by E. C. Bell
He smiled. “Guess I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for Karen, though. She was my first, if you know what I mean.”
He turned away from both of us. Pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, noisily. “It’d be good to know what happened to her, though,” he said. “I hope she got to travel, like she always wanted to.”
Nope, I thought. She didn’t. But all I did was smile and nod. “We hope so, too,” I said. “Can you think of anything else about that last year? Anything at all?”
“Like I said, I lost track of her, so I didn’t hear much. Her parents got real cold to me, after we broke up.” His face tightened. “I think they thought it was my fault she left. So, I didn’t hear much.”
“I understand,” James said. He put out his hand and shook Kimble’s. “Thanks for giving us the time,” he said.
“No problem. And hey, you’ll let me know if you find her,” he said. “Just so I know.”
“Will do.”
James took me by the arm and led me out of the garage. I waved weakly at Kimble, and he waved back, then I saw him reach for the rubber mallet. As we got into the car, the banging resumed.
“I don’t think he did it,” James said. “Sounds like he got his heart broken and then moved on.”
“I suppose,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I was quite so ready to let him off the hook as a potential suspect. It seemed to me that Karen had hurt him badly. So badly that maybe he’d decided to exact revenge on her.
Unless he really was as over her as he said. Did he have an alibi?
“Stop the car,” I said. Before James properly had the chance to stop, I leaped out of the car and peeled back to the garage.
“Bobby Kimble!” I yelled. He stopped hammering and turned. I couldn’t read his expression. “When did you get married?” I asked. “To Freida, I mean?”
“In ’75,” he said. “In early May. Before we started seeding.” He smiled. “Like I said, Freida’s a good egg. She understood that the farm and the kids came first. Always did. And, nobody calls me Bobby anymore. It’s Rob.”
“Thank you,” I said, and left for the second time.
James looked at me inquisitively when I got back into the car.
“I think you might be right,” I said. “I don’t think he did it.”
“Why?”
“Just a feeling,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Karen:
Why Shunning Is Bad. For Real
SO, WE TRIED the shunning thing. At least, I did, because I was the only one at the living game. Not even Mr. Middleton showed up, which seemed like a pretty chicken shit move on all their parts. But, it seemed to work. Marie looked at me funny a few times, but for the most part, she ignored me too.
I can’t say that it made me feel all right, because it didn’t. I remembered being treated like that in high school a couple of times and then there was the whole shunning thing I went through after I broke off my engagement with Bobby Kimble.
That was worse than horrible. All my friends cut me out of their lives without a by-your-leave or anything. I’d tried talking to my mother about it, but she told me, basically, that it was my own fault.
“You didn’t really think your friends would go along with these wild ideas of yours?” she’d said. She was frosting a cake, with her back to me, but I could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was angrier with me than she’d ever been before in her life. “You said you were going to marry Bobby,” she said. “You broke his heart. What did you expect?”
I guess I’d expected her to think that having a life that did not involve marriage and kids right out of high school was a good idea, but I was wrong. And my friends from school were as angry at me as my mother. So they froze me out. All of them.
Hell, the way things turned out, maybe they were right.
Dad hadn’t noticed how Mom was treating me, of course. He seemed to be of the opinion that just as long as he put food on the table and kept a roof over our heads, he didn’t need to bother with the rest. That was Mom’s department. So, it was anger and hurt in that house every day.
Luckily, I got the job at the Coffee Factory. I had no experience, but Len and Carol gave me a chance. They started me off at the University coffee shop then moved me to Ninety-Ninth Street, to the actual factory, a few months later.
At first, I worked front counter. Answering phones, taking orders, and everything else that went on in that little place. I took every advantage of it. After all, I had told everyone—yelled it from the rooftops, really—that I wanted a career. Looked like it would be with coffee.
There wasn’t much to that gig that turned my crank at first, but I made sure I was there on time, every day, and that I treated everyone I dealt with as well as I could. Usually that meant a quick smile and then fighting off the idiot salesmen who seemed to flock to the place, but after I learned how much they made doing their jobs—because they were all quick to tell me, hoping that the big numbers would impress me enough to go out with them—I thought for that kind of money, I could do what they did, probably better.
I started sending out my résumé and quickly found out that getting a job like that was a lot harder than it should have been. I researched every business top to bottom when I applied, but my résumé were met with disdain. If I was lucky.
“Are you sure you want to try something like this?” they’d say if I was lucky enough to get an interview. “You wouldn’t rather start in the front office with the other girls?”
“No,” I’d say, trying to keep the smile on my face. “I’d rather be a salesman.”
“Well, you can hear the problem right in the name,” they’d say. “Sales man. Get it, little girl?”
If I had the guts to say, “I can do the job as well as any man,” they’d say, “That may be, but you’re young. You’ll want to have kids, won’t you?”
If I said yes, they’d gleefully reply, “Then you’ll just leave and we’ll have to train somebody else.” If I said no, they were instantly concerned that perhaps I was going to turn into a nun or something. But the gist of every rejection was, “You’ll leave and we’ll have to train somebody else. Somebody male.” So none of those jobs ever panned out.
