Touching the Moon Page 12

  They trounced the other team and their victory cries were pure testosterone.

  “Let’s celebrate,” said Gray to Julie as they packed up the gear. “We’ve won a game. This is one game more than we won all of last year.”

  She beamed at him. “What do you have in mind?”

  “A cold Corona with lime to wash away the infield dust and a hot pizza to keep the hunger at bay. You do know that it’s traditional to re-cap the game over a meal, don’t you?”

  “No. I didn’t know that.”

  “A hard and fast baseball rule. Keep your evenings clear on game days.”

  They had won their tenth win when Julie suggested that they celebrate with dinner at her house. Gray’s surprise was expressed in quiet study. He gazed at her thoughtfully.

  “What are you fixing, Julie?”

  “Beef stroganoff over homemade spätzle, a side salad with warm bacon/mushroom dressing, and apple dumplings with toffee ice cream… unless you’d rather have pizza and beer?”

  A slow smile spread across his face and he shook his head to the negative.

  “Then, let me head on home. You come when you’ve wrapped up. I’ll need a minute or two or twenty to get things together.”

  By the time he walked through her kitchen door, she had chips and dip on the table and wine poured into two glasses. They re-lived the game as they feasted, laughing at the team’s antics and reveling in the pivotal points that loaded the bases or scored a significant run.

  Julie set dessert on the table.

  “What was with Keith today?” she asked. “He seemed rather out of sorts.”

  Gray gave her a sharp and significant glance.

  “He’s usually so playful,” she commented. “And he seemed so down today. Are there problems at school? At home?”

  “At home,” said Gray softly.

  “What kind of problems?”

  Gray took a deep breath and looked at her solidly. “I think he’s being physically abused by his father.”

  Julie grew quite still, almost as if her soul had left the room or her fiery spirit has reduced itself to one insignificant cold, blue flame. Gray reached out to touch her hands. They were ice.

  “I’ve been working with juvenile services. All the paperwork has been filed, Julie. It’s a matter for the courts now.”

  That statement seemed to bring her back from a great distance. “I haven’t seen any bruises,” she said. Her voice was a whisper.

  “I think his father hits him in places that won’t be seen, for the most part. Keith has a lot of broken bones for a boy who plays no contact sports.”

  “Is that what made you suspect?”

  “No,” Gray said quietly.

  “What, then?”

  “His eyes.”

  Julie looked up.

  “His eyes can be quite haunted at times.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “I think it’s very bad, Julie.”

  “Then Keith could be dead by the time the courts process the paperwork.”

  “I know this.” Gray’s big shoulders sagged. “We’re doing the best that we can.”

  “Have you spoken to Keith?”

  “I’m trying. Right now, he’s a bit uncooperative.”

  Julie nodded in understanding and they were both momentarily quiet. “I never talked about my injuries either,” she said softly, breaking the silence. “And trust me, a lot of people asked. I lied to everyone, even my friends. I was so ashamed. In the end, I just withdrew from social contact altogether.”

  Gray listened intently.

  “It was easier to be invisible to everyone. A non-entity. That way there were no painful questions to be answered, no lies and no excuses to cook up on the spot.” She looked up at him. “You know, there was this guidance counselor once. In high school.” She stopped talking and looked out the window. The pain in her eyes was so sharp it could have etched a diamond. Gray massaged her cold hands gently, but firmly, willing them to warm, waiting for her to speak again. “Mr. Thompson.” She swallowed. “He was very nice, and he tried to help, but I was so broken on the inside, I couldn’t see, and didn’t see, all his care and concern. When I finally recognized it, I ran from it. Tenderness was such a foreign emotion. It hurt.”

  “He came to visit me in the hospital after my stepfather almost beat me to death. I told him that I had fallen down the stairs.” A single tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it away quickly. “I guess the good news is I don’t remember much of it, the actual beating. He knocked me out three or four punches in. I weighed even less then than I do now. It didn’t take much effort to do me harm.” She paused to draw a quiet breath. “Help had finally arrived in the form of this guidance counselor, and I bolted in the other direction. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

  She looked up at him.

  Gray looked as if he were about to engage in a savage hell-fight. She sat back in her chair and swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “You are so angry.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize, Julie,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not angry with you. I’m just angry. Only bottom feeders prey upon the defenseless.”

  She sighed and gave him a weak smile. “Actually, Gray, I think I’m the tougher one. I ended up having more mental muscle. As they say, what doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger. I’m not without scars, but I’m all concrete and reinforced steel on the inside. I’m Fort Knox.”

  Gray was quiet a moment.

  “Yes, yes you are.” He looked at her. “But even Fort Knox opens its doors on a regular basis to admit its trusted caretakers. Julie, I would like to be your trusted caretaker.”

  She remained silent.

  “It’s what I want,” said Gray simply. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life.”

  18

  At Tuesday’s game, she brought four dozen double-chocolate cupcakes with liquid fudge centers. They couldn’t find all of the balls that they had knocked out of the park during the pre-game warm up.

