Allen reached over and grabbed the TV remote. “Mind if I turn this on?”

  “Not at all,” I said. Rusty’s dad was nice, but I wasn’t sure how much we had in common, so it was hard to think of things to say. Having the television on made things more comfortable.

  The TV was tuned in to a cable sports channel when Allen turned it on. With a quick, nervous glance over at Rusty, he changed the channel with lightning speed. I realized his dad, too, felt he had to avoid the topic of baseball around his son. My heart sank, and I wondered if he and Rusty had talked sports before everything went down.

  Jane chatted with Rusty in the kitchen, but I only caught bits and pieces of their conversation. Until I heard his mom exclaim, “You bought a what?”

  Allen sighed. “I guess he finally told her about the motorcycle.”

  “He told you about that?”

  Nodding, Allen said, “Yeah. He wanted to prepare me for the battle.”

  “Maybe I better go help him,” I said, getting up. I figured I was the perfect middle ground since I both understood his need for a distraction these days while I endured the agony of worrying about him. As usual, it was my job to swoop in and smooth things over and try to make everyone feel better.

  The four of us sat at the table and enjoyed a pleasant meal together. Jane was still upset, but she’d seemed to feel better once I’d gotten Rusty to discuss all the reasons he wanted to ride a motorcycle. He’d been through so much, and his mother did seem grateful that he had something in his life to look forward to.

  I was overwhelmed by the pure love I felt in this house. Rusty’s parents clearly doted on him, and the house was filled with photographs of him, his two sisters, and their children. I couldn’t begin to fathom the unimaginable grief his family would have suffered if Rusty hadn’t survived his cardiac arrest. I was humbled to be in the presence of such love, and I vowed to remember how it felt to be here the next time I had that terrible recurring nightmare about finding Rusty dead on the field. He was okay, and that was what mattered.

  After I helped clean up after lunch, Rusty went out to the car to grab his cell phone, which had pictures of his new bike he wanted to show off. His dad went with him, giving his mom a chance to corner me.

  “Tell me the truth, Amanda,” she said, her blue eyes turning serious. For a moment, I thought I was in trouble for something. “How is he doing?”

  Her worry and fear were palpable. Parenthood wasn’t for the faint of heart. And yet Jane was the kind of mother I wanted to be someday. One who loved and fiercely protected her children.

  “He’s doing all right,” I said, gently touching her arm. “I mean, he’s definitely still grieving the loss of baseball.”

  Jane nodded sadly, but she seemed to be grateful that I was leveling with her. She knew her son probably better than anyone; she could see the pain in his eyes.

  “He’ll find his way. It’ll just take some time. He still needs to mourn a bit and then figure out what he wants to do with the rest of his life. But he’s gonna be okay. I promise. You’ll be glad to know that he’s been really good about following doctor’s orders, going to his checkups and all that.”

  Jane sighed with relief, nodding again. It made me happy to help set her mind at ease. I knew how awful it was to worry.

  “I’m so glad he has you around to take care of him,” she said, squeezing my arm.

  “Me too,” I said, suddenly feeling quite tired.

  23

  RUSTY

  My buddy Charlie called me the day after I went to my parents’ house. Apparently, my mother had let it slip that I’d been in town.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t come see me, you prick,” he complained, and rightfully so. I’d thought about taking Amanda to meet him. I really had. I just still felt so lost in my life that I hadn’t been ready to face any of my old gang. It was stupid. It wasn’t as if I’d flunked out of college and was slinking back home. But I knew I’d feel better when I actually had something real going on in my life that I could talk about. Once my car dealership plans were firmed up, then yeah. I’d go back and spend more time in my old stomping grounds.

  “I know, I know,” I told him. “But you know how it is. Bringing the girlfriend home to meet the parents.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I get it. So you two are pretty serious, huh?”

  “Yeah we are.” We talked for a bit, and it was nowhere near as awkward as I’d expected. I wound up regretting not meeting up with him.

  Over the next few weeks, I did the best that I could to stay busy. I attended all my motorcycle riding lessons, both in class and on the road, and I took the extra motorcycle safety class, as I’d promised Amanda I would. Trace and I met up a couple of times to help me prepare for my test.

  I passed the first time, which was awesome. I realized Trace had been totally right about wind therapy. Being out on the open road calmed me and helped clear my head. The more I rode, the more at ease I became navigating all kinds of terrain. The first few times I went out, I had to concentrate hard on the actual riding of the bike, but after that, I was able to let my mind wander.

  My new bike was beautiful, and opening her up out on the road always eased my tension and stress, but I was still struggling with how to move on from baseball. I was hurting all the time, no matter how much I tried not to think about my old life.

  When I wasn’t on my bike, I threw myself into research on how to open a car dealership. I mostly worked in my home office, which was depressingly bare without my baseball memorabilia. I studied the websites of local car companies to figure out how they ran their businesses, and I lost track of how many times I nodded off at my computer. I tried to remember some of the business stuff I’d learned in college, but most of my classes had been a blur. My grades were pretty good, but I never gave a damn about the classwork part of school. I’d gotten in on a baseball scholarship, and of course sports were all that ever really mattered to me.