At least I had the Coffee Factory job through all that. And it got better when Les decided I could begin learning to roast the beans. Learn the business, from the ground up.
It didn’t take me long to save enough money to finally rent an apartment of my own. All right, so it was a basement suite, but still, I had my own place. Then I started thinking about travelling. Seeing all the places where the coffee that I roasted came from. Really making coffee my career.
And then, I made the mistake of my life. I went on a date.
ANYHOW, EVEN THOUGH I hadn’t spoken to Marie through the whole game, I’d watched her play. She was getting better, she really was. Which meant she wasn’t about to quit. Which meant I was going to have to deal with her twice a week for the rest of the season.
Even if the rest of the chickenshit ghosts were going to stay away from the living games, I couldn’t. I was stuck there. Which meant that Marie and I were going to be face to face. And I wasn’t going to shun her anymore.
To hell with Joanne. We needed another plan.
Marie:
Ella Comes to my Game
“YOU GUYS READY to go?” James called from Jasmine’s living room at 5:54 pm on Thursday evening. “Marie’s going to be late!”
Jasmine had finally talked me into letting her daughter, Ella, go to one of my ball games. Which meant, of course, it wasn’t just Ella who was going, but the whole family. Getting Jasmine’s family anywhere on time was next to impossible, even with James’s help. So, there we were, six minutes away from me being officially late, and we weren’t even close to getting into the car.
“Just give me a second,” Jasmine called, somewhere from the bowels of her house. “I have to find hats for the boys, and I’m sure I have some of those foldable lawn
chairs—”
“Jasmine, I told you! There are bleachers,” I called. “Come on, get your rug rats out to the car. I can’t be late!”
All right, so I wasn’t even half ready myself. I thought I’d washed both of my ball socks, but could only find one, so I was tearing my room apart as I gave her a hard time. Then, as if by magic, there was my sock. Covered in dust from under my bed, and mostly red from the shale at the diamond, but I had it. Rammed it on and grabbed the big, black bag that held my glove, hat, and cleats, and bounded up the stairs two at a time.
I beat Jasmine to the car by a step and a half and helped her load both boys in the back seat. “It’s going to be a bit tight back here,” I said, rather unhelpfully.
“Well, I couldn’t find a sitter, so here we are,” Jasmine said. She pointed to the middle seat. “Ella, get in. I’m not sitting beside those two. Seriously.”
Ella rolled her eyes, but climbed into the seat beside her two brothers.
“Too bad this car wasn’t a bit older,” Jasmine said. “With a bench seat in the front. I’d sit up there with you.”
“But it isn’t, so you can’t,” I said. Again, unhelpfully. “Tuck in. There’s enough room.”
To be honest, I didn’t think there would be, but Jasmine somehow managed to get everyone belted in and strapped down.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Before I change my mind about this whole adventure.”
“Do we have enough time to pick up some snacks before we go to the diamond?” James whispered.
“No,” I whispered back. “I am going to be seriously late as it is. But maybe you can pick up some stuff after you drop us off?”
He smiled, unbelievably good sport that he was, and nodded. “Anything for the lovely Jasmine and her three wonderful children,” he said, loudly enough for Jasmine to hear.
“And you better not ever forget it, my man,” she said. Ella tittered into her hands, and Jasmine gave her a sideways glance. “It’s no laughing matter, Ella,” she said. “If that man wants me to continue to cook him the best meals in this city, he better treat me with the respect I deserve.”
We all laughed at that. Even the two boys, who weren’t paying any attention to any of us. But James laughed loudest of all.
“I will treat you like a queen, just as long as I get more meals,” he said.
“Wouldn’t hurt,” Jasmine replied. Then she laughed herself. “Maybe not a queen. Don’t know if I could take all the bowing and scraping.”
“As you wish,” James said, which cracked everyone up all over again. We’d watched Princess Bride the night before, and everybody had been “as you wish”-ing ever since.
“All right, enough,” Jasmine said. “Everyone calm the heck down.”
“As you wish!” everybody carolled. Then we all laughed and it was suddenly okay that I was late. This was going to be fun.
That thought surprised me a little. I didn’t generally think in terms of something being fun. I was usually so certain that things were going to go badly that I managed to squeeze the fun out. But there I was, giggling like a kid and not even noticing the traffic or the clouds or anything.
This was going to be fun.
OF COURSE, THE first person I saw was Karen, standing on second base. She was watching my team warm up, but she looked at me—directly at me—when I walked up into the bleachers with the rest of my crew. And then, she waved.
So, no more ignoring. That was going to put a bit of a kink into the whole “having fun” thing, to be sure. I handed James my watch and said, “Wish me luck,” to Ella.
Ella looked briefly confused, like she couldn’t figure out how luck entered into the equation, but, with a little prodding from her mother, she nodded and smiled. “Good luck,” she said.
The boys chorused “good luck” too, so I ruffled their hair and then walked down to the dugout. Karen waved at me again, but I ignored her. Turnabout being fair play and all that.
“Sorry I’m late, Greg,” I said before the coach had a chance to open his mouth. “The family decided to come. What can I say?”
