Single (Stockton Beavers #1)

by Collette West

  Until I glance at the charter bus that's waiting to take the Jackalopes back to the hotel, and all I feel is revulsion. I lived that life once before and I'm not doing it again—the ups and downs, the constant sense of uncertainty. I shift into drive. What was I thinking? I have to get out of here—now.

  I maneuver around the hordes of people who are starting to pour out of the stadium. Apparently, they don't care if the game resumes or not. They already got what they came for—the star power of Landry combined with the spectacle of Luke's disappointing return. What more could a Beaver fan want out of opening day?

  I beep my horn and receive a lot of dirty looks, but I'm in no mood to wait for these people to stream by me. Coming up on my right, I spy a narrow little access road. The gate's open, but no one's using it, probably because of the "Employees Only" sign. But if anyone stops me, I'll just drop Landry's name.

  I turn onto it, hoping it's a shortcut that'll somehow lead me back to the highway and away from Beaver Field. Right now, anywhere is better than sitting in a logjam of traffic. I have to keep moving, put as much distance between myself and Stockton as possible.

  Luke will go back to taking care of his mom. Landry will find a new second baseman. And no one will have to think about David Nichols again, myself included.

  But I soon come to regret my decision when, after not even a quarter of a mile, the pavement comes to an abrupt end. Frustrated, I slow to a crawl over the dirt road. It's muddy, rocky, and skirting a forested area right behind the stadium. With the rain coming down hard, I can't see two feet in front of me. I should turn around, but I'm not going back. I'm not. I'm moving forward for good this time. And despite the hazardous conditions, I stubbornly press on.

  When suddenly, from up ahead, a flash of red appears in the corner of my vision, and I'm forced to slam on the brakes. What the…? I'm thrown back in my seat, my heart in my throat. Shaking, I peer through the windshield. Whatever it is, it's still plodding forward. I don't think I hit it. I clutch my throat, breathing fast because it appears to be…a woman, a woman wearing a red jacket.

  I don't even hesitate. I'm out of the car in two seconds flat.

  "Hey!" I call out. "Wait!"

  Within one or two steps, I'm soaked to the skin, but based on the three inches of mud coating the bottom of her shoes, and the bits of leaves stuck in her hair, she must've taken the more scenic route, struggling through all the brush and undergrowth between here and the stadium.

  I approach her from behind, and she stops but doesn't turn around. As I get closer, her breath becomes visible on the damp air. Her jacket is hanging open and her whole body is trembling with cold.

  "Where's my little Lukey?"

  I go rigid. Oh my God, it's Luke's mom! What in the world is she doing out here?

  "Mrs. Singleton?" I cry out. "Are you okay?"

  I lightly place my arm around her shoulders, and she shrugs me off. "Mrs. Singleton?" she grumbles. "All of Lukey's friends call me Mrs. S."

  She doesn't know me, and she's probably afraid. But her teeth are chattering and her lips are turning blue. I don't have time to stand around and argue with her. I need to get her out of the rain.

  "Lukey sent me to pick you up," I respond, using the name of the person she just mentioned, a little tip I picked up from working in the Alzheimer's ward.

  And for a second, the deadness leaves her eyes. "He did?"

  I nod. "Yeah, he's worried that you're not gonna get to see the end of the game."

  "Lukey's here?" she asks, angling her head to look at me as the rain trickles down her face. "Where's my little Lukey?"

  My heart contracts at hearing her call him that, just like she did last night when she was scared.

  I reply using key trigger words to get her to respond to me. "No, Lukey's back at Beaver Field. He asked me to take you there. How does that sound, Mrs. Single— Mrs. S.?"

  She knits her eyebrows, her wet hair plastered to her face. "Okay…" she answers uncertainly.

  I smile at her. "Good. Follow me."

  This time, I don't touch her. Instead, I just start walking toward the car. Holding my breath, all I hear is the drumbeat of rain hitting the ground, so I slow down until it's eventually accompanied by the welcome sound of her shoes slogging through the mud behind me. I proceed on ahead and hold the door open for her, and thankfully, she gets into the car without any fuss.

  "Buckle up, please," I say as cheerfully as I can, testing to see how much she trusts me.

