Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Okay. Safe travels.”
We hung up and I lay down in one of the chairs overlooking my pool, bare feet crossed at the ankles. I wondered what April was doing right now, if she was walking at the track or getting ready for work, or maybe having breakfast at her sister’s café. Was she mad at me? Did she miss me like I missed her? Did she think about how close we’d come to being happy together and feel like I’d let her down?
How long would it be before thoughts of her didn’t fill my every waking moment?
A few minutes later, Sadie came out in sweatpants and a T-shirt and stretched out on the chair next to me, a cup of tea in her hands. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Did you talk to David?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s Virgil?”
“Not good.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” She looked over at me. “You’ve got some seriously dark circles under those eyes. Did you sleep at all?”
“Not really.” I hesitated. “But it’s not all about Virgil. I’m fucking miserable, Sadie.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I miss her. I really fucking miss her.”
“I know. I can tell. Why don’t you—”
“Because I can’t, Sadie. I don’t know what possessed me to think I could in the first place. I’m not the guy who stays. I’m the guy who leaves.”
She sighed and looked out at the pool again. “Well, it’s beautiful here. I can see why you like it so much.”
“I don’t like it that much.”
She looked at me again. “So why are you still here?”
I shook my head, feeling more lost than ever. “I don’t know.”
Prepared for another psychoanalysis or lecture about repression or even just a good shaming about how I wasn’t the person she wished I was, I was surprised when all she did was reach over and take my hand.
Surprised and grateful.
“I’ll fly back with you if I can,” I said after a while.
“Really?”
“Yes, but don’t get too excited. I’m only going to see Virgil.”
She smiled sweetly. “Of course you are.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sadie.”
“What?”
“It’s temporary.”
“I know.”
“I’m not staying.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
“I never said you did.”
“Okay. Just so you understand.”
She sipped her tea and looked out at the pool, that grin still on her lips. “I understand completely.”
Turned out I couldn’t get on a flight until Tuesday, but I checked in with David each day, relieved to hear there was no turn for the worse.
Seated in first class, ignoring the woman next to me trying to flirt, I put on some headphones and watched a few TED talks, then gave in and watched Bull Durham for probably the five hundredth time. The funny thing was, it’s my favorite baseball movie ever, but I hadn’t seen it in a long time—maybe ten years. In the past, I’d always identified with Nuke, the hotshot minor-league rookie pitcher who needs to learn discipline and control before he’s called up to the majors. But this time around, I saw myself in Crash, the mentor. He’s a catcher, not a pitcher, but he sees the game differently than Nuke does, because he’s been around it so long. And when he’s let go because the team wants to bring up “some young catcher,” I felt the sad punch to the gut as much as Crash did. I knew what it was like to feel you weren’t worth anything anymore.
Even funnier, I used to hate the ending—the cheesy porch scene with the stupid eighties background music, the fucking dancing in the living room—but now I found myself watching with new eyes, listening with new ears. When Crash says, “I just want to be,” I fucking got it.
But the dancing still made me cringe.
I hadn’t checked a bag, so once my flight landed, I went straight to the rental car desk.
“Shaw!” Steve said happily. “You’re back!”
“I’m back.” And I was actually kind of glad to see him.
What the hell was happening to me?
I called David, and he said the sooner I could get to the hospital, the better, because visiting hours were nearly over. He texted me the room number as soon as we hung up, and I went straight there.
I’d been expecting Coach to look weak, but he was even frailer than I’d imagined. He looked shriveled and pale, and his breathing was labored. His eyes were closed. He wore a hospital gown, which was embarrassing, but the covers were pulled up high on his chest. David was sitting in a chair by the side of the bed and stood when I entered the room.
“Hey,” he said, extending his hand.
“Hey.” I shook it and glanced at his father. “How’s he doing?”
David shrugged. “He’s okay today. A little confused here and there, but physically okay. My mom finally left to get some decent food and rest.”
“Tell her to bring me some decent food,” grumbled Virgil. His eyes were open now but a little unfocused. “The food is awful here. I’m not confused about that.”