"Jaclyn," she said. "She was still in the locker room when I left. Should we wait for her?"
"No. Go on back to the hotel. I'll catch the stragglers in the last van."
"Okay." Scott closed the door, and the driver started the van. "How'd you guys do?" Jamie asked. "I didn't see the results."
"Not bad," Christie said. "I won my pairing, but only by a stroke."
"I sucked," Crystal said. "If I don't get my slice under control, I might as well drop out of school."
"Drop out?" Jamie asked. "Really?"
"Yeah," the young woman said. "I'm just here for golf. My game's really suffered with all of the school work. I might quit and go on a mini-tour."
"But you're getting a free education," Jamie said, wincing when she heard how much like an adult she sounded. The look Crystal gave her confirmed the fact that Crystal and she didn't see things the same way.
"I could care less about a degree."
Couldn't care less, Jamie said to herself. If you could care less, you would. She sank back into her seat, barely paying attention to the other women talking about their scores. All of a sudden, she didn't care if they'd all shot their IQs.
Softball practice was short on Monday night. Since they'd played two games each of the previous three days, Coach usually let them coast a little on Monday-especially if they'd played well on the weekend. It was raining, and rather than risk an injury on the wet field, Coach kept the team inside and talked about the weekend games. They'd played very well, but he didn't want them to grow complacent, so he picked every nit he could find.
"O'Flaherty," he said, his voice gruff, "you didn't take the safe option when you came in to pitch hit in the eighth inning of the first game on Saturday."
Ryan stared at him, knowing exactly what he was talking about, but finding it hard to believe he was chiding her.
"What's your excuse?" he asked, his tone a little sharper.
She looked down at the tile floor, staring at the pattern of beige splotches on the dark rose background. It didn't always work, but often she could stop herself from being snappish by spending a second or two focusing on patterns or counting something.
Coach didn't give her a few moments. "I don't have all day. What's your excuse?"
For some reason, she felt humiliated, even though he'd already called out almost everyone in the room. Her chin jutted out and she said, "I drove in the lead run. The run held up and we won. I don't need an excuse."
His eyes opened wide, and he really looked at her, seeing the fire in her eyes. He couldn't tell if she was going to cuss him out or cry, and he didn't want either to happen. He looked down at his clipboard as every other player coincidentally found someplace innocuous to direct her attention.
"Hernandez," he said, looking at a little-used player. "You didn't take a turn picking up bats on Sunday. Don't think I don't notice little things like that."
"Sorry," she mumbled.
"'S all right," he said. "I only bitch at ya because I care." He paused for a second and then laughed, breaking the tension in the room. "That's bull. I bitch at everybody."
Everyone laughed except Ryan. The dark-haired woman stared straight ahead, her face impassive.
"Okay," Coach said. "See ya all tomorrow. And don't be late."
In a flash, Ryan was gone.
Coach tried to catch her, but he didn't want the others to see him chasing her down. Casually, he walked down the hall, then sprinted once he turned the corner. He caught sight of her opening the main door in the front of the building and called after her. "O'Flaherty, wait up!" He was sure she'd heard him, since she had ears like a bat, but she kept going, breaking into a jog and then a full-out run by the time he got to the door. "Women," he grumbled. "It'd be easier to coach a sack of cats!"
As soon as she arrived home, wet and breathless, Ryan started to tear off her clothing. She left it where it fell and was stark naked when she reached her room. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she was in a hurry to get there. She threw on a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, then sat on the bed to put on some dry socks and shoes. The phone rang, and when the machine picked up she heard Coach Roberts' voice.
"Hey, O'Flaherty, I don't wanna make a big deal out of this, but I want you to know I wasn't really pickin' on you today. I was glad you didn't sacrifice on Saturday. I wouldn't have put you in to pinch hit if I'd wanted a sacrifice no matter what. I only asked the question 'cause I knew you had a good reason for taking a poke at it. I wanted the younger girls to hear what goes through a good hitter's head. That's all … okay? No harm, no foul, right?" He was clearly uncomfortable, but he continued, "You can call me back if you're pissed or something. Uhm … sorry," he mumbled, barely audible then hung up.
