Buffett.”

  “He’s pushing sixty,” Ben said. “Maybe I should introduce you to my dad. Other than a weird tuna fish fetish he’s a decent catch.”

  “Call me your stepmother. I want to see how that would sound.”

  “You’re sicker than I am, Abby. Anyway, I have a purpose in breaking up your beach blanket party.”

  Abby let out an exaggerated groan. “Clearly you want a favor. Let me pull the phone away from my ear first. That way I can say no without knowing what you really asked.”

  “Cute,” Ben said. “Your childish frivolity is almost charming.”

  “Tsk. Tsk. Not the most effective method for sweetening my mood.”

  “Tomorrow night I’m having the new T.A’s over for dinner. Just a low key barbeque. Are you free?”

  Abby stifled a real groan. Socializing with Ben was easy. Socializing with the department was less appealing. “Who else will be there?”

  “I should probably invite the whole staff. But I’m not feeling politically correct. Right now it’s strictly the assistants.”

  “Well, that makes it more difficult to refuse. I’ve met Marie and Jennifer. They were nervous but nice.”

  “That just leaves Colin,” Ben said. “It won’t be a long night. I promise. Three hours max.”

  “The Bisons are back in town Monday. I’ll have to cancel Bridget out first. I want to make sure she’s not emotionally scarred if I ditch her.”

  He laughed. “Thanks, Abby. Tell your cousin you have a hot date. That way she won’t heap on the guilt.”

  The worst was over. Each trip to the plate brought him one step closer to the old Nick. Abby’s unconventional ideas were working. Instead of focusing on his grip or his stance, he silently recited poetry. From the on-deck circle until the ball reached the plate, the words of Robert Frost floated through his brain. After hours of gently probing his mind, without of course stating the ultimate reason, Abby had decided that Frost was his personal slump buster.

  It had been tough to swallow at first. In fact, the first game he hadn’t been able to even remember the poem she had hand picked for him. But Tampa was a breakthrough. He must have recited Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening more than a dozen times. Nick went six for twelve, knocking two runs in during the three-game series. He was back.

  Mark had busted his chops. It got so bad that Nick actually admitted that Abby had been the key to his turn around. Instead of the ribbing he anticipated, Mark had actually offered congratulations. He said some guys had a hard time putting her advice into practice so quickly. Since Abby was a stickler for maintaining player privacy, Nick had no idea what methods she used on struggling teammates. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.

  That night, as he crouched behind the plate fielding warm up pitches, he thought about what he would say to her later. Thanks seemed small and inadequate. “Come back to my place” would have ended his other slump, but she was unlikely to view it as a reward for her successful efforts.

  Halfway through the game he realized she wasn’t coming. In her normal seat a petite blonde sat, chatting up a storm with Bridget. His disappointment didn’t surprise him, but his anger did. He was mad. Abby should have told him she wasn’t going to be here. For that matter, where the hell was she? It was a Monday night. Not a big date night, but Abby had a tendency to buck convention. He didn’t like where his head was. Jealousy was an emotion he had little experience with.

  Even when his marriage imploded, jealousy had never taken root. Discovering Alyssa’s infidelity pushed a lot of buttons. Resentment. Resignation. Sadness. His world had changed, but his heart hadn’t shattered. He knew that was a poor reflection on his marriage, but it was the truth. Nick ached with the urge to kick Paul’s ass. Alyssa’s actions were a betrayal, but Paul’s sins were far graver.

  Paul not only had a wife at home but two young children. His family life was untouched. His wife unaware. His conscience clean. Other than insiders within the organization in Tampa, no one knew the depth of his deceptions.

  Alyssa deserved a heaping dose of scorn. Not from Nick, because that injury was inevitable. Even if Paul hadn’t been in the picture his marriage would have disintegrated. Monica and her children were the true victims. And in that regard Alyssa was as guilty as Paul.

  Nick wasn’t sure if the liaison was over. He didn’t want to know. On t
hose occasions Alyssa broached the topic, he cut her off. It was the one subject where his advice would never change. Paul was poison. Nick couldn’t save her when she wasn’t willing to remove herself from the unhealthy situation.

