It was 10:30 by the time Cass had said good-bye to Kate and taken the T over to the Ritz-Carlton, where the Yankees were staying. Tate met her in the lobby, freshly showered and shaved, his thinning black hair still slightly damp.
“You don’t wear a cap or anything to keep people from recognizing you?” Cass asked.
He laughed. “That’d be a nice problem to have. I played so little this season, I’d be mighty surprised if anyone in Boston even remembered who I am.”
“They’ll remember you after tonight.”
“Huh. Scott McGreavy will, that’s for sure. Started out so well for him, but it was straight downhill after that.”
Cass felt her ire rise. “He’s a solid player.”
Tate lifted an eyebrow. “I see you’re a fan.”
She looked away. Was there a reason not to tell Tate about Scott? She was so used to keeping things private she didn’t know what was fair to reveal anymore. But Scott had been nothing but good to her, so there was no reason to keep his help a secret.
“Where do you want to eat?” she asked. “I need to get off my feet.”
“Me, too,” he said. “My back’s killing me.”
They ended up in the hotel restaurant, eating double truffle fries and drinking ginger ale. Cass told Tate about Scott and how well their bargain plan had worked out.
“I have to hand it to him,” said Tate. “He’s a bigger man than I thought.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Oh, he’s all right, doesn’t have a big head or anything. But he isn’t known for magnanimous gestures, either. Some of these guys visit sick kids in the hospital or show up at all the fundraisers. Years back, when I was a bigger name and stayed in one place longer, I always found something to support. Special needs and cancer research and such.”
“Yeah, Scott’s kind of shy. Not with me, but in general. He hates to be in the public eye. He doesn’t even go out with his buddies after games anymore.”
“What does he do?”
“Comes home.”
“And?”
“I don’t know—hangs out with me, I guess.”
Tate picked up a french fry and twirled it between his fingers. “You two together?”
“Just friends,” Cass said quickly. “So it must feel good, being back on the team.”
Tate shifted in his seat, wincing a little as he changed positions. “Relieved is what I feel. The injured list is purgatory for a guy like me. Just hanging in limbo, bored outta my mind.” He let out a long breath. “And yeah, if you’re wondering, I slipped up some.” Silence hung between them for a moment, as if Tate’s sobriety were a friend who’d fallen on hard times. “But I’m better, now that I’m playing,” he said. “Almost got my thirty-day chip.”
“You want to go to a meeting with me tomorrow?” she said. “You could Uber out to Wortherton. It’s a really nice group.”
He nodded, seeming to consider this. “’Course I don’t sleep that well, with the pain and all. I can’t get anywhere too early. Then there’s practice.”
Clearly he wasn’t enthusiastic, but Cass persisted. “I could find you a meeting near here.”
“That’s a great idea,” he said wanly. “In fact, I’ll look it up myself when I get back to my room.” He slid a hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a small pink tablet. He popped it into his mouth and washed it down with ginger ale. “Oxycodone,” he said. “For my back. That slide into your buddy Scott wrenched it all up again.”
Cass’s chest tightened. Alcoholics in recovery tended not to take pain medication for fear of weakening their resolve. “How often do you take it?” she asked.
“As needed. But don’t you worry, I’ll stay away from the minibar in my room.” He was so unconvincing Cass could’ve cried. She knew the minibar would be his first stop.
* * *
ON the ride home she did shed a tear. Tate’s attention had wandered and his speech slowed as the medication took effect. He’d left her with the hotel doorman and hadn’t remembered his offer to pay for her ride home. Too eager to get to that minibar.
Such a terrible shame, she thought and wondered if anyone had ever thought the same thing about her when she was drinking.
When she came in the door, something seemed off. There was a strange sound in the distance, sort of like when the washing machine got off balance and the drum knocked against the housing. But it didn’t seem to be coming from the laundry room in the basement. Also, there was a faint smell, sweet like overripe fruit.
Too tired and sad to investigate, Cass dropped her purse on the hall table and began to trudge upstairs. The sound got louder. The smell got stronger. There was a white satin tank top hanging over the railing at the top of the stairs. It reeked of that sweet smell.
Holy Mother of God.
In the upstairs hallway, another sound rose in concert with the knocking. It was soft at first, like a stuffed animal that squeaked when you squeezed its stomach over and over . . .
Cass froze, trying desperately for a brief moment to come up with any explanation other than Scott having sex with someone in his bedroom.
No luck. Cass felt as if she might vomit.