Ryan sat still for a few moments, feeling like she was on the verge of exploding, but not knowing why. She knew she was at loose ends because Jamie was gone, but this felt bigger than that. Nonetheless, she didn't want to be in the house another moment. She shoved her feet into an untied pair of basketball shoes and grabbed her raincoat. When she got downstairs, she picked up her keys and dashed to her car, feeling better once she was inside. She put in a CD and started to drive, not having any destination in mind. The rain made traffic so ridiculously heavy that she didn't even have to make a choice about which direction to go. She just went wherever she had the opportunity. She would have sworn she had no plan, but about half an hour later, she found herself in a gritty part of South San Francisco, near a place she hadn't been for many years.
She slowed down and saw that the Jackson Arms Target Range was still there and open for business. Inside, she approached the young man at the counter. "What've you got that'll put the biggest hole in the target?"
He placed a nine millimeter Ruger on the counter, the weapon that most women used to get out their frustrations at bosses, boyfriends and bullies. But when his eyes met hers, a black eyebrow had raised and her ice-cold eyes bore into him. Wordlessly, he turned and selected a Glock .45. Ryan picked up the pistol and wrapped her hand around the piece, then nodded at him. He handed her a box of ammo, and she said, "Gimme two." She produced her driver's license and credit card then pointed at a shelf that held safety equipment for her eyes and hearing. "Those, too."
The clerk handed her the safety glasses and ear protectors and ran her card, leaving the total blank in case she wanted more ammunition. There was something about the woman that told him two boxes wouldn't get rid of whatever it was that brought her out on such a night. "Third lane," he said.
Ryan went into the range and immediately put on the ear muffs and glasses. She realized she hadn't taken off her coat, so she did that and pushed up the sleeves of her shirt.
She inspected the firearm methodically and made sure it was in good working order. Then she loaded it and felt the weight of it in her hand-almost three pounds. A small smile of approval creased her lips at the heft of the weapon. Reaching out, she stroked the cold steel, caressing the undulations in the metal with a fingertip. Feeling better than she had all day, she squared herself at the firing line, then extended her arm and clapped her right hand around the weapon and her left hand. Slowly, gently, she squeezed the trigger, the kickback soothing some place deep in her heart. Her lips parted, and her teeth shone in the poor industrial fluorescent glow, making her look like a fearsome animal about to take a large bite out of a small victim.
The golf team ate in a small private room at the hotel. The room was set up with a steam table and a number of cold salads. I know I'm a food-snob, but wouldn't it be easier to let us go to the regular restaurant and order from the menu? This stuff looks like it's been sitting here for hours. She tried not to let her mood show, but she looked around and saw that each small table was filled with the usual cliques. Lauren, her roommate, sat alone, waiting for Jamie to join her.
Jamie took her tray and maneuvered through the room, then sat across from Lauren. "Hi," she said, trying to sound happy. "How'd you do today?"
The young wom
an was slowly coming out of her shell, and Jamie felt rather proud of herself for getting her to carry on a conversation. She knew that Lauren was ultra-shy, and if it were not for Jamie, she'd talk to no one.
The girl gave her a bright smile. "I did really well! You know how the landing area on the first hole was really narrow?"
"Uh-huh."
"I landed right in the middle! And my approach shot hit the edge of the green and rolled five feet from the hole. It's like that started my day off right, and things just kept going."
"That's great, Lauren. I'm really happy for you."
Lauren reached into her back pocket and took out her score card. "I made par on two. How about you?"
Dutifully, Jamie took out her score card, and she and Lauren replayed their matches-shot by shot.
