“Hey, Ash wanted me to tell you he has to say some stuff as part of the memorial, but he’ll be back here as soon as he’s done.”
“Thanks.” Lexi spotted Ash in the front row with Mrs. Archer, patting her back and telling her something. She was leaning against him, accepting the support of his shoulder as she nodded slowly.
The boosters were about five rows back from Ash and the others up front. Betty Ann was putting on even more lip gloss, and Zoë was reading the remembrance card. Taylor and Monica had appeared out of nowhere and now sat with their heads together, looking like best friends. A bad sign. Really bad. And how was Lexi going to talk to Monica if Taylor was hovering nearby?
Monica glanced over and caught Lexi’s eye, scowled and looked down. Seconds later Lexi’s cell hummed.
Stop staring.
Lexi’s fingers hovered over the screen, but she put her phone back in her bag, turned around and stared ahead.
The service started with soft organ music meant to soothe, but it really only punctuated the fact that somebody was dead. The sound echoed off the stone walls and vibrated in the air. Nobody seated in the rows moved. The pastor, looking like he was used to things like old guys everybody loved and respected dying for no reason, settled behind the podium and clipped on a wireless mic. He started the service by talking about how God “has plans for each and everyone one of us, but we don’t get to know what they are.”
No kidding about that second part.
After the pastor finished with the opening remarks, Ash got up and stood between the two huge bouquets of bright white lilies, strong and steady in his charcoal gray suit. His eyes calm. Focused. Like he was staring down a batter, daring him to get a hit. He spoke for a few minutes, saying the stuff Lexi expected to hear. Coach had been a great man, believed in his players and supported them but made them work hard, pushed them to do more than they thought they could. When he finished, he paused for a few seconds, looking out at the crowd, his expression calm.
Other people, maybe other coaches or players from years ago, talked too. They all mentioned Coach Filpot’s solid work ethic and his way of making people keep going even when they didn’t want to. Their comments, too, were probably the normal thing to expect, but for Lexi it was like watching a bad cartoon. Stiff, fake and unpleasant.
When the pastor planted himself between the lilies and asked the gathering to bow their heads for a final prayer, Ash caught Lexi’s eye and smiled. It was a soft, subtle smile meant just for her. Her heart thumped, pushing blood through her veins. She smiled back.
After the prayer, while people were looking up, getting ready for the last part of the service, Ash tiptoed down the aisle and slid in next to Lexi. He nudged her shoulder with his and whispered, “Hi. Can’t leave with you, sorry. Mrs. Archer wants me to go get Peter and bring him to the Filpots’.” Ash smirked and said softly into her ear, “He’s in big trouble.”
The pastor concluded the service and announced it was time to go to the burial site.
Leaning back, Ash took Lexi’s hand and added, “Come on, let’s go out to the grave.”
A group of guys, some players and some probably relatives, carried the coffin down the center aisle of the chapel.
Outside, it was a grim but picturesque affair. A cough, a sniffle, some black-haired kid complaining about his tight shoes. Bright autumn trees catching the occasional ray of sunlight, all the while tossing dazzling leaves into the wind, giving the place an air of freedom and the scent of nature. There was a stone-solid quiet as the procession stepped through the freshly cut grass, trudging along. The setting at the gravesite was carefully arranged. A green carpet of fake grass had been stretched over the hole in the ground, and a circle of yellow and white bouquets surrounded the area. A small table covered with long-stemmed yellow roses stood off to the side.
But it wasn’t as idealistic as it appeared. Off in the distance, a burly guy steadying a TV camera on his shoulder swept to the side of the parking lot, probably using the best lens he had to catch the grief of Coach’s family—and a few shots of Taylor, who was right in the middle of everything, looking simultaneously sad and vibrant.
Pivoting, Lexi scanned the crowd for the shabby guy, but he’d vanished. Must have gotten what he came for. Whatever it was.
No Monica either.