  The one thing he didn’t want was the media pouncing on the scandalous relationship. Paul was the only one truly deserving of the slaying the tabloids could deliver. His family would be destroyed in the process. That was not an option as far as Nick was concerned.

  It was a rough night. The team’s six-game winning streak came to an end. Nick had managed to pull off two singles. Not bad. Just not enough to jolt the team. He cleared the locker room in record time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bridget. At least some of his luck remained unchanged.

  “You’re looking solid, Valente,” Bridget said, sitting in a small lounge across the hall from the clubhouse.

  He ignored the other faces in the room, though some were vaguely familiar, and focused on Bridget. “Your cousin is something of a miracle worker.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “She does have a unique touch. What are you doing loitering around here?”

  The tone of voice was a dead giveaway. Bridget knew exactly what he was doing. She simply refused to make it easy on him.

  “Looking for Abby,” he said, amused by the mixed reaction on her face.

  “So, was she supposed to meet up with you after the game?”

  “We didn’t have plans. But I’m guessing you knew that.”

  She looked down, and then lifted her gaze. “No. I wasn’t sure. Abby has developed the nasty habit of being rather tight lipped. Highly unusual for her.”

  “Really? Any idea why?”

  Bridget released a frustrated sigh. “I have my suspicions.”

  Nick figured he played some role in those suspicions based on her expression. He ignored the urge to clarify his relationship with Abby. “Where is she tonight?”

  “Ah, the reason you’re really here. She’s at a dinner party.”

  Nick swallowed hard. He had no idea who Abby socialized with beyond Bridget and the team. His ignorance grated on already strained nerves.

  “Sounds like a family obligation,” he said. “Abby has told me a little bit about your Aunt Cindy.”

  She laughed, leaning in closer to his chair. “Nick, if that was your polite way of asking for more details you need not bother. Just ask outright.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t enjoy this so much.”

  “It’s hard not to,” she said. “Abby is with a group of co-workers. The chair of her department is a friend and he was holding a small party tonight.”

  Nick wanted to know more. It was impossible to ask without raising Bridget’s curiosity even further. As it stood now, Abby would probably be miffed with him. She had made it clear she wanted to keep their friendship off the radar completely. At the time he understood, even shared, her reasoning. Now it irked him.

  He turned toward the door. “My knees feel like they belong to my great grandfather. I’m going to head out.”

  Bridget reached out, latching on to his arm. “You’re sending out a lot of crazy signals, Nick. Should I be worried?”

  He smiled, trying to alleviate her concern. “Worrying will only put lines on your pretty face. Catch you later.”

  His drive home was short. It would have been even shorter if he hadn’t driven through Abby’s neighborhood first. Her driveway was empty and her house was in shadows. Nick was at loose ends. He knew the reason and it increased his concern. The small hope that she had called in his absence was snuffed out when he saw the solid red light of his answering machine.

  He had tried to call Alyssa to check up on her only to discover she was out of town. Tampa was playing in Pittsburg that night and Nick hoped that was not where his ex-wife had ventured. Her tightrope walk was a dangerous one. He hoped it didn’t take a fall to change her behavior. He had been Alyssa’s safety net and he wasn’t up to playing that role much longer.

  Grabbing a bag of ice and a diet Coke he escaped to his room. When he had moved in last April he passed up the master bedroom. The cherry wood floors and cathedral ceiling created a strange echo that intensified the loneliness he couldn’t shake since his arrival in Boston. The small room he had chosen was on the first floor, tucked in behind the kitchen. After painting the room a deep navy he added a queen bed, a 42-inch flat screen television and a dresser. Since he hoped to be living somewhere else next spring, he made no other alterations to the house.

  Stretching out on his comforter, he tucked a pillow under his right knee. The ice felt good. It numbed the ache that came after too many hours crouched down behind the plate. Sleep came late and morning early.

  Abby wished she had the physical capability of kicking her own butt. She deserved a swift boot this morning. Long after the dinner party had ended she had stayed swapping stories with Ben. He was an outsider when it came to Nick. Bending his ear was safe. Not that he had offered up advice. Ben was an active listener but a reluctant interloper. His real talent came in helping her clear through her own cobwebs.

