Chapter Thirteen

Coley avoided Bree for the next week, although it wasn’t easy. He only knew he needed the space. He could only think of the child—his child—growing inside of her. Was that real?

She was persistent on the phone, but he let the answering machine take her calls. He didn’t return them. If his mother wrote down the messages, he didn’t return those, either. Thank God Bree didn’t have her own car or she would have been parked on his doorstep.

At school they had none of the same classes, but they did have the same study hall, fourth hour. He got passes from Coach so he could spend the period shooting baskets in the gym, or he got passes from Mrs. Alvarez so he could go to the computer lab. He even changed his hall routes during passing periods so he wouldn’t have to confront her between classes. All of this purposeful maneuvering, though, was so stressful it convinced him that you couldn’t really make much space for yourself if you had to work so hard to manufacture it.

They went to an invitational tournament in Galesburg, which took them out of town for three days. Coley’s sense of relief was strong, and it showed on the mound. He pitched the first four innings against Moline, during which time he was overpowering. He struck out six, walked one, and gave up only two hits. The hits were both cheap flares; nobody made solid contact against him.

Two days later, on Sunday, he pitched the last three innings against Galesburg. The team was behind 4–3 when he took the mound, but Galesburg never got a sniff of another run. Or even a hit, for that matter. Coley was as strong as he’d ever been—maybe even stronger. He struck out seven batters while retiring the other two on infield pop-ups.

He pitched with no pain at all, driving fearlessly on an ankle that felt whole again. Before he pitched to the final batter, he stood on the mound in a euphoric condition that bordered on ecstasy. The weather was perfect, the maple trees were rich with the leaves of May. In the bluest sky were a few puffy white clouds that seemed pasted in a permanent position.

His father was not among the spectators, lurking to challenge him to move his game “to the next level” or give him a sermon about mental toughness. Bree wasn’t watching him, to remind him of his paternity dilemma. There was no answering machine back at the motel, and he was throwing 94 mph fastballs without effort or pain. He had his best velocity and his best control. As disproportionate as it seemed for a pitcher who had thrown five no-hitters by the end of his junior year, he felt so free there were actually tears forming in his eyes.

And they were winning. He felt like part of a unit that could beat anybody.

On the bus ride home Coach Mason sat beside him for a while. “Only ten days till the regional,” said the coach.

“I know,” Coley replied.

“If you’re gonna have that kind of stuff, we won’t have to stop at that level; we’ll be set for the play-offs all the way to state.”

Did the coach want a promise? “I’m ready,” said Coley. “I’m all the way back. Just give me the ball.”

“Did you have any pain at all out there?”

“None. I was all the way loose. I was free. Too bad there weren’t any scouts watchin’.”

“There was, though. I saw Bobby Ricci in the third row behind the plate. Had the JUGS gun and his clipboard.”

“Who’s Bobby Ricci, Coach?”

“He scouts for the Royals. I used to watch him pitch at Comiskey Park.”

“I never heard of him.”

“You’re young, that’s why. You kids never heard of anybody. If I asked you who Robin Roberts was, you probably couldn’t tell me.”

“Who’s Robin Roberts?”

“Exactly.”

The coach was making his rounds on the bus, encouraging, scolding, advising. When he left to talk to Jamie Quintero, Rico moved in next to Coley.

“We’re just about where we want to be, man,” Rico said. “You were awesome up here.”

Coley smiled. “I felt good.”

“You trust me now? I told you I had the scenario. Two weeks till regionals; we’re gonna be zoned.”

“Ten days,” Coley corrected.

“Ten days, two weeks, what’s the difference; we’re there, dude.”

Coley knew he was right. A state championship wasn’t out of the question.

Rico changed the subject. “I got an offer,” he said.

“What offer?”

“I got a letter from Wabash Valley. They offered me a scholie.”

“That’s great, Rico. Didn’t I tell you to be patient?”

