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Why couldn’t I do one thing right in my life? If I’d left with my mother weeks ago, none of this would have ever happened.
I stop breathing. I can still go. I packed my remaining money and a change of clothes in my bag last week. The backpack weighs me down. The books I can ditch in my locker. The other items that I kept as reminders can also be left, but not here. I know exactly where I can unload them on my way out of town.
Ryan
SMACK. THE BALL COLLIDES with my glove.
Bottom of the sixth and the game is tied. I wiggle the fingers of my throwing hand to keep them from becoming stiff from the cold.
Late October and it’s the coldest day of the year. Cold-weather games bring strange sensations. The wind burns my cheeks and fingers, but sweat forms from the heat trapped beneath the mock turtleneck of my uniform.
“Let’s go, Ryan!” Dad calls from the stands.
Playing the perfect wife and mother, Mom sits right beside him with a fleece blanket covering her legs. My eyes scan the bleachers again.
Beth’s not here and she won’t be showing.
A high-pitched whistle originates from home plate. The new batter is taking his time for the third pitch in what I assume is an attempt to freeze me out. Logan steps to the left of the batter’s box and motions for me to throw.
He wants me to keep moving so my muscles will stay warm. I’m distracted and have pitched the shittiest game of my life. My arm winds back, releases, and I curse when the ball flies two feet to the left of Logan’s glove.
Logan pulls the catcher’s mask to the top of his head and walks toward the mound.
“We’ll find her,” Chris says as he approaches me from the right. “Lacy’s already looking for her and after the game me, you, and Logan will do whatever we have to do to get her to listen. ”
Beth skipped class. I should have gone after her then, but Coach would have kept me from playing. “I can’t focus. ”
“Yeah, you can,” says Chris. “You have ice water in your veins when you pitch. Go to that place and you’ll be fine. ”
How do I explain that I never had ice water in my veins when I pitch? That there is a constant burning pressure that threatens to destroy my pitch even when I’m not distracted.
“Your pitch,” Logan starts when he reaches the mound, “is everywhere. Rein it in and you’ll get to her faster. ”
He’s right. I will. Chris swears under his breath and I follow his troubled gaze to the first baseline fence. Lacy stands on the opposite side with Beth’s pack dangling from her shoulder.
Logan gets in my face. “One pitch. One more pitch. ”
“We’ve got another inning,” Chris protests.
Logan throws him a glare. “One pitch. ”
They return to their spots and the batter digs his cleats into the dirt. This one’s for Beth.
Logan flashes two peace signs in a row. I nod, glance over my left shoulder, and spot a shadow of movement. Crossing my right arm over my left, I throw the ball to the first baseman, and hear the sweet word come out of the ump’s mouth: “Out!”
The crowd cheers and I run off the field, into the dugout, and out to the other side. Lacy’s eyes are wide with panic and she extends Beth’s backpack to me. “I don’t know what it means. ”
I tear the pack open as Lacy continues to talk. “I drove by her house, but no one was there. Then I drove around town and came up with nothin
g. So I went home, hoping that maybe she dropped by or called the landline, and I found this. ”
The pressure that always threatens me explodes and I toss the pack to the ground. My hand clutches the bottle of rainwater with the ribbons tied to it. I suck in a breath before unfolding the note tucked into the ribbons: I thought I could, but I can’t.
Dammit. Her mom. She’s gone after her mom and Beth has had enough time to find a way into Louisville by now. I race back into the dugout and grab my bat bag.
“Ryan?” Coach calls from the other end of the dugout.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got an emergency. Put Will in for me. ”