  When she complies, I quickly shut the door and scoot back behind the wheel. Not liking how her hands are so red while the ends of her fingers are turning white, I crank up the heat full blast. The temperature outside is hovering around forty-five degrees, well above freezing, but she's frail and hypothermia still poses a danger. She's so thin, making me wonder what her diet's like and if it's hard for Luke to get her to eat. I should see if she likes…

  I stop myself. No, just because I found her doesn't mean I'm staying. Nothing's changed. Luke obviously didn't want my help. If he did, he would've asked for it, and I'm not going to force myself upon him. It wouldn't be right for so many reasons.

  The road's narrow, and I'm inwardly debating if I have enough room to turn around or if I should just back all the way out when she asks, "You said Senior's playing today?"

  "Senior?"

  "Yeah, Senior," she mutters impatiently. "My husband."

  I bite my lip, turning the wheel as far as it will go. "No, not your husband, Mrs. S. Your son, Luke Singleton, Junior."

  "My son doesn't play baseball anymore," she mumbles as my tires start to spin in the mud.

  Great… The last thing I need is to get stuck out here when she's in desperate need of a warm change of clothes.

  "Oh, is that right?" I respond, distractedly.

  "Yes, he plays T-ball with his father," she says, beaming with pride. "You should see the nice little field he made for Lukey out in the backyard. Do you play T-ball? Maybe you could play with them too."

  I take one look at her glowing face and put the car into park, placing her left hand in both of mine. "I got this one. Now hold the other one up to the vent."

  She does as she's told, staring at me with her big, doe eyes. "But it hurts," she whimpers.

  "That's good," I encourage. "That means the circulation's coming back."

  My fingers run over a blister on the inside of her palm, and I turn it over. It appears she's burned herself, and quite recently, by the looks of it. "What happened here?"

  But all she does is sigh before playing with the zipper on her jacket, already forgetting to keep her hand up next to the heat.

  Luke obviously has his hands full with her. She's still communicative, but barely. Her mind is unable to grasp any sense of the present, except when it comes to extreme instances of pain or discomfort, which makes her a hazard to herself and to others. At this stage, she really should be in a qualified facility, not living with a son who's not trained in providing adequate, twenty-four-hour care.

  It's not his fault. It's amazing he's gotten her this far without encountering any major catastrophes. But the burn on her hand, and her running away today, are two serious signs things can't go on as they are.

  I release her hand and turn my attention back to the road, feeling unsettled. Whether or not Luke can play has nothing to do with it. His mom needs me. I'm a caregiver. I take care of people. That's what I do. And my heart is crying out for me to help them.

  The sound of my car is what lured her out, causing her to stumble onto the road. If we didn't cross paths when we did, she probably would've wandered deeper and deeper into the woods, with a very real possibility of not being found until it was too late.

  I hold my foot over the gas, ready to give it another try. But before I do, I gaze over at her as she begins to rock back and forth, humming to herself. Her eyes are shut tight, and she has her arms wrapped around her body. With my eyes welling up, I look away.

  Do I really have it in
me to turn my back on her now?

  "C'mon," I whisper, choking up. "Let's go find your little Lukey."

  Chapter Seven

  Luke

  The umpires, after seeing the steady band of rain moving in on radar, decided to call the game. Now the Beavers and the Jackalopes will pick it up in a twi-night doubleheader tomorrow. If I were playing, my muscles would already be aching me. But I'm not. Not after I talk to…

  "Thanks for helpin' to drag the tarp out onto the field, Single." Landry's big, booming voice greets me the moment I step out of the clubhouse. "'Cause, let me tell ya, the guys who didn't pitch in are about to get their asses handed to them by yours truly. I'm not gonna tolerate any slackers on this team."

  He's rubbing a towel over his wet hair, and I cautiously raise my eyes to his. Is he out here…waiting for me? I swallow. Does he know? Did Roberta tell him about Mom?

  I shrug. "No big deal."