  I was fortunate that I’d gotten a business degree, but I hated like hell that I now had to use it. A fallback plan is great to have and not need.

  When I was desperate to get out of the apartment, I visited a few dealerships in the area. The owners were helpful and friendly, especially once they found out who I was. What sucked was having to tell them. I missed the days when my face was automatically associated with baseball. The people I spoke with gave me lots of tips on how and where to open a business, and it helped to see which dealers were located where. I didn’t want to open a Porsche store anywhere close to another successful one.

  After all that time online doing research, going on field trips to other dealers, and studying up on business tactics, I found myself completely and thoroughly miserable. Deep down, I’d always known I was kidding myself with this car dealer bullshit.

  I had absolutely no idea what my future held, but this wasn’t it.

  The day I had that stark and depressing revelation, I angrily shot up out of my office chair so hard I knocked it over. Leaving the damned thing where it fell, I stalked into my living room.

  I flipped on the television to watch an infomercial or a game show or whatever daytime TV garbage that unemployed losers like me watched during the day when everyone else was out having a life. I turned on the local news, figuring I was already depressed, so why not see what horrible things were going on in the world?

  Staring blankly at the television, I barely heard what the newscaster was saying. I felt guilty for wallowing in my own self-pity while terrible things were happening, even if I wasn’t really listening to what those things were.

  Then the sports report came on. Good news, everybody! For the first time in years, the Baltimore Bay Birds were in serious contention in the Wild Card race.

  Dear God, that hurt.

  I wanted to be happy for my friends. They’d worked their asses off all season, and God knew the Baltimore fans deserved to be rewarded for their years of loyalty to a losing team.

  I should have been there for this. The Birds were my team too.

  My chest hurt so bad that it scared me. For a few seconds, I feared I was having another cardiac arrest. I drew in a few deep and steady breaths to calm myself, and the pain lessened. Physically, anyway. Most of my agony was emotional heartbreak, not a physical heart problem.

  I would survive, whether I wanted to or not.

  Leaning forward, I put my head in my hands. I was utterly lost and alone.

  I needed Amanda more than I’d ever needed her before.

  24

  AMANDA

  When I got into work in the morning, I was surprised to see a new meeting on my schedule.

  The meeting was for the whole department, which was relatively rare.

  Poking my head out of my cubicle, I asked, “Hey, Bell, do you know what this meeting is about?”

  “Not sure,” she said, sitting at her desk, buffing her nails. She looked so much like a stereotypical lazy secretary that I nearly laughed out loud. Bella did an okay job overall, I supposed. She usually answered the phone by at least the third ring, and she answered most of her emails in a relatively timely fashion. More or less.

  “I can tell you what the meeting is about,” Denise said as she dramatically swept into the room. “At last I’m leaving you, my darlings.”

  It’s about damn time.

  Denise was nice enough, and she was a decent boss, but she’d been saying she was leaving for so long that I was starting to believe it would never happen.

  My stomach quivered with excitement. Finally, I would get the promotion I’d wanted for so long. Every day I’d been growing more and more frustrated with the limitations of my current job. Being the HR assistant mainly meant dealing with a ton of forms, scheduling appointments, and tending to minute details. I wanted to work directly with people. I wanted new hires to come to my office so I could welcome them personally and help them get comfortable in their new jobs.

  I was jittery and excited all morning long, watching the clock and waiting for 11:30. Then, at the last damned minute, the meeting got postponed until the end of the day. It was positively maddening; I wasn’t sure my jangled nerves could handle the wait.

  Finally, at 4:30 we all convened in the conference room. We went through all the agonizing formalities of a company meeting: Denise went over a few business items, then she took a few minutes to thank us all for our hard work. Then, after giving a short speech about how great it’s been working with us and how much she was going to miss us and blah, blah, blah, at last she got to the point.

  “So,” she said, drawing in a breath and letting it out. “That just leaves the matter of the position of human resources manager.”

  My body tensed and I leaned forward.

  “As you know, there’s a lot that goes into being the HR manager. There’s experience and know-how, but there’s also personality and, you know, what they call people skills.”

  I frowned, not entirely sure what the woman was talking about or where she was going with this. There was only one person who had years of experience with the employee database, the job postings, coordinating the orientation and training sessions, and all the forms and policies associated with the HR department at the University of Timonium. And that person was me.

  “This was not an easy decision,” Denise said, making my body grow even more rigid and tense.

  It should have been an easy decision. I was her assistant, and my performance and attendance were impeccable.

  “But I think it makes the most sense to promote Bella to serve as human resources manager,” she said with a smile.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  “Omigod, I can’t believe it,” Bella gushed excitedly.

  Neither can I.

  And neither could anybody else. All the heads, at least the ones that didn’t belong to Bella and Denise, slowly turned to look at me.

