Chapter Ten

Bree went with him when he made his second visit to the sports medicine clinic.

Dr. Nugent was encouraging after he examined the new set of X rays. “This is about as good as we could have hoped for.”

“Great. When can I pitch?”

The doctor smiled. “Not so fast. Let’s talk about some rehabilitation first.”

“Okay, I’m listening.” As eager as Coley was, Dr. Nugent was all the way down the line by the book. Having removed the cast, he used his fingertips to probe the damaged ankle, which was white and stubbled like an old man who needed a shave. “Is there a whirlpool in the locker room at your high school?”

Coley grunted: “Yeah.” Occasionally there were twinges of pain when the doctor pressed hard, but nothing acute. On the front of the ankle was a small greenish bruise about the size of a quarter. Bree was holding his arm when she wasn’t gripping his hand. Coley wondered if Dr. Nugent thought it was weird, her being with him. We must look like some lame and out-of-luck couple sucking up to a doctor for fertility drugs.

Dr. Nugent gave him a plastic walking cast that was held in place by Velcro strips. “I want you to wear this when you’re at school or walking in public places. Wear it anytime you’re walking on an uneven surface, like your yard or a playing field.”

“Can I throw?”

“Not yet. Until the time comes when you can really trust this ankle and drive on it, you’ll probably overcompensate and strain other muscle groups.”

“Come on.”

“Like your arm, maybe. A pitcher with a sore ankle is one thing, but a pitcher with a bad arm is in trouble. You’re listening to me, right?”

“Yeah, I am.”

The doctor continued. “This is a manual of ankle exercises you can do at home. Follow the directions closely, don’t improvise. Anytime you feel pain, it’s time to stop and rest. You want to be aggressive enough so you push yourself right up to the threshold of pain, but don’t go beyond that.”

“Okay.” Coley took the printed manual and folded it over so it could fit in his pocket. Bree took it from him, though, to put it in her purse.

“I’m going to send you out to the university so you can get an inflatable lace-up cast. You can run wearing it. Don’t run on any uneven surface, though; run in the gym or on the track. Just remember, the rule of thumb is always the same: Push yourself to the point of pain and then back off.”

“What about the stationary bike and stuff in the water?” Coley asked.

“Perfect. The more the better. You need to be in shape when you’re ready to pitch.”

On the drive home Coley enjoyed the freedom of the lighter, sleeker plastic cast. He was determined to follow all the rehab guidelines; thinking ahead, he realized he might be pitching again in two to three weeks, which would still be the month of May, which would still be before the start of the play-offs.

Bree squirmed close. “What did the doctor mean when he said you can’t drive yet?”

“He wasn’t talking about the car. He was talking about pitching. See, when you’re pitching and using the right mechanics, you don’t just step at the plate, you come down hard on your ankle and drive off it.”

She sighed. “I guess I did ask, didn’t I?”

Coley knew her patience would wear thin if he went into detail about pitching mechanics. He said, “You have no idea what it’s like, Bree, to just blow a hitter away.”

“I’m sure.”

“You can’t imagine what a rush it is. You just bring the heat and the batter is frozen in the box. He might as well have a piece of string in his hands instead of a bat, for all the good it’s goin’ to do him. He might as well be a statue; he might as well be the statue.”

“I never heard you talk like this,” she told him. “Can we change the subject?”

“Why?”

“It’s, like, too exciting.” Her hand was on his thigh, squeezing.

At first he thought she was teasing, but then he knew she wasn’t. How talking about pitching would arouse her would have to be another Bree riddle. But it clearly did. He had to remind himself to watch the road.

“Let’s pull over,” she said. “You’re getting me excited.”

“I can’t pull off here.”

“At the rest stop, then,” she urged.

“Didn’t we already pass it?”

“Not yet.”

It was only a mile to the rest stop, but to Coley it felt like an hour. When they exited and he swiftly skirted the parked semis, Bree pointed to a remote parking space beneath the shade of a mature elm tree.

Despite the presence of the clumsy cast and the awkwardness of the bucket seats, their lovemaking was swift and sure. The traffic that came and went intermittently was as inconsequential as the clouds.

The aftermath of this spontaneous afternoon delight, Coley decided, ought to be as good a time as any. “I’ve got a question,” he told her.

“So what’s the question?” She was dragging her fingernails along the side of his face.

“I want to know if you’re a virgin.”

“You want to know what?”

“You don’t have to, like, be offended; it’s just something I’m curious about.”

“Why would you be curious about that? Anyway, isn’t that an awful personal question?”

“Bree, we’re at the point where we can be personal. We have an intimate relationship, which means we can discuss private things with each other.”

“How can I be a virgin when we make love all the time?”

“That’s not what I mean. Did you ever have sex with any other guy before we met?” He was thinking of Kershaw but not saying so.

“I just don’t know why you’d ask me a question like that. It’s pretty insulting, you know.”

“A question like what?” he asked.

“You know what I mean. A question like, Are you a virgin?” She was sitting upright in her own seat. Fully dressed.

“I’m sorry if I insulted you. I didn’t mean to. I’m only asking because I’m curious, like I said.”