  A parent from the opposing team pulled Gray aside. “What are you feeding them?” he asked.

  “Julie.”

  Although the team was in top form, Keith couldn’t run the bases before coin-toss because of a “stitch in his side.” Julie gave Gray a stricken look. Gray benched him to keep him from further injury. He didn’t seem to mind. He ate cupcakes and joined Julie in cheering on his teammates to another victory.

  When Keith’s father pulled up in his cobalt blue James Bond BMW after the game, Julie approached the car.

  “I see Keith is favoring his right side,” she said with all the neutrality of an atomic bomb.

  “He fell down the stairs,” the man said cavalierly as he glanced at his Rolex.

  She looked at his smug face and expensive clothes. Douglas Hawthorn descended from a long line of Hawthorns. They were gold magnates and had made money steadily off of Black Hills gold until the vein tapped out.

  “Are you going to fix those stairs?” she asked.

  “The kid’s clumsy.”

  “That’s what I told my teachers and coaches when I was too young to know better.”

  He looked at her.

  “I suggest that you stop and desist before you end up behind bars.” She walked away.

  “Come back here. You can’t threaten me.”

  She turned back to him and said, “I did no such thing. Consider our talk an infomercial.”

  Elliott picked Julie up after work on Friday night en route to a gig they had near Rapid City. She was distracted and quiet as she sat in the passenger seat, and Elliott was hard pressed to pull her out of her dark funk.

  “What’s going on, Julie?”

  “Baseball stuff.”

  “Baseball stuff?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did the Braves lose?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Anyt
hing I can do?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Try me.”

  Julie was quiet for a moment, weighing her thoughts. She took a deep breath and exhaled her stress and frustration. “One of the boys is being abused by his father.”

  “Gray working on this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is being abused?”

  “I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell.”

  “Gray told you, as first base coach, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’m a cop. I patrol the whole baseball field.”

  She turned to him and gave him a weak smile. “Keith Hawthorn.”

  “The golden child?”

  “Gray says that Keith is more black and blue. He’s filed a court order to put the boy in protective custody.”

  Elliott whistled low and long. “Gray is mighty big, Julie, but then, he’d have to be to take on Douglas Hawthorn. Will Keith testify against his father?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Julie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know how you told me that life is like a series of TV shows?”

  “Yep.”

  “Let’s do a little Emeril tonight, and put this on the back burner, okay?”

  She turned to look at Elliott, giving him her full attention.

  “My grandma always told me that worry was an insult to God.” He glanced over and watched her face fracture in pain. “Gray’s set things in motion. Let’s let it go for tonight. Is there anything you can do right this evening to protect Keith?”

  She shook her head to the negative.

  “Then let’s sing. Pick yourself up. Pump yourself up. You are no good to anyone like this.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  Somehow, she powered through. Her smile was bright, her stage presence magnetic, kinetic, and fresh. She hit every note and packed more energy into her delivery than usual.

  When they left the stage, Elliott pulled her to him and gave her a squeeze. “You are ever the professional, Julie Hastings. An amazing performance. No one would know how much you were hurting on the inside.”

  Julie’s throat convulsed in a dry swallow. She nodded at him silently and swallowed again. He had no idea just how much she was hurting on the inside.

  They entered the baseball semifinals undefeated. The boys strutted around like roosters, their backs straight, their shoulders square. They knocked their fists gently together as they walked past one another in silent salute.

  Keith sported a massive black eye that day. Julie touched his face gently, making sure that no facial bones were broken.

  “Skateboarding accident,” he replied, in response to her silent question.

  “Must have hurt.”

  “Yup,” Keith responded. “I’m a bit of a daredevil.”

  “You know, I had a lot of bruises too, growing up. I also had a lot of broken bones. I told everyone I was clumsy. Saved a lot of explaining.”

  He gave her a sharp glance and not one more word the entire game.

  And the game was a close one. Both teams were playing well, but Kenneth Running Deer ran like his namesake and caught a pop fly to end the game with the Braves on top.

  Julie did a bunch of high-fives with some pretty keyed up 16-year olds as they grunted out their “hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh” testosterone-rich chant. Even Keith was smiling. She sighed. At least his father couldn’t rob him of this little victory.

  As they packed up, Gray raided the ice chests.

  “Any more goodies?”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The brownies with the fudge bottoms and fudge topping.”

  She handed him the last one.

  “Hey Gray,” she said. Her tone captured his immediate attention. “I have to travel to Pierre this week. There’s a three-day veterinary conference Cole would like for me to attend.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow. It’s a Wednesday, Thursday, Friday thing. I think I’ll drive home Friday night after the closing dinner so that I don’t miss the game on Saturday morning.”

  He frowned. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Driving that late at night is too risky. You could hit an animal, have a car problem, get into trouble. Drive home the next morning.”

