Bat shrugged and told him, "A little." He added a self deprecating laugh and said, "But I don't really want to go to college. I went to Ranger thinking I'd figure out a major or get good enough at baseball to go pro. Neither happened."
"What do you want from life, Bat?"
Bat swirled his straw in his drink for a moment. He finally looked Garison in the eye and said, "I really don't know. I used to think I wanted to be a coach. You know, high school baseball. But then I realized that would mean spending the rest of my life in school." He shuddered, then added, "I'm thinking I might go to Dallas and look for work there. I've got a sister there that thinks she can get me a job for a shoe store near her house. Little more than minumum wage—but it might do 'til I find something better."
Garison looked at the young version of the man who would one day win and break Heather's heart. While this aimless young man made him wonder what she ever saw in him, he also made Garison wonder what changed him.
This Bat Garrett was indecisive and firmly on the road to being a shoe salesman for the rest of his life. But the Bat Garrett Garison had known had been a successful private detective and, at one point, something like a spy. While annoying to Garison, Bat had obviously been a person of talent and marked intelligence. Had the time changes somehow effected Bat, or was he just one of those people who didn't get things together until after college? It also occurred to Garison that he'd never known Bat without Jody and maybe she had made all the difference. It wouldn't be the first time, he knew. Sarah had sure changed Garison for the better.
The other strange thing was that Garison found himself liking this Bat Garrett. He still had the same flippant sense of humor that Garison remembered being annoyed by, but now it was somehow endearing. He never could have stood this much time alone with Bat before.
Garison figured the change was not on Bat's part, though, but on his. He had never liked Bat Garrett before, but now he was the only one from Garison's past Garison had seen in almost ten years. If one is alone long enough, Garison mused, one can even become fond of people you used to consider an enemy.
Bat had never really been his enemy, though. They just hadn't gotten along. Maybe, Garison admitted to himself, the deep seed of the problem was jealousy on Garison's part. He certainly hated to admit any such feelings toward the Bat he had known, but he had been jealous of the fact that—when they first met—Heather was still in love with Bat. And maybe the flippant sense of humor had also made Garison jealous. Even now—aimless as he was—Bat still seemed more relaxed with the world that Garison could remember being himself . . .except when with Sarah or Heather.
Garison took Bat over to the head coach's house after supper. He had already given the coach his opinion and knew the coach felt the same way. Garison had almost lied. Out of affection for the one person he had met from his past, he had almost recommended the scholarship for Bat. But then he realized that changing Bat's life might not be the best thing for him. What if he just continued as an aimless ball player for years? Bat was just good enough that he might make it to the minor leagues and drift around from one double and triple A team to another for years. Changing only from an aimless youth to an aimless adult. Never becoming a detective, never meeting and marrying Jody, never having Nolan. Garison realized he couldn't do that even to Bat.
A thought also occurred to him that he had thought years before: if he changed Bat at all, Garison might have never met Heather.
As Bat got out of Garison's truck, he turned and said, "Thanks for the supper and all, Mister Cottage."
"Call me Garison."
"Huh? I thought your first name was Burt."
Garison smiled and said, "My real name is Garison Fitch. Does that mean anything to you?"
Bat shook his head and replied honestly, "Not a thing. Should it?" His eyes suddenly got big and he asked, "You're not a criminal or anything, are you?"
"No," Garison laughed. "Let's just say some things happened to me a long time ago that are best left unsaid." When he noticed that Bat's suspicious expression hadn't changed, he explained, "I had to run away from something a long time ago. No one was hurt or anything, but it's best just left in the past."
Bat nodded, "That's why you said I looked like someone you knew ten years ago, isn't it? That's how long you've been running, isn't it? Were you worried I might blow your cover?"
"You've got a good mind for details, Bat. Most people wouldn't have made the connection. Yes, it's been ten years; but, no, I don't run anymore. I can't go back either, though. Can you keep my secret, Bat? I can't tell you what happened, but just that I'm here?"
"Sure. As far as I know, you're just a baseball coach and a geology prof."
"How did you know I was a geology prof?"
Bat pointed at the floorboard of Garison's truck and said, "One of your old cards is down there, by that wrench."
"You do have a mind for detail, Bat Garrett." Garison extended his hand and said with an odd smile, "I'll probably see you again some day, Bat."
"What should I call you if I see you?"
"Garison. I have a feeling that if we ever run into each other again, I won't need to worry about my past."
Bat shrugged and said, "Good bye, Coach." He walked up to the head coach's house without turning around.
Garison watched him walk away, then drove off with a sigh.
Garison's Journal
June 3, 1996
I saw Bat Garrett today. It was strange, but somehow predictable. Just like the song you always hear on the radio last is the one you hate the most—that way you're humming it all day long. Of all the people from my past I could have seen, why did it have to be the one I liked the least?