As soon as Catherine was finished with her tiring negotiations, she got on her cell phone and started to call Jamie at home, then remembered that her daughter was in Temecula. She let the phone ring anyway, hoping that Ryan was home. She didn't want to tell either of them over the phone, since she wanted to see their faces when she told them. She guessed Jamie would be surprised, and she knew Ryan would be very happy that she'd seen the light about the grandeur that was San Francisco. No one answered, so she hung up, not wanting to leave a message. She considered what to do, not having any desire to go home to her empty house. It was almost nine o'clock, and on a whim she called the O'Flaherty house, pleased to have Conor answer on the second ring.
"Conor? Catherine," she said.
"Hi there," he responded brightly. "What's up?"
"Ryan's not there, is she?"
"No. She's coming over tomorrow night, though. She's probably in Berkeley tonight. Have you tried her cell phone?"
"No, but I called the house. She must be out."
"What's up? Is something wrong?"
"Wrong? Oh, no. I … I did something very impulsive today, Conor, and I'm so excited about it that I could just burst!"
"Don't even tell me what it is," he said immediately. "I want to hear about it in person. Where are you?"
"Oddly, I'm on Castro Street."
"Oh, no, not you, too! I'm not gonna let 'em have you, Catherine."
She laughed heartily, assuring him, "I haven't changed my sexual orientation, Conor. I was conducting some business here."
"Are you anywhere near Market?"
"Yes, just two blocks, I think. Why?"
"I'll meet you at Castro and Market in ten minutes," he said. "Don't talk to any strangers, especially women!"
As promised, Conor arrived in just a few minutes and managed to find a space to double-park. He hopped out of the truck and loped down the street, smiling when he caught sight of Catherine. Giving her a hug, he warned, "People may stare at us, but just ignore them. Our kind is pretty rare around here, but we can't live in shame just because we're different."
She laughed gently and grasped his hand, letting him lead her back to the truck for the short drive to a legal parking space. They entered Martoonie's, and he escorted her to a small table. "Name your poison, Catherine. They have every kind of martini ever conceived."
Ignoring the little voice that urged her to give in, she smiled up at him. "I'm in the mood for something non-alcoholic. I'll take whatever they have that isn't sweet."
"Done." He turned and sauntered over to the bar, then returned a moment later bearing a caramel apple martini for himself and a mineral water for Catherine. Clinking the rims of their glasses together, he gazed at her seriously. "Now, tell me what we're celebrating."
She tried to control the luminous grin that insisted on covering her face. "I bought a new house!"
"You bought a new house?" he asked carefully. "I thought you were going to start looking for Jamie and Ryan?" His face broke into a wide grin. "You are an impulse shopper, aren't you?"
"Usually not. But Alex, the real estate agent I worked with, showed me a house in Pacific Heights that I fell head over heels in love with. It belongs to a production designer who spends most of his time on location. It's right-"
"At the crest of Divisadero … looking down into the Marina," he supplied, beaming with pride. "And it was recently beautifully renovated by one of the most talented carpenters this side of the Rockies."
"Conor! You renovated my new home!"
"I sure did," he said, smiling brightly. "I do good work, don't I?"
"It's a showplace! I've never been so impressed with a home."
"Well, I've got to admit that the owner came up with most of the ideas that make the place sing, and he also gets credit for going all-out on the moldings and trim. That's what makes a house look like it's built with care."
"I didn't think it was possible to be any more excited, but now that I know you worked on the house, I'm positively giddy."
"You've bought a great house, Catherine, and I know you'll love it there. I am surprised you're going to move, though. I thought you loved Hillsborough."
She looked at him for a second, then decided to tell him the whole truth. "I love Hillsborough, and I love my house. But lately, I've been so depressed that I can hardly stand to be at home. I've spent more nights than I can count staying in hotels in the city. I'm … I'm … lonely, Conor. Jim was rarely home, and Jamie has been gone for years, but the ghosts in that house are about to drive me mad."
Instinctively, he reached for her hand, chafing it between his large, warm, callused ones. "I'm so sorry," he said, his eyes filled with concern and empathy.