  "See, that's what I like about you, Single. You're old school," he says, slinging the towel over his shoulder. "Not many guys feel the way you do. Hell, some of them won't even pick up the balls in the cage after BP." He exhales loudly through his nose before giving me a lopsided grin. "But your daddy taught you how to play the game the right way, son. So just keep on doin' what you're doin', and for now, don't worry about the results." He claps me on the back. "They'll come."

  "But…"

  "Nah, no buts about it." He raises his hands in the air. "Tomorrow's another day. Let's see what happens then. One day at a time, Single. One day at a time."

  I tug on the laces of my hoodie. "But my mom…"

  He turns around with his hand on the door. This is it. The battle royale.

  "Gosh, darn it. I'm sorry, Single." He smacks his forehead. "But I gotta git my butt to the airport right quick after I ream out these numskulls in here. Ya see, my boy, Jason, has a digital art show goin' on at school tomorrow, and I promised him I wouldn't miss it. So please give your mama my regards. She's such a sweet lady…sharp as a whip, too."

  I gulp. Sharp as whip…?

  He doesn't know. Roberta didn't tell him.

  "Go on. Skedaddle!" He points down the hallway leading to the players' parking lot, the diamond band on his World Series ring twinkling under the lights. "Don't let one bad day get under your skin. 'Cause, just between you and me? You're the kinda player I can see buildin' this entire team around." He smiles at me. "So hang in there, all right?"

  He's basically telling me that the job at second base is mine, and as a player, an endorsement like that coming from someone like him should give me all the confidence in the world to tough it out and somehow find my swing again. But knowing that the praise is coming from Roberta's boyfriend somehow takes all the joy out of it for me.

  Landry enters the clubhouse, and the room immediately goes silent. "Listen up, boys, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once…" he says as the door swings shut behind him.

  Yeah, he's all down-home and folksy outside the game. But when it comes to winning? He's as competitive as they come. I'm grateful I didn't have to go up against him. I still have time to figure something out. He claims he's building this team around me. If that's the case, then there's no way he's going to let me quit because of Mom. He'll steamroll over me and put her somewhere before I can even blink.

  I peer out into the rain and pull my hood up over my head. But for now, Mom is still with me, safe and sound, and I have to keep telling myself that. Roberta didn't betray me. And as my sneakers slosh through the puddles, there's an undeniable spring to my step, one that's been missing for quite some time. Maybe I can convince Mrs. Jenkins to come over again later on so I can pop over to the Sheraton and thank Roberta in person for not spilling the beans and turning my life upside down.

  On a good day, my Subaru hatchback isn't that hard to find. It usually stands out among the other players' souped-up pickups and speedy little hot-rods. But today, Mom's faded blue umbrella is leading me to it like a homing beacon. I smile, remembering the night Dad brought it home, a freebie from one of Beaver Field's many giveaway nights.

  "Hey, Ma!" I call out. "Did you enjoy the game?"

  But when the umbrella twirls in my direction, it's not Mom standing underneath it. It's Mrs. Jenkins, talking frantically to a stadium security guard. And damn the puddles, I break into a run.

  "Mrs. Jenkins, where is she? Where's Mom?"

  As I approach, tears start falling down her cheeks. "I don't know," she sobs. "I turned away for one second…and she was gone."

  "What?" I grab onto my hood, trying to make sense of what she's telling me. "You were supposed to be watching her!"

  "Luke, it happened so fast," she wails. "Ever since the first inning, I've been looking all over for her…"

  "The first inning!" I exclaim. "That was almost two hours ago!"

  "Mr. Singleton, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down." The security guard steps in, laying a hand on my arm. "We're doing everything we can to locate your mother."

  "Then where is she?" I yell back. "She could be anywhere by now!"

  I spin around in a circle, my eyes combing the area, taking in everything at once. Yeah, Mom's done this before, but usually when there are plenty of people around to point out what direction she went in. But the crowd's dispersed. Anyone who could have seen her is long gone by now. And that's when my eyes stray to the forested area right beyond the outfield wall, and a chill goes down my spine.

  "Are you searching everywhere? Do you have anyone outside, looking for her?" I demand.

  "Sir, we don't have the manpower. We're currently searching the stadium restrooms and—"

  "For two hours?" I scream at him. "For two hours, all you've been doing is kicking in bathroom stalls? You need to call the police."