“Yeah, but it’s still only JC. Can they do that?”

“Can they do what?”

“Can they give full rides? Can a junior college do that?”

“Sure, if they’re Division One. Wabash Valley is Division One. I think they can give up to eight or ten scholarships, somethin’ like that.”

“You think it’s for real, then.”

“Sure it’s for real,” Coley replied.

“But it’s still only junior college,” his friend persisted.

“A full ride is a full ride, though. Plus there’s guys that get pro contracts out of JCs. It happens all the time.” Coley could see his friend felt better. He added, “And don’t forget, this is only your first offer. Keep patient like I told you. There’ll be others.”

“You think so?”

“I’ve been right so far, haven’t I?” The two of them sat in silence for a few miles. Some of the guys were sleeping. The corn in the fields that zoomed by was ankle-high. Coley knew he had to tell someone about it, and it might as well be Rico.

He told him about Bree’s pregnancy.

“Are you sure? Is she sure?”

“That’s what she says. She took one of those home pregnancy tests.”

“It could be wrong, though.”

“I know, I know.” But Coley could feel his stomach tighten. “I could, like, hope, but she seems real sure about it.”

“Didn’t you use a rubber, man?”

“Most of the time we did.”

“Most of the time?”

“Yeah, Rico, that’s what I said. Most of the time. A few times we just got carried away.” Coley spoke louder than he meant to. He glanced around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping.

“What are you gonna do?” Rico finally asked him.

“I don’t know. She says she won’t have an abortion.”

“Say what?”

At this moment words just came as if by rote; Coley felt like he was talking to himself. “She says she won’t have an abortion. She calls it baby killing.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“That’s what I say.”

Rico had a hold on Coley’s arm. “Look, Coley,” he said. Coley had never seen Rico’s face so earnest. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I think I already did.”

“Okay, but you know what I’m talkin’ about. The play-offs are close. We can go all the way.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“I know what you’re sayin’. I want to win a championship as much as anybody else; you know that.”

“That’s why I’m sayin’ just be cool. We sure as hell won’t win one without you.”

“Okay, okay, what more d’you want me to say?” He was almost sorry he’d brought the subject up at all.

You couldn’t deliberately avoid Bree for several days running, like Coley had done, and not pay the price. The good news was, when they went to the prom, enough time had elapsed for her fury to diminish. The bad news was that he pitched another shaky game in the meantime, so that the glory of his Galesburg performance was reduced to a fading memory.

Before he left the house on prom night, Coley took a moment to check his appearance in the full-length mirror in the living room. But only because his mother insisted, just after telling him how nice he looked. The tux was a perfect fit, and the ruffled shirt had a certain preposterous elegance. She helped him pin his boutonniere into place on his lapel.

She insisted on taking his picture, despite his protestations. His dad was still on the golf course, so he didn’t have to endure a series of family snaps as well.

He was out the door, even had his car keys out, when she called after him, “You’re forgetting something, huh?”

It was the corsage. His mother handed him the white box from the florist, but she asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, why?”

“I don’t know. Is there something bothering you?”

“No, I’m fine,” he lied. “There’s nothin’ wrong.”

At Bree’s house the tension was excruciating. First of all was the drawn-out session of picture taking. The cocksure, aggressive stepfather had the two of them posing in front of the fireplace mantel, in front of Grandma’s handed-down antique wing chair, and even on the front porch next to the rose trellis. Group pictures, too. In each instance when he gave directions of where to stand or even how to stand, the two women, Bree and her mother, fluttered into place like obedient children in a holiday pageant.

When it was Bree’s mother’s turn to work the camera, she seemed shaky and uncertain. Their fear of this self-important man, their need to please him, was something Coley had noticed before, but never had it seemed so vivid. And he didn’t have to wonder, throughout the ordeal of photographing, if he hit them, but only how, and how often, and how hard. Bree’s dress was a stunning, formfitting off-the-shoulder sheath of royal blue silk, and the body that she poured into it was that of a woman. But she followed her stepfather’s every direction promptly, like a little girl.