She went quickly to her bedroom and closed the door, but the sound got louder. The knocking—of his headboard against the wall, she guessed—sped up, and the squeaking grew more emphatic, like the yelping of a very small, very agitated dog.
Cass grabbed the pillow and a blanket off the bed and ran down the stairs, stumbling at the bottom and falling onto one knee. Pain shot up her leg, but she couldn’t let it stop her. She had to get away from the sound. Limping into the TV room, Cass collapsed onto the couch. Her knee throbbed, and on inspection she saw that there were drops of blood seeping through a hole in her favorite maternity jeans.
There was a screech from upstairs. And then it went quiet.
Cass lay on the couch, shaking.
* * *
SHE heard murmuring, and then a soft gasp. “Who’s that?”
“My sister-in-law.”
“What’s she doing here?” The voice had a slow laziness to it, as if still half asleep.
Cass fluttered her eyelids against the light and looked up. Long black hair. Dark eyes smeary with mascara looking down at her. The face disappeared. “She’s awake.”
Cass would’ve given her last dollar to simply disappear, vaporizing into the sky like a cloud. The thought of seeing them—him, her—was nauseating. She rose quickly to make her escape up to her bedroom. “I’ll give you some space,” she murmured, avoiding eye contact.
“What’s with your knee?” His tone said he really didn’t care, and yet he stood in her way.
“I fell.”
“Ohhh,” he said knowingly, as if it were predictable, as if she deserved it.
That one word, thick with derision, turned her despair into rage. She had worked so hard, followed all the rules, and tried to be so fucking good every minute of the day—for what? So he could disrespect her in front of some nameless piece of ass he’d brought home?
She flicked her eyes at him, then at the girl, who was rummaging in the kitchen cabinets, stretching to reach a glass. Her shirt came up to reveal a thong rising out of her tight, low-slung jeans. Above the thin lacy string was a tattoo in curling script that said simply Yes.
Cass turned back to Scott and launched a look so loaded with contempt that it felt like firing a gun at point-blank range.
“Yeah, I guess we all fall down sometimes. . . .” Pressing past him she hissed, “Don’t we.”
* * *
TWENTY minutes later Cass heard the rumble of an engine pulling away—an Uber, she guessed. It was 9:15. She needed to eat and get going if she was going to make it to her ten o’clock AA meeting. Almost seven months pregnant, she walked so slowly these days.
Scott was in the kitchen drinking orange juice. “Have a nice date?” he said sarcastically.
He just won’t quit, she thought.
“Well,” she said, pouring cereal into a bowl. “I didn’t have sex with a Chihuahua, so I guess I can’t complain.”
“Least she’s not eligible for the senior discount.”
“And she can spell, too, so that’s a bonus. Oh, wait, that was the guy at the tattoo parlor.”
“You’re just jealous because your wild days are gone.”
“Jealous? I had more wild days than anyone should have in a lifetime. All I want now are tame ones.” Sorrow tightened her throat and she swallowed hard. “That’s the whole point of this arrangement, if you’ve forgotten. No drinking, no drama.” And though she had no right to, she couldn’t keep from muttering, “Nobody squealing like a dying pig in the next room.”
“It’s my house,” he snarled, “and I’ll bring home whoever I want!”
“And this is my life, and I’ll sit in a restaurant and have ginger ale and overpriced french fries with whoever I want.” She pulled three twenties from her wallet and flicked them onto the counter. “Thanks for the tickets,” she said dryly. “Kate had a really nice time.”
* * *
HE’S going to kick me out.
As Cass trudged toward the meeting, she was sure of it. And a little part of her was relieved. As much as she wanted to kill Scott, the feelings were still there. How was that possible? She had never hated Ben like this. She’d been angry enough to break up with him a couple of times. An argument could be made that he’d done more hateful things than Scott ever had. He’d left her in dangerous situations and discouraged her when she’d tried to stop drinking.
She thought of the time he was on Jeopardy! and lost all that money. The irony of it—jeopardy was his middle name, the story of his life. She had never expected anything different.
Scott was reliable, if not always pleasant. He’d not only encouraged her to better herself, he’d funded it. And she was safer here than anywhere else. How could she give that up, now that she’d come to expect it? She wouldn’t likely have a choice. Scott was furious, that was clear.
But where could she go? Racking her brain, she was caught off guard when a car pulled up next to her and the passenger-side window rolled down.
“Hey, how come you left without me?” It was Laurel.