  “I’d have to get up before dawn to get here in time. The sky is just as dark then, and I’d have the truckers to contend with on the road. Coming home that evening is the best course of action.”

  She held up a hand when he went to speak again. “Gray Walker, somehow I have managed to keep myself whole for 24 years. And God knows I’ve been challenged on that score. I can take care of myself.”

  “I don’t think your decision is a wise one.”

  “Do you or don’t you want me there for the game?”

  “Not if it puts you at risk.”

  “I appreciate your concern. Truly. I do,” she said. “But, I’ll get back by Saturday morning.”

  She squeezed his little finger then released it, giving him an affirmative nod. The news had not put him into a good mood.

  “All right,” he said grudgingly. “Then let me take you to dinner.”

  “Oh, I can’t tonight,” she said, her face falling. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. But Dan asked me to help the guys down at the station to stuff envelopes. It’s their local fund-raising drive.”

  He was visibly displeased.

  “I’m working a fundraiser for the community,” she said slowly, a tad angry at herself for feeling compelled to explain her actions.

  He nodded. “When will you be back at your place?”

  “I don’t know. Ten?”

  He tugged on a loose curl then tilted her head up to kiss her on the lips. The kiss was long, deep and compelling. She was surprised by both the public display of affection and the power of his possession. She could hear her boys whistling at them from the bench.

  “Go do your good deed,” he said and brushed her lips once more to seal the kiss.

  She arrived at the station, brushing the infield dust off of her jeans. There wasn’t time to change and she felt badly about that. When she greeted Dan, she apologized for her appearance.

  “Sorry about my baseball uniform. Tommy Red Fox slid into first and caked me in a cloud of dust.”

  “Your uniform?”

  “Yeah, I wore this to the first practice and the boys played well, so Gray said I had to wear it every time they have a game. We all have to play by that superstitious ‘don’t-change-a-thing’ baseball luck thing.”

  Dan chuckled. She looked good enough to eat in that outfit. Gray was playing it all right.

  “Meet the force and all of our forceful supporters,” he said then more loudly, “Most of you know Julie, a gifted veterinarian who specializes in Copper Pigs.” A dozen men and women waved and greeted her enthusiastically. They were amidst a sea of solicitation letters, donation forms and envelopes. He held out a chair for her.

  “Coffee and doughnuts?”

  She grinned. “What is it with you guys and doughnuts anyway?”

  “They should change their motto from ‘Protect and Serve’ to ‘Eat Dessert First’,” quipped a dashing redhead at the front table.

  Dan brought coffee and munchables and motioned her to an empty workstation. He showed her how the mailing was pieced together and turned what would have been a mundane exercise in “Post Office 101” into a standup comic act. By the time Elliott and the band joined them, she was wiping away tears. She had laughed that hard.

  Naturally, the conversation automatically switched to music and singing gigs. Elliott filled her in on the latest bookings and was effusive in his praise of her vocal talent.

  Petey added, “Yeah, but you should see Slinky move.”

  “Slinky who?” asked Julie.

  “Slinky you,” said Petey.

  “Knock, knock,” said George. And the table roared. She missed the joke.

  “Good thing I am so expert in public relat
ions.”

  The men snickered.

  “Public relations?” asked Julie. More snickers. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh,” said Ro-Bear. “It’s like this. If some member of the public wants relations with you, George reads them their rights.”

  “Their rights?” asked Julie.

  “Yeah,” said George. “I give them the right to get gone, the right to leave in peace—”

  “The right to leave in one piece is more like it,” quipped Petey.

  “Knock, knock,” said Ro-Bear, hammering the table with his fist. The table roared again.

  “Knock, knock?” asked Julie.

  “Knocking heads!” said Ro-Bear.

  “How often have you had to exercise your role in public relations, George?” she asked in shocked disbelief.

  “I do believe my job is a permanent position. I’ve even required an assistant from time to time.”

  “No!”

  “Last week, there was a persistently persuasive young man who insisted on meeting you,” said George.

  “Same Sioux?” asked Ro-Bear, stuffing an envelope.

  “Yeah.”

  “Band groupie?” asked Julie.

  “Something like that,” said George, giving Dan a significant look. “The fans are why Elliott started driving you to our gigs.”

  “Whaaaat?” Julie wheeled on Elliott. “You told me your carpool idea was to conserve energy and protect the environment.”

  “I didn’t lie,” said Elliott. “I’m saving myself the energy I’d have to spend busting somebody’s nose.” George thumped the desk again for emphasis. “And as for protecting the environment, well, you’re part of the environment. Like a natural resource, right men?”

  “Right as rain.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Damn straight.”

  A boisterous gaggle of women joined the table wiggling themselves in between the men. Brenda belonged to George. She was a full-figured woman and matched his width and girth. Becka was Ro-Bear’s wife and just as tall and lanky. Cynthia, a Marilyn Monroe look-alike, had Petey’s ring on her finger. Her sultry eyes and come-hither smile served as a perfect foil to Petey’s ornery, impish grin.