The pastor stopped at Coach’s final resting place, a spot near a cluster of precisely trimmed pines. One by one people circled and stood, hands clutched together, crammed in pockets, or, like Lexi’s and Ash’s, linked. Beside her Ash was confident, in control, sexy and solid all at the same time. He looked like he could step right onto polo.com. Except for the very genuine grief pulling on his mouth. It occurred to Lexi, maybe this was what he’d been talking about the day before, when he’d said she was going to help him with something.
The pastor began the graveside service by talking about faith, but his words were quickly drowned out by the wails of the complaining kid as his mom pulled him from the crowd. As the kid’s whining faded, the pastor’s words grew louder, and Lexi listened while half wondering what exactly was going on in Cherry Hill. The faces of the crowd stayed emotionless, denying that bad things happened. But that obviously wasn’t the case.
The graveside portion of the ceremony was much shorter and soon the crowd was breaking up, the chatter and tears growing louder as people moved away, heading up and over the hill. Before leaving the graveside, Lexi accepted one of the yellow roses Taylor had brought for the boosters. She tossed it onto the casket, then she and Ash melted into the group oozing across the cemetery grounds toward the parking lot. Lexi scanned the lot. No sign of Monica—her car wasn’t even there.
“Lexi! Ash! Wait up!”
Zoë Weinberg.
The chubby girl huffed up, her breath coming in little train engine puffs. Red blotches covered her cheeks, and even though she was sort of smiling, her mouth was quivering, making her look as though she was going to burst into tears. “You guys weren’t around when I passed out the flyers. I’m having people over.”
“You’re having a party?” Lexi asked, hearing her shock.
“But it’s just for us, you know, kids from Cherry Grove, so don’t post anything about it.” She frowned and waved her hand to the camera crews and news vans still swarming at the main entrance of the lot. “We don’t want them showing up.”
“That’s the truth,” Ash said. “They’re ruining everything.”
“The party was my mom’s idea. A wake. Without parents and all that, so we’ll be able to talk, spend time together.” Zoë pulled a flyer from her Burberry bag, holding it out with a jangle of bright metal bangles. “It’s tonight at seven. Can you come?”
It was weird, having a party after a funeral, but it seemed like a good idea, everyone being together without parents or cops or counselors or media. Lexi glanced at Ash. He nodded, so she said, “Sure, of course. Thanks.”
Zoë, always the one concerned about making sure everyone had a good time, started chattering about food. “I could do a simple cheese and cracker layout or maybe call the caterers for something more, well, not festive but, you know, nicer.”
“You’re great at this stuff, Zoë,” Ash said, leaning over to smile at Zoë.
“Ash is right,” Lexi added. “Whatever you decide will be perfect.” But what she was really thinking was that the guys would eat whatever food was sitting out regardless of what it was or even looked like, and most of the girls weren’t going to touch it.
“Thanks. You guys are always so great, not like some of the other people around here. What about the music? Stuff like Radiohead? Or Flo Rida? Maybe Spaz could make a mix? Or—”
“Hey,” Ash cut in. “Okay if I invite Zeke? He didn’t know Coach, but he just moved here, so it’d be good if he could meet people. Show support.”
“Sure, that’s a great idea.” Zoë slowed to a stop. “That kind of sucks that he moved here in the middle of all this.” Then she waved goodbye and puffed off, her l
umpy jacket making her look like a little bear as she dodged between the cars backing out and rambled toward her burgundy Volvo wagon.
Lexi nudged Ash. “Who’s Zeke?”
He took her hand. “A catcher.”
“You know him from baseball?” Lexi asked, looking for Monica but seeing only clusters of kids talking into cameras again. The media crews were blocking the end of the parking lot, and some guy in a mud-spattered Honda Fit was leaning out the window, yelling as he honked the car’s feeble horn.
“Yeah, sort of. We were at camp together a couple times, way back when we were kids.” His voice lowered as he added, “Not that he remembers it, though.”
“You guys are friends now?” she asked, having to raise hers to speak over another car horn and the rumble of a couple pickup trucks racing off in the opposite direction, going to the far end of the lot where they could get out without having to weave through the media.