“Well, that’s a nice thing,” he said. “Having family here. Those kids yours?”
“No!” I gasped, and glanced over at Jasmine, who was doing her best to get her crew under some kind of control. I didn’t see James at first, then realized he’d gone to the other bleacher to talk to the guy he’d met at the last game. Andy. Didn’t know if I blamed him, because I imagined it was getting pretty loud around Jasmine. “Nope. No kids.”
“Not yet,” Greg said. I shook my head, pretty emphatically, but all he did was smile. “Nearly everybody has a kid, Marie,” he said. “Eventually. Don’t look so stricken.”
“I’ll try.”
“And now,” he continued, “you better get ready. Rachel couldn’t make it, so you’re playing second base today.”
“What?” My fingers froze on the zipper of the big black bag. “I don’t play the infield, Greg. And I don’t have a clue how to play second base. Pick somebody else.”
“Sorry, Marie.” He didn’t look sorry, though. “Nobody else left. Besides, I think it’s time you give the infield a go. Suit up.”
Jesus, not second base. That would put me right beside Karen for the whole freaking game. How would I be able to concentrate with her there? Wanting to talk . . .
I sighed and put on my hat, glove, and my cleats, silently hoping that I’d turn an ankle or something on my way out of the dugout and out onto the diamond.
That didn’t happen, of course.
First base—I was pretty sure her name was Stacey—smiled at me as I walked toward second.
“Want me to throw with you?” she asked. “Just to warm you up a bit?”
“Thanks,” I said. I stopped walking, but she shook her head impatiently and gestured toward second base. My base. Where Karen was waiting.
“Go to your bag,” Stacey said. “I’ll throw to you.”
So, I did. Karen looked supremely shocked and even shuffled over a step or two to give me room. “Are you playing second?” she asked.
I didn’t answer her, of course. I had to concentrate on the throw that was coming and the people in the stands—my people—who had come to watch. Didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of them right off the jump.
“Ah,” she said. “You’re giving me the cold shoulder. I guess you owe me, after your last game. I am sorry about that, but—”
The ball flew at me just as I glanced in Karen’s direction and flicked off the top of my glove. Of course. I glared at Karen and ran fifteen feet into the outfield to retrieve the ball.
“Sorry,” Karen said, and finally shut her mouth.
I ran back to second and tossed the ball to Stacey. It seemed to take forever for it to get to her, and she frowned. “Throw with authority,” she said. “I’m not made of glass.”
At least she hadn’t given me a hard time about the missed catch. She bounced the ball on the ground in my direction, and I ran, gathered it up, and threw, almost without thinking. The ball made a very satisfactory “thwack” when it hit the pocket of her glove, and Stacey smiled.
“Better,” she said and gestured me over. “Have you played second base before?” she asked.
“No.”
She closed her eyes for a second, as though she was trying to gather her strength. “All right, ” she said. “Here are the three things you have to remember. If there is a runner on first, the ball will be coming to you, so you can make the out. It is up to you to make that out and then throw to me—hard—so we can try for a double play. Right?”
“Gotcha,” I said. I couldn’t believe she was even suggesting I try for a double play, but hey, whatever. “And what else?”
“Try not to let a grounder get by you,” Stacey said. The umpire signalled that the game was about to start, and she tossed the ball, underhand, into the dugout. “And remember, if they bunt, you have to cover first.”
“I have to what?” I asked. Well, to b
e honest, I kind of squealed the words out like a terrified dolphin.
“You have to cover first,” she said and punched her glove open. “Got it?”
“Got it,” I said. I took two big steps away from second base and ended up standing right beside Karen.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll tell you what to do.”
Exactly what I needed. A ghost giving me instructions.
“Just be quiet,” I whispered. “I got this.”
“Are you sure?” Karen asked. “I’ve been playing forever—”
“I said I got this,” I said. Too loud, because Stacey gave me that strange look usually reserved for someone caught talking to themselves. I smiled at her—at least, I hoped it looked like a smile—and said, “You caught me. Just psyching myself up!”
“You’ll be fine,” Stacey said. She smiled back, but it looked as fake as mine felt. Luckily, the first batter stepped up and I could drop all pretenses of a smile. Time to concentrate on the game.
Okay, the lesson I learned in that first inning? The game moves a lot faster in the infield than it does in the outfield.
The first batter hit a slow grounder to second base—to me—and I waited for the ball to come to me.
“Go to the ball!” Karen yelled.
“Go to the ball!” Stacey screamed.
So, I ran for the ball, scooped it up, and threw it to first. I missed the runner by two full steps.
Dammit.
The second batter hit the ball out to left field. The left fielder let it bounce and then threw to the short stop. By that time, both runners were safe on first and second.
A bad start, and everyone infield looked angry. I tried to keep calm but my heart started pounding so hard I was afraid I was going to have a heart attack or something.
“Play’s to third!” Jamie the back catcher called. Finally, some softball basics came back to me. Remember to throw ahead of the lead runner. I wanted to get the lead runner out. It was vital to get the lead runner out.