When it was time for them to leave, Burns got deep into Coley’s space on the front porch. It seemed like his face was no more than a foot away. “We want Bree home by one A.M.,” he said evenly. “We don’t believe in this after-prom nonsense.”

“That’s fine with me,” Coley replied. Instead of stepping back, though, to create distance, he moved slightly forward an inch or two so he was nearly chest-to-chest.

“This after-prom crap is usually just an excuse for backseat hanky-panky. You and I know that, don’t we?” There was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth but no humor associated with it.

Coley stood up straight so he could gain what felt like an advantage; he stared directly into the flat gray eyes. Coley was nearly two inches taller, but the two of them probably weighed about the same. It was confrontational body language for sure, but Coley couldn’t seem to help himself. He knew the time would come, but the knowledge seemed to calm him. “I said that’s fine with me.”

“You can’t talk to him like that,” was the first thing Bree said to him when they got in the car. “What d’you think you’re doing?”

“He can kiss my ass.”

“But you got right in his face, Coley. You can’t do that.”

“Right. I should be scared of him.”

“It won’t be you he’ll take it out on. Can’t you understand that?” She was adjusting the elastic under her arms that held the dress up. Not much of her legs was concealed by the dress in the careless way she sat.

“He doesn’t scare me,” Coley repeated. “If he wants to try me one time, I’ll be ready.”

“I keep telling you it won’t be you, it’ll be me. And my mom. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We have to change the subject.”

The prom was held at Laurel Country Club. In the spacious atrium there was a reception area with tables of hors d’oeuvres, desserts, and six different versions of nonalcoholic blends in large punch bowls. A string orchestra of old men in black tuxedos was playing background music on a small stage. A large banner with words made out of stars glued together proclaimed the theme of the prom: A NIGHT TO REMEMBER.

It was crowded, so they took their cups of punch to the terrace. A heavy wrought-iron balustrade was anchored to the flagstone floor. It was after dark, so the last golfers were already in the clubhouse. The dense trees on the golf course were only visible as silhouettes. Bree told him she was still pregnant.

“What does that mean, ‘still pregnant’?” Coley asked. “Did you think it would go away like a sore throat or something?”

“Please don’t be sarcastic. I mean I took the home pregnancy test again.”

“I told you what I think of your home pregnancy test.”

“I bet you don’t know anything about it. Anyway, the result was the same; you’re going to be a father.”

“Would you stop sayin’ that?”

“Even if I do, it won’t change the fact. Aren’t you excited at all, Coley?”

“Excited? Give me a break. I’m not ready to be anybody’s father. I can’t even deal with my own. Or yours.”

“Burns is not my father.”

“Stepfather, then. Why the hell would you want to be a mother? You can get an abortion in St. Louis or Chicago. It’s a legal operation and safe. And I’ll pay for it.”

“I told you before, I can’t think about an abortion.” She turned her back.

“This is not just your decision, for Christ’s sake, it’s both of us. If there’s a baby, it’s ours, not just yours.” He shook his head; already he was exasperated, and the prom had just begun. A Night to Remember. Oh, yeah.

With her back still turned, Bree began slowly walking away. “And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Her words bounced with an improbable gaiety. “This is the prom, so we can’t spend the whole time arguing.”

“I want to talk about it,” Coley demanded. He followed her down the steps on the terrace.

They were headed toward the tee by the fourth green. It was too dark to walk fast or carelessly. “All you want is to talk about an abortion,” she said.

When he caught up, he took her hand. “It’s not just that, Bree. It’s our future. We have to talk about our future.”

“Baseball, that’s what you mean. Your future as a superstar.”

“That’s part of it, but not all. Maybe pro baseball, maybe college, maybe who knows? You’ve got two years of high school left.”

“I wouldn’t be the only teenage mother going to school.”