I think the reason I never liked Bat was that, to me, he just didn't seem to take life seriously. Even when I knew him before, when he had apparently become a successful private eye (and who knows what else? spy?), he just wasn't that serious about things. He always had a joke, or funny story to tell, or could quote some cartoon that was oddly appropriate to the situation at hand.
No. That's not it. There was really only one reason I didn't like Bat: Heather.
I never had any doubt that Heather loved me without reservation. When I married her, she was still a virgin (like me), so I knew she had never given that part of herself to another person. But it always gnawed at me for some reason to think that her heart had ever been given to anyone other than me.
I know that's silly. Just about everyone has probably fallen in love a time or two (or more) before they find the one they truly love and marry. And it wasn't like there was ever any danger of Heather leaving me and going back to him. He was married, for one thing, and madly in love with Jody.
And I know Bat was never in love with Heather after he dumped her. Maybe that's part of what bothers me: the fact that he dumped her. Even if it did open the door for me to catch her on the rebound, I never liked the idea of anyone having hurt Heather in any way.
Of course, I also always wondered just what sort of fool would let Heather go? On the other hand, Bat and Jody were—if there is such a thing—the perfect couple. That kind of made the incomprehensible comprehensible.
Still, I guess I never had a good reason to dislike Bat Garrett as much as I did. His wife, Jody, was Heather's best friend and a good friend of mine as well. I always liked her.
Part of what's weird about this is that I can't really remember not liking Bat. I remember all these facts because Heather and I talked about them (something she hadn't done, apparently, with the other Garison). I really never had an opinion about Bat—only saw him a couple times a year—I was just accepting the negative opinion the other Garison had.
If I had it all to do over again, maybe I could be friends with Bat.
"all to do over again"
There's a miserable phrase. I've had far too much to do over these last few years.
I'm only forty six years old, but there's a part of me that's way past tired of this life. I find myself hoping the e
nd for me does come on March 14, 2005, so I can just leave this veil and head for heaven. I've had enough of this show and am ready ready to move on.
I can wait until then, though. I have to. I have to wait and see if I actually fixed time, or if it will all just go on as it was. If so, maybe these years of living without my family have been my punishment for having destroyed the world.
Again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sometimes you know what you're doing is a mistake before you do it, Garison thought to himself, but you go right ahead and do it.
He was standing outside the Moody Coliseum in, Abilene, Texas, waiting to buy a ticket. It was a weird looking building. It had an architectural motif that Garison thought looked like the hybrid of a space ship and a cardboard box made by an octopus. For all it's weirdness, though, he kind of liked it.
"One please," he told the girl at the ticket booth. She was probably a college student there at Abilene Christian University, but she looked to him like she was about twelve years old. Of course, all college students looked too young to him anymore. He wondered when that had happened.
He got his ticket and went inside. His stomach was doing flip-flops and his hands were shaking, but he went to the concession stand, anyway. Repeating to himself that what he really ought to do is just turn around, walk outside, get in his car and drive away, he continued on his inexorable course. So going by the concession stand was just a way of slowing down the inevitable.
With a plate of nachos he didn't want in one hand and a giant Dr Pepper he didn't want in the other hand, he turned to the stairs that would lead him to his seat. He took a deep breath, then slowly ascended the stairs and came out on a walkway that circled the frighteningly round building and looked down on the empty volleyball courts.
That was a little bit of a relief. The players must have been back in the locker rooms getting some last minute instructions from the coach because none were out on the court doing the pregame warm-up he had expected to see. He quickly got to his seat before the players could come out on the court because something told him that when they did he would—at the worst—have a heart attack or—at the least—faint.
So he sat down amongst a pretty sparse crowd (couldn't even really be called a crowd, he mused) and began to eat the nachos he didn't really want because he couldn't think of anything else to do. A few more people began to drift in, then a whole lot of teen-age girls began to pour in. He was puzzled, then realized that the local high schools had probably brought their volleyball teams over to get a look at how the game was played at the collegiate level.
"You're about to see an All-American," he whispered under his breath.
As more people began to pour in and the only players to step onto the court were the local Wildcats, Garison finally turned to a spectator near him and asked, "Wasn't the game supposed to start at six-thirty?"
The lady looked at her watch and then replied, "I heard the SMU bus broke down near Ranger. I saw another bus pulling in as I was, though, so maybe that was them."
Garison nodded. The Mustangs were late. So they would probably come in and change clothes. Then, the ACU Wildcats being the sportmanship people they were would allow the SMU Mustangs a chance to warm-up. That meant probably another hour of waiting for the game to start. He wasn't sure if he could make it.
Of course, he would see her during the warm-ups, but he had purposefully been too late for the warm-ups. She might look up into the stands during the warm-ups and see him. During the game she'd be too focused, but not during warm-ups. Of course, she wouldn't know him even if she did see him. He'd just be one face among many up there in the crowd. A face she'd never seen before.