The chaos in the parking lot caught Ash’s attention. He looked over and pointed. “The cops finding Jon’s bike really doesn’t change anything. He’s still gone and nobody knows why. Then coach dies. It’s making everyone act weird. Stressed.”
Lexi pressed her lips together, too afraid to say anything. One thought spoken would lead to another, and another, then who knew what she’d say.
Ash’s gaze circled her face, finally stopping on her eyes. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you out.” Turning his back on the scene, putting it between them, he took her other hand and said, “Zeke needs friends. He had some trouble at his old school, some scene that wasn’t his fault. His family moved here to get away from all the drama.” Ash let go of her hands and stepped back. “Speaking of trouble, I better go get Peter.”
He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek then, without even a goodbye, he headed to his car, shoulders swaying beneath the dark suit. Lexi watched him walk away, heat and nervous energy sizzling in her blood.
If only it could all just go away. Then she and Ash could spend time getting to know each other instead of talking about everyone else. Lexi’s phone hummed. She dug it out and smiled at the message. Jazz inviting her over because her parents were gone for a couple of hours. A break from all the drama was just what she needed and—bonus—going to Jazz’s gave her somewhere to go for a while instead of home. She sent back a text telling her about Zoë’s party and saying she’d be over in a few. As she drove toward the back entrance of the parking lot, she finally saw Monica, perched on the hood of Troy’s restored black Chevelle. The outfielder was angled over her—she was pulling on the collar of his brown leather car coat, her dark hair shimmering in the clear autumn sunlight.
Lexi slowed. Monica’s face was tight, though—anxious. Desperate? Maybe things weren’t so perfect with her and Taylor after all. Or maybe she was worried about the bike too.
Tonight, at Zoë’s, she and Monica were definitely going to talk.
Chapter Seven
More Hot Water
Later that night, after dinner, Lexi sat on her bed, staring into her closet. Wearing something sexy to Zoë’s party didn’t seem right—it was a wake, after all. A celebration of death. Kind of weird, for sure. But that didn’t mean she had to look boring, did it?
The skimpy Niki Smith dress she’d found at the resale shop was out, even though it made her butt look rounder. Ditto the Lucky Brand jeans. Her short black miniskirt and low-cut peasant top seemed decent enough, but would still get Ash’s attention. To avoid Dale’s usual string of nosy questions, and prevent him from giving her that disgusting look, she tucked them into her backpack. She’d ask Jazz to stop somewhere on the way to Zoë’s so she could change and put her makeup on. Anything to avoid dealing with the loser. In order to deal with Monica she needed to be calm and focused.
But the ploy didn’t do her any good. Dale strolled into her room as she was scooping up her makeup and hair spray. He didn’t even have the decency to knock. Her throat tightened as he lowered his dirty self into the delicate chair at her desk. As always, the smell of burnt metal floated around him, drifting like a cloud around until it reached her.
Pointing his callused fingers to her backpack, he asked, “Where’re you off to? What’s in the pack?”
“School stuff,” she replied, disregarding his first question and praying he would get a clue and get the hell out of her room.
Instead, he sat there looking around, scrutinizing her things as though he’d be able to detect some sort of misbehavior or dark secret. Finding nothing, he turned his attention to the photos on her desk, his gaze creeping across each bright face before turning back to add, “Seems like you’re gone a lot. Don’t you realize how that upsets your mother?”
The nasty smell, the disgusting grease stains on his blue work pants, even his voice made her nauseated. Resentful.
Angry.
“You don’t have to pretend to care about me,” she said, squeezing the queasiness out of her voice but letting the emotions through. “I don’t care about you.” It felt good to say it aloud. “Go ahead,” she added, gaining strength, “leave again. Please.”
He set his palms on his knobby knees and leaned forward. “Your mom doesn’t want me to go.”
Lexi winced at the truth of it.
Yes, he knew which lever to yank, but she wasn’t going to let him win. “Mom doesn’t know what she wants. The way you take advantage of her, she probably never will.”