“I don’t understand why you’re curious about a thing like that. I don’t know why you’d even ask me that.”

“Now you’re pissed.” Confused, Coley started the car.

“Why shouldn’t I be? We’re making love together, which is the most intimate thing two people can do, and out of the blue you ask me if I’m a virgin.” As if to emphasize the distance she was bent on establishing, she wrapped her seatbelt into place and locked it down.

It didn’t take him long to get the car up to 75 mph. “How can you call it out of the blue? I mean it’s, like, right when we’re fucking, right after we’re done, and I ask you a question about your sex life. That’s not out of the blue. It would be out of the blue if I asked you, ‘How did your math test come out?’”

“Please don’t call it fucking,” she said. “And wouldn’t you be pissed?”

“Wouldn’t I be pissed what?”

“If I asked you a question like that, wouldn’t you be pissed?”

“No,” Coley declared. “Ask me anything you want and I’ll tell you. You can even ask me any question you want about Gloria.”

“I don’t want to talk about her. Why would I want to talk about her?”

“She’s just an example. I was trying to make a point.” He was annoyed this was going so badly. In a way he wished he’d never asked, but in another way he was convinced there was an important point to be made about intimacy in a relationship. Not that he could do a good job of making it, or even that she would want to get it.

“Of course I’m a virgin,” she said quietly, staring straight through the windshield.

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I was a virgin until I met you. I’ll never be one again, though, will I?”

“Okay, okay, we don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry I even brought it up.” He wanted to believe her, but she wasn’t convincing. By this point the whole question seemed utterly inconsequential. They finished the rest of the drive in silence.

It turned out that his rehab started with housework. He ran the vacuum cleaner, in his bare feet. Upstairs and down, shifting his weight firmly but carefully from one foot to the other, while leaning on the handle for security. Coley felt like it had to be a resourceful and clever strategy on his part, but it wasn’t encouraging.

As long as he simply shifted his weight, he was fine, but if he attempted to lift his heel ever so slightly and get up on the ball of his foot, there was pain. He could put all his weight on his right side, but the moment he tried to twist his body or his leg even a trace, there was discomfort. Sometimes it was so acute it shocked him. There was just no place for torque. He was glum; this was a sprained ankle, for Christ’s sake. Each time he was aware of the pain, he could feel an escalating level of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. It seemed like there was too much at stake and not enough time to deal with it.

His mother thought he had lost his mind. “I’m trying to remember the last time I saw you with one of those in your hand,” she said. She was talking about the vacuum.

“Have your laughs.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not losin’ my mind, if that’s what you mean.”

“I think I meant your ankle,” replied his mother.

He fudged the truth a bit by saying, “The ankle’s doin’ okay.”

“If you’re planning on taking care of the housework around here, maybe I should let Mrs. Trinh go?”

“Like I said, have your laughs.”

Coley did his running in the gym while wearing the inflatable cast. The apparatus was clumsy, but it gave him confidence because it held the ankle completely rigid; it couldn’t turn or roll. He got fatigued easily. He couldn’t believe two or three weeks of inactivity could leave him out of shape, so he assumed he must be running with an unnatural gait by compensating for the cast. It didn’t weigh much though.

It was stuffy in the gym. He took long drinks from the water fountain while he rested. Through the window next to the fountain he could see the guys practicing on the field. He chafed with impatience. The team’s record was 6-3 (not counting the games in Florida). He longed to join them. Coach Mason told him he was welcome to be on the field and do what he could, but they both knew there wasn’t any team activity that would improve his stamina or speed his recovery.

Some days, after he finished this private workout, he did join the squad on the field; he didn’t participate in the team drills, but he sat on the bench. He passed the time, even during games, doing ankle lifts by means of a rope tied to a ten-pound weight that he looped over his toe.

At times he helped Jamie Quintero. Coley watched him throw and gave him pointers. At least it was a small contribution he could make.

Once, during a practice break, Rico asked him how the rehab was coming.

“It’s coming good. I feel like I could do about anything I wanted.”

“You have to be sure, though, man. Don’t take any chances.”

“Not you, too, Rico. That’s what everybody tells me.”

“Yeah, but it’s true. I think I’ve got this thing figured out.”

“What thing?”

“The scenario. Here’s how it goes: We get you back at the end of the month for those two games in Peoria and Decatur. Assumin’ we’re still alive for the play-offs, that is, which I think we will be. If we’re not, then we will be just as soon as you nail down those two.”

“You’re sayin’ I should wait till the end of May before I pitch again.”

“Here’s what I’m sayin’: It doesn’t really matter how many games we win, as long as we get in the play-offs. That’s startin’ over, everybody is equal. That means we’ve got you on the mound, one hundred percent, and we’re still in the play-offs. What could be better?”

“Is this Coach Mason’s idea or yours?” Coley asked him.

“This is me, man. This is me talkin’. Mason might like the idea or he might not, I don’t know.”

“There’s gonna be scouts, Rico. There’s gonna be major-league scouts that wanna see me pitch, and the player draft is in June.”

“You think I don’t know that? You’ve already got a scholarship, though.”

Coley made a face. “I know, but you’re talkin’ college. If I could get a decent contract, I’d rather sign.”