  Standing on Nick’s doorstep at ten in the morning, unannounced and probably unwelcome, almost had her retreating to her car. In theory, the decisions she reached at Ben’s prodding sounded reasonable. In practice, they were strikingly pathetic.

  The chime of the doorbell matched the home’s exterior. Loud and rather obtrusive. After thirty seconds passed with no hint of activity inside, Abby pivoted and made fast tracks along the brick paved path. The sound of the door behind her opening left her muttering a colorful oath that she saved for special occasions.

  “Not so fast, McCabe,” Nick said, in a gravelly voice that left no doubt she had interrupted his sleep.

  Her legs and her heart stopped. She was going to throw in a good butt kick for Ben. He was at least partly responsible for her latest misstep. She shortened the gap between the door and her feet, still keeping a healthy distance between them.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I definitely need to sign up for a Miss Manners class. I should have called.”

  Nick’s grin was warm. The sight of him dressed only in a pair of cut-off sweatpants put a matching grin on her face. The view of his chest was almost worth her growing embarrassment. Almost.

  “Don’t go to the trouble on my account,” he said, closing the gap between them to mere inches. “You’re the kind of surprise that makes a man want to get out of bed in the morning.”

  She closed her eyes, willing her pulse to slow down. “Now here I thought you were out of practice. Those lines flow off your tongue as smoothly as Frost.”

  He palmed her hand, slowly leading the way back into his home. “Hide behind the sarcasm if you must. You know I’m not big on throwing out lines to impress a woman.”

  He was peeved. She could have ignored his barb, but it would only prove her to be the coward that he already suspected.

  Abby stopped short, forcing Nick to halt. “I’m glad my being here is the kind of surprise you like.” She turned, motioning back to the entryway. “I actually have another surprise for you. It’s in the car.”

  His eyes widened. He extended his hand, palm out. “Give me your keys. I’ll grab it for you.”

  “Okay,” Abby said. “It’s the two bags in my backseat.”

  Nick returned, weighed down by the large shopping bags. He walked past her and moved down a wide hall into a sunken living room. She followed, gripped by another bout of insecurity.

  “Please don’t read anything into this,” Abby said. “It was an impulse buy.”

  Nick wasted no time in opening the first bag. Pulling out the large square box, his face was inscrutable.

  “I just figured, well…your travel schedule the next two weeks is crazy,” Abby said. “The last thing you probably have time to do is shop. If they’re not your style I can…”

  He leaned down and placed a light kiss on her cheek. “Let’s see. You’ve helped me with my game. Now you’re helping me avoid a parental lecture on p
roper home essentials. I think I’m racking up a lot of debts with you.”

  Abby turned, pointing to the box. “The blue seemed like a safe choice, but they may not match your kitchen décor. I also picked up some basic glasses and utensils.” Talking allowed her to ignore the strange look that replaced his normal grin.

  Nick placed the boxes on the couch behind him. “They’re perfect, Abby. Of course, my mother will immediately know a woman picked them out for me.”

  “Oh,” Abby said. “I figured they looked like something a man would choose.”

  He nodded. “Only if a guy had taste. My mother knows my talent in that area is nonexistent.” Nick folded his hands across his bare stomach. “How was your dinner party last night?”

  The change in subject was a surprise. His knowledge of her whereabouts, a shock. “Painless,” Abby said. “A couple of the new teaching assistants and the department chair.”

  “I missed you at the game.” He moved his hands down to her hips. “Remember when I said I was going to do the right thing, and not just focus on what I wanted. I’m losing that battle.”

  She tilted her head up. “How so?”

  His thumbs rubbed along the soft flesh of her stomach. “I should be able to block you out of my head. I’ve never met a woman that I haven’t been able to mentally shake when I needed to.”

  Abby couldn’t control the shiver that ran all the way from where his thumbs danced along her midriff to the hair along her neck line. “Maybe you’re not trying hard enough.”

  “Oh, trust me I’ve tried. For your sake more than my own.”

  Abby arched her back, bringing her in contact with the firm wall of his chest. “Is that your final warning?”

  His mouth found the curve of her neck and began a slow exploration. “Definitely. Are you going to take cover?”