“Oh, I, uh . . . I just needed to get some air.” Cass opened the door and got in.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, I—”
“Oh, come on,” scoffed Laurel. “Nobody ever actually ‘needs to get some air.’” Her fingers made little quote marks above the steering wheel.
Cass looked out the window. She wanted so much to talk to someone—not just about her impending housing crisis, but about Scott and the miserable things that had happened. How you stopped falling for someone you really shouldn’t fall for. How you stopped being so angry.
Laurel pulled into a parking spot by St. Vincent’s. Cass said, “Is this close enough to the meeting to consider it part of the meeting?”
Laurel studied her. “If you want it to be, it is.”
“Honesty, confidentiality—the whole package?”
“Absolutely.”
Cass told her everything. The relief was enormous. She wondered if this might be what having a big sister was like. A snobby big sister with a drinking problem, a cleaning compulsion, and overly expensive taste, granted . . . but one who listened. Laurel was really listening. Cass could tell. When she finished, she asked, “What do you think?”
Laurel didn’t answer right away, pursing her lips as she considered. Finally she said, “I think Scott’s in your life and you’re in his.”
“Not if I move out, I’m not.”
“That wouldn’t solve it.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because you have a connection, a history. And you really do care about each other.”
“I don’t think he cares too much about me, at the moment.”
“For goodness’ sake, Cass. Open your eyes. You moved into his home. You’ve become a part of his daily existence. You think he’d put up with that for one minute if he didn’t care about you? The man’s practically a recluse.”
Cass let out an irritable sigh. “He certainly doesn’t have any problem going out and finding sex when he wants it.”
“At this particular point in time, that is not your business. Your business is to figure out how the two of you can stop being so nasty to each other.”
They never did make it to the meeting. But Laurel wanted to hold hands and say the Lord’s Prayer anyway. “Can we not?” whined Cass. “I hate all that religious stuff.”
Laurel slid her smooth hand into Cass’s and started, “Our Father, who art in heaven . . .” She raised her voice a little when it came to the part about “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us . . .”
When they were done, Cass asked, “Do you have anything to eat? I’m starving.”
“Of course I do. Open the glove box.” There were cereal bars, some trail mix, a small bag of pretzels, and several juice boxes.
“You’re such a mom,” Cass teased.
“Yes,” said Laurel, raising her chin. “Apparently I am.”
* * *
CASS asked Laurel to drop her off at the library; she’d head to the grocery store afterward.
“Don’t stay out all day until he leaves for the ballpark,” said Laurel.
That was Cass’s plan exactly. “Why not?”
“Because things fester.”
Or they cool off, thought Cass. It was midafternoon when she left the grocery store, and she hoped he’d gone to Fenway early. But Scott was upstairs, packing for the next series in Chicago. He came down to the kitchen as she was putting away the food and almost turned away when he saw her. She forced herself to make eye contact. He stood in the doorway, filling it up with his size and his anger. “This isn’t working out anymore,” he said.
And there it was.
Breathe, she told herself. She thought of Bunny the dog sensing the feelings of the people in the room. Scott was a little bit like that. Not so good with words, but good at sensing. Cass tried to emit a truce vibe. “I’d like to stay,” she said.
He shook his head. “We fight too much. It’s bad for my game.”
Truce, she thought at him. Truce, truce, truce. “I’m not going to fight. I’m going to clean the house and buy the groceries and stay out of your hair.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What if I bring someone home.”
She pressed her hand on the cool granite countertop. “That’s your business, not mine.”
He looked away. But he did not leave. Cass felt some small hope in that. He was considering. Then he shook his head. “Why should I let you stay?”
Because I’ve got nowhere to go. Nowhere.
Then she thought of Laurel’s point about connection. “Because we’re friends, Scotty. More than friends, really. The baby’s your niece—that makes us family. You’re important to me, and I don’t want to mess that up. If I leave now, it’s on bad terms.”
His blue-gray eyes unfocused as he pondered this. She wondered if he had any close friends. Kep Miller was too stupid. Rogie was too in love with himself. As for family, there was only his mother, and you couldn’t get more distant than Hawaii and still be in the same country. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t think about this now.”
“Should I start looking for apartments?”
“I said I don’t know, Cass.” He looked at her finally and ran a hand back through his hair. “But yeah, maybe that’s not a bad idea.”
She nodded, feeling the fear curl around her chest like a serpent. “Okay,” she said and went back to unloading the groceries.