He was interrupted from his thoughts by cheers as the Southen Methodist University Lady-Mustangs trotted out onto the court. Was the crowd just being polite, Garison asked himself, or did they realize they were watching someone who was just about to be named to the All-Big-12 team, the All-American, and as an alternate to the U.S. Olympic team?
Chants of "Heather! Heather!" from the junior high and high school girls told him the crowd knew who they had come to watch.
It had started earlier that day completely by accident. Garison had been driving back to Sul Ross from a conference in Dallas and had stopped in Abilene for lunch. Some previous patron of the burger joint had left a copy of the local newspaper on the table Garison had chosen and so he had begun to absently peruse the sports section while waiting for his burger, listed on the menu as a "G".
Not too interested in what was happening in most of the world—because he already knew the big picture—Garison had turned directly to the sports section. All the winners of those games—even the championships—had departed his memory core when the other Garison's memories had left, so he had enjoyed learning the winners just like everyone else.
That weekend the Cowboys had won, the Broncos had lost and the Tennessee Titans had been massacred. The local colleges had fared about the same, he saw. The Hardin-Simmons Cowboys had lost, the McMurray Indians had squeaked by, and the Abilene Christian University Wildcats had run all over Stephen F. Austin. He didn't really care about any of those teams—though he had lectured once at McMurray—but he read the recaps, anyway.
He was on the fourth page of the sports section when a picture caught his eye and almost made him fall out of his chair. He was staring at it dumbfoundedly when the number for his order was called. He continued staring at the picture until someone came over and nudged him and said, "You number forty-five?"
"Huh?" Garison asked, then, "Forty-five, yeah." He took his meal from the worker and began to absently eat the burger while staring at the picture. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized that it was the best fast-food burger he had ever had, but the knowledge was pretty much strangled by the fact that his entire brain—his entire being—was staring at the picture.
It was just the sort of ad one sees in the paper all the time. It advertised that a local team—in this case the women's volleyball team at Abilene Christian University—was hosting another team—the Lady Mustangs of Southern Methodist University. Like many such ads, it had a picture of the hometown team's star player—Linda Riker—and a picture of the visiting team's star player.
It was the visiting star's picture that had Garison's rapt attention for it was a good—if grainy—picture of Heather Dawson.
"Heather Dawson," he read aloud. There was a blurb beneath the name that told of the honors she had already received and mentioned the ones she probably would receive, but Garison had never read further than the name because he couldn't take his eyes off the picture. "Heather Dawson," he said again.
He had apparently said it louder than he intended because a young woman at the next table said, "Isn't she the best?"
"She sure is," Garison replied before even realizing what he had said or looking up. He looked up to see a young woman who looked to be about high school or college age sitting at the next table.
The young woman smiled, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I just heard you talking about Heather Dawson. She's my hero. I wish I could play volleyball half as good as she does."
"Have you seen her before?" Garison asked.
"Once. I saw her play down in Austin once. She just makes it look so easy."
"I bet so," Garison smiled.
"Have you ever seen her play?"
"Not in a real game," Garison replied. "Just at family reunions. And at church and stuff."
"You know her?!?" the girl practically squealed.
Garison suddenly realized what he had said and shrugged, "Not really. I used to, um, date an—an aunt of hers." He had started to say "sister" but had realized this girl might be enough of a fan to know that Heather had no sisters.
"Are you going to the game tonight?"
Garison pointed at the ad and said, "It's tomorrow night, isn't it? I don't think I'll be in town then."
"No, it's tonight. That must be yesterday's paper. I can't wait to see her in per
son. I hope I can get her autograph."
"I bet you will. She's a—she seemed like a real nice young woman."
The young girl looked at her watch and said, "I better get going. Maybe I'll see you at the game tonight."
"Maybe so."
The problem—at least the most easily identified problem—was that it was just after noon and the game wasn't until evening. He wasn't expected back in Alpine until his Wednesday morning classes, but still—what do you do with an afternoon in Abilene? he wondered. He'd been stuck there before and had never come up with a good answer for that question.
So he wound up at the movie theater in the mall watching one fairly enjoyable comedy and one extremely putrid comedy he had walked out on after fifteen minutes. A couple more tours around the mall and the outlying shops had finally killed the day for him and he had spent the whole time telling himself he shouldn't go to the volleyball game that evening. He kept reminding himself that he should just hop right back onto I-20 and head west as he drove around town. But for all the wisdom he knew there was in telling himself these things, he had nervously asked someone for directions to the coliseum just before six.
There she was, just across what was—technically—a single room.
Heather Dawson.
Who, in less than a decade, would become Heather Dawson Fitch.
His wife.
As Garison watched the beautiful young college volleyball player go through her stretches and warm-up exercises, it was as if the world around him came to an end. There were other men and boys in the audience watching her every move, but for a different reason. They were watching solely because she was beautiful. A couple teenage boys walking behind Garison made a crude remark about her derriere, but a stern look from Garison at least sent them away.
The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 2): Saving Time Page 25