“For Christ’s sake, would you listen to yourself?” He took her by the shoulders and turned her so he could look into her eyes. “Bree. This is important. You can’t just ride off into the sunset with a thing like this. There are consequences.”

She stared straight back at him. “Maybe you should have thought about consequences when you were getting what you wanted. You wanted all of me, and I gave it to you, remember?”

“You want to try that again? I wanted sex with you, and you, like, just put up with it. Is that it?”

She turned away again. He followed her to the wooden gazebo next to the tee. They sat on one of the benches, in the dark; the only light was that which the moon provided.

“If you take me to California, I’ll get an abortion,” Bree told him with no prelude or warning.

“I thought abortion was baby killing. What happened to that?”

“I’ve decided a relationship means giving as well as taking,” she replied simply. “You can’t have everything the way you want it.”

“Take you to California? What’s that about?”

“It’s far away from here. It’s far away from Burns. And they have lots of baseball teams there; you told me so yourself.”

“They don’t have rookie leagues in California,” he explained to her. “The Gulf Coast League is in Florida.”

“Florida’s where I grew up. I hope you remember, I told you that. But if we go to Florida, we can’t be anywhere close to West Palm Beach. That’s where my real dad lives.”

As always, he found himself off balance. He didn’t know which of these agendas to address first. “What are you tryin’ to say?”

“If we go to Florida, you can pitch. You told me that’s where the big-league teams are.”

“The Gulf Coast League,” Coley muttered. “That’s a rookie league.”

“Is it close to West Palm Beach?”

“It’s all the way on the other side of the state. The other coast.”

“Okay, then, the Gulf Coast League. You can pitch there for a while till you’re ready to move up to the major leagues. We can get married and be on our own.”

“I can’t sign with any team until after the major-league player draft,” he explained, “and that’s almost a month away. And where does getting married come from? You’re not even old enough to get married without your parents’ consent.”

“Okay, the married part’s not important. That could come later. But we could be together and on our own. Maybe you can get abortions in Florida without your parents’ consent.”

“Jesus Christ, you’ve been thinkin’ about this. You’ve got a plan.”

“Of course I’ve been thinking about it,” Bree replied promptly. “Who wouldn’t? The problem’s not going to go away on its own.”

“What you’re really lookin’ for is a way to get away from your stepfather.”

“Okay, so? Is that such a crime? But that’s not all of it, Coley, I’m in love with you. I’m carrying your baby.”

Coley slumped. She was exhausting at times. As preposterous as her Florida plan was, he almost had to admire its thoroughness. “What about school?” he asked. He aimed the question at his forearms, which were resting on his knees. The carnation boutonniere was tweaking his nostrils. “You’ve still got two years of high school left.”

“Every state has high schools,” was the answer.

Coley stood up. “I have to take a leak,” he announced. It was twenty yards or so to the clump of evergreens where there was more than enough privacy to relieve himself. But his head swam with alternatives and unresolved dilemmas. If they went to Fort Myers, he could throw for major-league scouts and she could get an abortion. Nobody would know about the procedure—not his parents, not her parents. But it was nuts, with the play-offs coming up and graduation. He could be arrested for kidnapping because she wasn’t even sixteen yet. For that matter, what would living with Bree be like, except maybe hopping up and down on blazing AstroTurf? It was all too overwhelming. You started to think crazy when you were cornered.

When he got back to the gazebo, he asked her, “What about your real father?”

“What about him?”

“You said he’s in West Palm Beach.”

“That’s why we can’t go there,” Bree replied. “If we go to Florida, it can’t be there.”

“Why not? Maybe he can help you.”

“Help me?”

“Okay, help us. Is that better?”

“I don’t know how he could help anyone. He’s the reason I had to move to Illinois and live with Burns.” She stood up and walked away before she said, “Now you’re going to start asking me questions again.”

“You’re the one who wants to elope and run off to Florida. Maybe I have the right to check out some alternatives.”