Her own eyes fluttered closed, and she nodded slowly. "I appreciate that. I think I'll keep the Hillsborough house-at least for the time being. I love my garden and the pool and it's calming to spend time outside. I just don't want to have to sleep there for a while."
"You let me know if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, Catherine. I'm a very good listener, and I've had my share of heartaches. You're not alone," he said emphatically, locking his clear blue eyes on her.
"I know that, and I'm more thankful than you can imagine," she said, feeling a few tears welling up. "I might take you up on your offer, too. I don't like Jamie to see how upset this has made me. She's got enough to worry about right now."
Grasping her hand again, Conor said, "I meant what I said. If you're lonely or sad and you want to talk, just give me a call. Do you have my pager number?"
"I don't think so."
"Take out your cell phone and program me in," he instructed, giving her both his pager and his cell. "Don't be afraid to use them."
He said it with such emphasis that she believed him completely and vowed to take him up on his offer the next time she was feeling down.
"Thank you, Conor," she said softly. "I never would have guessed that having my daughter decide she was a lesbian could bring such unexpected joy into my life. Being welcomed into your family is healing for me in a way I can't even begin to express."
"We're very glad to have you, Catherine. I thought we'd gotten the pick of the Evans family with Jamie, but I think the race is too close to call."
When he beamed a grin at her, Catherine spent just a moment thanking the heavens for bringing her into the circle of love that was the O'Flahertys.
When Jamie got back to her room, she called Ryan, but didn't get an answer. Checking her watch, she saw that it was almost 9:00, long past time for Ryan to be home. She called her cell, but the call went to voice-mail immediately, something that usually happened when Ryan was out of cell range. That was an all-too-common occurrence in the Bay Area, so she didn't let it worry her. Instead, she called home and left a message. "Hi, baby. I'm back in my room, and I'll probably go to bed soon. If I don't hear from you in a while, I'll turn off my phone so it doesn't wake me. So call my cell and leave a message, okay? I love you with all my heart. And I miss you even more than that. Bye."
Ryan stayed at the shooting range for a long time, not even noticing how much time had passed until the lights flicked on and off to signal closing time. She didn't know where to go next,
but she wasn't ready to go home.
She surprised herself by winding up in front of the lesbian bar in Berkeley. It felt like her car had been programmed to head to a safe place. A place where she would be with her own. Her hand froze on the door handle, and she wondered if she was asking for trouble. She knew Jamie wouldn't approve, but her need for contact was greater than her desire to please her partner. So she went in, sat at the bar, and talked to a bartender she'd never seen before. She nursed a beer the entire time she was there, staring at the colorful liquor bottles on the back bar when Jeri, the bartender, was busy.
For the first time she could recall, no one approached her. She was glad for that, since she didn't want to strike up a conversation with anyone. But it was a little troubling, too, since it was so unusual. She took a long look at herself in the mirror behind the bar and decided she wouldn't approach a woman who looked like she did, either.
She looked lonely and aimless and a little jittery-the sort of woman who'd glom onto you and talk your ear off. She blinked, hoping the image would change. But it didn't. All of her confidence, her cockiness, her spark, were … gone. She looked like the kind of woman she used to feel sorry for-a lonely woman with no one to talk to, the anonymous comfort of a tacky bar the closest thing she had to a friend. She took out a five-dollar-bill and slapped it down, then left without a word, knowing that neither Jeri nor anyone else would notice her departure.
Ryan walked into the house at midnight, wet and tired and emotionally spent. She played Jamie's message, a half-smile on her face as she listened to her soothing voice. But her smile darkened when Jamie said she'd turned her cell phone off. Her heart started pounding as she tried to decide what to do. Ryan knew she could call the hotel-she knew that Jamie would want her to-would be angry with her for not calling when she felt so low. But she couldn't make herself do it. She couldn't admit to herself how needy she felt.
She also couldn't examine her heart, searching for the darkest feelings, the ones she rarely forced herself to acknowledge. The feelings that made her guts clench in impotent anger. The ones that irrationally held Jamie responsible for her pain-for abandoning her with such ease.
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