  "But, Luke," Mrs. Jenkins whimpers, pulling on my arm. "I told him not to."

  "That's right," the guard pipes up. "She said no cops."

  Mrs. Jenkins looks at me, shaking, when I stare at her in confusion. "Luke, I didn't think you'd want anyone to know about…"

  "About what…?" the guard prompts, glancing between the two of us. "If there's something you're keeping from me, then one of you needs to tell me what it is right now."

  Mom's out there alone somewhere, probably cold, wet, and terrified. I have to tell him about her Alzheimer's—even if they end up taking her away from me. I have no other choice. And here I'd thought I'd just dodged a bullet with Landry…

  I wipe the rain from my face and draw in a shaky breath. I just want her back, no matter what. That's all that matters now.

  "She has—"

  I'm interrupted by the sharp blasts of a car horn.

  Mrs. Jenkins holds her hand to her eyes. "Oh my goodness gracious, who's that?"

  I blink as a car comes careening toward us, barreling through the rain.

  "After I told them to cordon this area off…" the guard grumbles, reaching for his radio. "Please, folks. Step back."

  But then the car suddenly comes to a screeching halt in front of us, and my heart almost stops beating right along with it. I know this car. It was parked outside my house last night.

  The window lowers and Roberta cries out, "Luke, there you are! What the heck took you so long? Can we please go home now?"

  Okay, what in the world is she talking about?

  But when she motions with her head, it's clear she's not alone inside the car. There's someone with her—someone I never expected to see. Utterly stunned, all I can do is obey. I don't even feel my legs as I jog toward the car, my heart thudding in my chest with every smack of my feet against the pavement.

  From a distance, Roberta appears annoyed, irate even, but as I get closer, her eyes start telling me a different story. She's anxious as her gaze keeps flicking back to the guard. Only when I come to rest my elbows on top of the open window, essentially blocking him from view, does she sit back and allow me to peer inside. And there's Mom, disoriented and wetter than wet.

  She's shivering, which means
she hasn't been safe and dry and warm in Roberta's car this whole time.

  "Ma, it's me… It's Luke!" But she just gazes out at the rain, not even acknowledging me.

  Roberta turns to her in concern, and her curls hit me square in the face. For a moment, my eyes, my nose, my lips are all buried in her hair. And I stand stock-still. She's wet, too. They both are.

  I lean back and she rubs Mom's hand between the both of hers, holding it up to the heater. "If you want to keep this quiet, then get in your car and follow me to your house."

  "Why? Where were you? How did you find her?"

  She shakes her head at me. "Not here. We have to go."

  "Okay, okay, but tell me one thing…" I stare down into her eyes. "Is she gonna be okay?"

  Roberta looks up at me. "She will be, but time is of the essence."

  I start walking backward, digging my keys out of my pocket. "I just have to take Mrs. Jenkins home. She lives right next door. She won't say anything."

  "What about him?" she inquires, jutting her chin at the guard.

  "He doesn't know about her condition." I shrug deeper into my hoodie as I start getting pummeled by a cold, driving rain. "I'll just tell him she was with you and we got our signals crossed or something."

  "All right, see you there." She rolls up the window, and I wave as she drives by me toward the stadium exit.

  "Oh, Luke! What happened?" Mrs. Jenkins asks, struggling to keep the umbrella aloft in all the wind.

  "She got caught up talking to some of her old friends at Beaver Field and lost track of time." I chuckle for the guard's benefit. "You know how it is being Mr. Beaver's wife. She knows everybody in Stockton, and everybody knows her. Sorry to have troubled you."

  I cross my fingers inside the front pouch of my hoodie. I've kept Mom mostly out of sight over the past year, ever since her mind began to deteriorate rapidly. I didn't want anyone to see what she was going through, in an attempt to keep things as private as possible. Being recognized around Stockton didn't help matters. The added attention in public only made her agitated, muddling her thoughts even more. It just wasn't worth getting her so upset if she could just as easily stay at home with Mrs. Jenkins and watch TV for a few hours when I had to go somewhere. Today was the rare exception, and one I wish with all my heart, I could take back.