“But you’re asking me all those questions again.”

Coley had to ignore her resistance. “How did he force you to live with your mom and Burns?” He was speaking to her back across the twelve feet of gazebo floor.

“He didn’t force it, he caused it. And I told you I don’t want to talk about it. We should change the subject.”

“We don’t have to change the subject. I’m askin’ you how did he cause it?”

There was a long pause before she said clearly, “Okay, if you just have to know, I’ll tell you. He assaulted me.”

“He did what?”

“I said, he assaulted me.”

“I heard what you said, but what’s it supposed to mean?” Coley got to his feet. His eyes were adjusted to the dark, so he could see that her shoulders were shaking. She was crying. He went across and folded her up in his arms from behind. Her shoulders were cold. He took off his tux jacket in order to wrap it around her shoulders. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

She sobbed so long and so hard that when she tried to speak, he shushed her. Her sorrow seemed to come from some desperate and wretched private chamber. Observing the intensity of it, Coley couldn’t help but think of what his mother had once said, that there must be some real unhappiness in Bree’s background. “It’s okay,” he told her. “You don’t have to talk.”

When she turned around so they were face-to-face, she gathered the jacket tighter around her shoulders. She was still crying, but it was only tears now, no more convulsions. Her face was on his chest. He felt so large and she felt so small. “It was sex,” said Bree. “In family court they call it assault. Sexual assault.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“It’s okay, Coley, I can tell you.”

“What did he do to you?”

“He did everything.”

“Everything? You mean he even …” Coley wanted the right words.

“I mean everything.” Bree took care of the words. “Even penetration.”

“Penetration.”

“That’s the word they use for it in family court. Penetration. He raped me.”

“More than once?”

“A lot more than once. Sometimes he even took videos of us doing it.”

“Jesus.”

“Stop saying that, huh?”

“But why did you let him, Bree? Why didn’t you stop him?”

“I was only in the seventh and eighth grades. What was I supposed to do?”

“What does he do now?” Coley asked her.

“He doesn’t do anything, except go to the racetrack or hang out in bars. He’s on some kind of disability.”

“Why did you stay, Bree? Why didn’t you leave?”

“I was in junior high, where was I going to go?” The tears were still running down her cheeks in steady streams, but her voice was firm, if flat. “My mom had left to go live with Burns, not that I blame her. My real dad lives in these cheap hotels that you rent by the month.”

“Why isn’t he in jail? If you rape your own daughter, you should be in jail, for Christ’s sake.”

“The court took me out of his house and gave my mother custody. But he got off with a suspended sentence because of his disability. He had a lawyer who got him off because of some loophole having to do with his medication.”

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

“I’m glad I told you, but you have to tell me you love me. You have to say it, Coley.”

Coley couldn’t find a reason not to say it. “Okay, Bree, I love you.”

“And you have to mean it.”

“Okay, I mean it.” He took the clean, starched handkerchief from his pocket and began dabbing gently at the tears on her face. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” he repeated. He found himself subdued by her desperately shocking, evil story. She left a father who raped her so she could live with one who slaps her around. For once he didn’t doubt that she was telling the truth, which made it all the more sobering.

Not that it changed anything, he reminded himself with a sigh. She was still pregnant and he didn’t know what to do. Elope to Florida? Coley could hear the music from the orchestra across the way. He almost forgot, they were at the prom, right? And there was laughter. The pond carried sound across the still night air like a stereo.

Her tears dried, Bree was using the handkerchief to blow her nose. She was better now, she said. Coley searched for something to tell her but couldn’t find the words. He finally said, “Hey, Bree. This is a night to remember, huh?”

“I don’t know how you can be sarcastic at a time like this.”

“Sooner or later we have to lighten this up. You wanna dance?”

“Dance?”

“We might as well. It’s the prom.”

“Okay,” she said, handing over the wadded-up handkerchief. “Let’s.”