  I’d never been so angry and humiliated in all my life. Everyone knew I deserved that promotion, but instead, Denise had given it to her favorite bar-hopping buddy, Bella.

  The promotion, like so many other things in life, was nothing more than a personality contest. And I never won personality contests. Not in high school, not in college, and certainly not when I was sitting in a bar next to Wilder. Sure, I was competent and hardworking, and I knew my job inside out, but I wasn’t fun. Denise and Bella were tight outside of work, and apparently that was enough to get the job.

  Denise was right that people skills mattered in a human resources job, but I didn’t think doing belly shots off a hot bartender qualified. I hated how petty I sounded inside my head, and yet I knew I was right. I wasn’t being petty because another woman had gotten the job instead of me. I was righteously angry because I’d been passed over for a promotion that I genuinely deserved. The people skills required for the job were kindness, understanding, and patience.

  At the moment, I was furious, impatient, and heartbroken. I fought back tears as hard as I could, refusing to give anyone in this horrible place the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  Having the meeting at the end of the day turned out to be a blessing. Not long after it was over, I got the hell out of the office.

  I managed not to cry until I was safely out of the parking lot. Instead of going home, I headed straight over to Rusty’s place.

  More than anything, I needed his love and support right now.

  Rusty looked alarmed when he saw me. Not only had I shown up unannounced, which I never did, but my face was a blotchy mess from crying.

  “Amanda! Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m okay,” I assured him, realizing too late that I should have given him some warning that I was coming over. “I mean, I’m not okay. I’m very upset, but nobody died or anything.”

  “That’s good, I guess.” Rusty still looked worried as he pulled me over to the couch.

  Wiping my eyes, I sat down next to him. I scanned the room and saw a bunch of Chinese takeout containers and trash on the floor.

  “I know, the place is a mess,” Rusty said apologetically. “It’s been a bad day.”

  My stomach clenched. I knew that dark look. Rusty was spiraling again—it seemed to happen more and more these days. Though I was sorry he was having a rough day, I did not have the mental or emotional energy to deal with his issues.

  “Amanda, what the hell happened?”

  “I didn’t get the promotion,” I said, a fresh wave of devastation washing over me. I hated saying those words out loud, especially after fantasizing for so long about how much fun it would be to tell my family and friends about my exciting new job.

  “Oh, thank God,” Rusty said with a sigh.

  “What?”

  “No, I didn’t mean … I just thought something terrible had happened.”

  “Something terrible did happen, Rusty,” I said, my frustration building all over again. Of course, I knew what he had meant. When somebody rushes in when they’ve been crying, you can’t help but think the worst. That someone had died in a horrible accident or had been diagnosed with a terminal disease. Though I understood his relief, saying Thank God about my troubles wasn’t the proper response.

  “I didn’t mean thank God you didn’t get the promotion. I just meant it’s not that big of a deal.”

  I stared at him with absolutely no idea how to respond to that. After a few seconds of icy silence, I said, “What do you mean it’s not that big of a deal?”

  “I mean it sucks that you didn’t get the job, but you can always get another one. A different job in the same field. I’m sure lots of people are hiring in HR.”

  “I don’t want another job. I want this one. Because I deserved it. I worked my ass off for this promotion, and they gave it to somebody who was completely unqualified.”

  “Yeah, but at least you get to go out and get another job doing the exact same thing,” Rusty said, sounding frustrated. He acted as if I was bothering him with my petty problems when he had “real” problems. “I’m just saying it’s not like the position I’m in. Where I can’t do my job ever again.”

  “I know, Rusty,” I snapped angrily. “Your situation is much worse. You win. You always win.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means your problems will always be worse than mine, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have problems too. You just don’t give a damn about them.”

  “Of course I do, Amanda. I’m just sayin’—”

  “I understand exactly what you’re saying,” I said, shaking with anger. “You don’t have to ever feel bad for me because you will always have things worse. You get a lifetime free pass from having to care about stupid, insignificant problems because your life sucks worse than mine.”

  Rusty seemed shocked by my fury, which only made me madder. I felt like I was being gaslighted. Made to feel like I was crazy for wanting a little bit of love and sympathy after giving so much of it to him. I always tried my best to make other people feel better, but there was more to me than just a bottomless pit of sympathy. I had feelings too, dammit.

  “Well, my situation is different. Very different,” he said, rolling his eyes dismissively as he spoke.

  “You know, I got used to the fact that you never ask me about my work and that your eyes glaze over with boredom if I dare mention my job, but it would be nice to think you actually cared. Even a little bit. God knows, I’ve done everything I can to help you through your situation.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” Rusty roared, his eyes flashing in anger. I’d seen that dark look many times before, but this was the first time it had been directed at me. “I’m a goddamned has-been at age twenty-six. No matter how long I live, my obituary will say ‘He played for the Bay Birds for a couple of years’ because that will be my greatest accomplishment. And it’s over. I’m completely washed up already!”

  His fists were balled up in fury; I was genuinely afraid he might punch through a wall or something.

 

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