He cast aside her accusations with a bony shrug. “I need to talk to you ‘bout the team.”
She grabbed her bag then turned her back to him as she stuffed her strappy heels into it. “I’ve got to get ready,” she said, even though she already had everything she needed. “So could you please…” She pointed to the door.
Of course he stayed seated, defiling her room with his presence. “I heard about the new kid, Zeke, the catcher, and since you’re dating Ash—”
She spun around, scoffing. “You’ve got to be kidding, acting like you’re part of what goes on around here.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmured, looking at one of the photos he’d picked up from her desk. “Why do you think I came back?”
“Because you ran out of money or you got tired of doing your own laundry.” She threw one hand in the air. “How should I know?” Swinging her backpack over her shoulder, she stepped toward the door. “I’m going out front to watch for Jasmine and—”
“Hold it.” Gently, he set the photo down, got up, and planted himself in the middle of the room, closer to her. “I’m keeping my eye on you. You need someone to watch out for you, Lexi. You aren’t good at taking care of yourself.”
Clutching the strap of her backpack, she ground her words out. “I don’t need you. And I don’t want you.”
“The night I came home, your mom and I straightened your room up, like before, when you were still my Lexi-girl. You do need me.” He stalked toward her, adding softly, “You’re the reason I came back.”
Electrified by anger, she shied away, but he blocked her exit and lifted his rough hands, reaching for her with his horrible grubby fingers.
One quick step and his arms could surround her.
Lexi lunged past him, taking the stairs two at a time. She’d be leaving without saying goodbye to her mom. Thank God Jasmine’s yellow bug was stopping at the curb just as she slammed the front door.
Lexi ran to the curb, jerked open the door and threw herself into the car. Seconds later she had her seatbelt clicked and her stuff on the floor between her feet.
Eyeing Lexi’s backpack, Jasmine asked, “Need me to stop at Mickey D’s again?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Jasmine’s gaze circled Lexi’s face just before she put the car in drive. “Dale?”
Half expecting to see the loser running after them, Lexi twisted to check out the back window. “I tried to avoid him, but he came in my room and started acting weird, saying he wanted to talk about the team. Then he asked about Ash’s friend Zeke.”
�
�Who’s Zeke?”
“A guy who just moved here. Plays baseball, I guess.”
Jazz reached the end of Lexi’s block and turned. “Why is Dale asking about him?”
“I don’t know. Peter was talking about him too.” Right before he ditched her, jerk that he was. “He said he played in the Little League World Series, so I guess he’s a big deal. Like it even matters?” Lexi stared at her phone, her thoughts zipping between horrible Dale and getting her head ready to talk to self-serving Monica.
“You’d think people would be more worried about Jon instead of a season that isn’t going to start for months.”
Lexi ran her thumb along the side of her cell, considering. “Have you heard anything more about that? I mean, besides them finding Jon’s bike?”
“No.” Jazz hit her blinker and eased around a corner, heading toward the McDonald’s down the street from the school. “Some kids are saying that the cops are starting to get cell records and Facebook posts.”
Lexi’s fingers stiffened. “Cell records?”
“Yeah, they can get old texts too, I guess.”
Crap. Lexi threw her phone into her bag.
Jazz chuckled, glancing at Lexi’s bag. “What, you never thought about that? Worried Dale might start getting your texts? Track you? I don’t think even my parents would stoop that low. I hope not anyway. But if they do find out about my sneaking out, who the hell knows what they’ll do.”
“They just want you to be safe.” Lexi forced a smile. “Dale alone is way worse than both your parents put together.”
Jazz curled her lip. “He is such a freak.”
Lexi leaned back and watched the rows of white houses near the school flash past. The gray clouds would’ve looked gloomy if it weren’t for the bright leaves gleaming from the branches of the trees. “He was saying he came back home because of me. What does that even mean?”
“I have no idea. That’s more than his usual jerkishness,” Jazz replied, casting her a quick, sympathetic glance. “You don’t think he meant it like that?”
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