“That’s cool,” Rico said. “I don’t blame you. But just remember, the most scouts will show up for the play-offs.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Coley had to admit. Even when the advice sounded sensible, there was just too much of it.

Coach Mason joined them, and the conversation turned in the uncomfortable direction of academics. “How’s the ankle?”

“Pretty good, I guess.” What else could he say? “It’ll be okay.”

“How’s your grades?”

“They’ll be okay too.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yeah, they’ll be okay. I’ve got Ruthie Roth helpin’ me from time to time.”

“Who’s that?” the coach asked. “Never mind. Anybody that gets a progress report before the end of the month won’t be eligible for the play-offs. You know that, don’t you?”

“Hell, yes. How could I not know that? Coach, it’s like I get this from my old man all the time, do I have to hear it from you, too?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

This pissed him off. Instead of answering, Coley reached for the walking cast. He hadn’t come to practice so the coach could get on his case.

It almost blew Coley away when he discovered Bree was upset. She was pissed about the evening he spent with Ruthie Roth brain-storming on the human dynamics project. “Are you kiddin’ me?”

“You’re not supposed to date other girls,” she said.

“This was no date. You know who Ruthie Roth is?”

“I’ve never heard of her.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“That’s not the point anyway. I’ve given myself to you, Coley, all of me.”

It was the type of Bree remark that tended to knock him out of sync; nevertheless, he said, “If you knew who Ruthie was, you’d see how comical this is.”

“I don’t think there’s anything funny. You’re not supposed to date other girls.”

“I told you this wasn’t a date, are you listening to me? She helped me with a homework project. It was homework.”

“Where did you do the homework?”

Coley sighed and shook his head. This was nuts. “We went to this place called the Coffee Barn. It’s out in Campustown.”

“I know where it is,” Bree informed him. Her flashing eyes stared straight into his own. He couldn’t believe how intense she was when she got mad. “That’s a long way out there,” she added.

“A hell of a long way.” At least they agreed on something.

“Did you take her in your car?”

“Well, we sure as hell couldn’t walk. That’s, like, about four miles, at least.”

“You took her in your car to the Coffee Barn, but it wasn’t a date?”

“I’m tellin’ you. It was homework. Look, Bree, someday I’ll introduce you to Ruthie and you’ll know how this whole conversation is out of touch.”

Bree ignored this appeal. “I don’t know why you couldn’t just study at her house, if all it was was homework.”

“Because she wanted to go to the Coffee Barn, so we did. She likes the college atmosphere. Can we drop this now?”

“You had a study date.”

Coley needed another deep breath. “Okay, me ’n Ruthie had a study date. Let’s have it your way. Can we drop it now?”

“A study date is still a date.”

He couldn’t take any more of this. “Yeah, we had a date. I gave her a corsage first, then we went to the Coffee Barn. Afterward, we spent the night at the Holiday Inn.”

“You think it’s funny, but it’s not. You don’t know what it means to hurt.”

“What’s that about?”

“You don’t know what it means to hurt. You don’t know what it means to need.” The change in Bree was so sudden, but it wasn’t just in her voice. It was her eyes. They had shifted from the hard, shallow glitter of anger to the opaque liquid of deep pools.

“What are you sayin’ to me?” Coley was knocked out of rhythm again. Sometimes conversations with Bree were like games of Star Quest; you just never knew which direction to look for the next spaceship attack.

“You’ve always been popular. You’ve always been a big star. What do you know about needing?”

The green eyes had been flashing a moment ago; now they were glistening. You could almost fall into them, like down a well. A moment ago he had felt like a prisoner beneath a hot light; now he felt like he needed to become a shelter. He said, “I have to get at least a B in the course. If I don’t, I could lose my baseball scholarship.”

“Please don’t make me hear about that again, okay?”

“What else can I say? That’s the reality of the situation, that’s the whole reason behind needin’ her help.”

“I could help you with homework,” she said. “I’m a good student.”

“I know, but Ruthie is a straight-A student. She helped me with geometry when we were sophomores.”

“I could help you,” Bree repeated.

“Yeah, well, look at it this way. Ruthie’s a senior. She’s, like, in the top two or three in the class. She’s a theater geek, so I can’t get distracted.”

“You’d be distracted with me.” It was a question that didn’t sound like one.

“What do you think?” Coley asked her. “With you and me it’d be about five minutes of homework, then two hours in the sack.”

Bree smiled for the first time. “Please don’t say ‘in the sack.’”

“Okay, we’d be having sex. Is that better? Enough study time with you, and I’d lose my scholarship for sure.”

“If it wasn’t for the grade you need, you wouldn’t see her at all, would you?”

“Hell, no,” Coley replied quickly.

“And you really mean that?”

“You want me to say it again?” The admission brought him an unexpected measure of regret, even if it was mostly the truth. “Like I said, someday I’ll introduce her to you. You’ll see.”

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want to meet her. Promise me you won’t go out with her again.”

Coley felt too whipped to quarrel with the going out terminology. “Okay,” he said.

“But you have to promise, though,” Bree insisted.

“Okay, I promise.”