CHAPTER SIX

 

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MAY WAS DELANEY'S favorite time of the year.

For one month—without fail—Munch went to Mexico. He and varying members of his family made the trip to do who knew what—Delaney didn't care. He was gone, and that was all that mattered.

"Pancakes for breakfast?" Alma asked as she passed by Delaney's bedroom, her arms filled with freshly washed laundry.

Delaney wouldn't say her mother had a bounce in her step—the weight of the world had been bearing down on her shoulders for too long. But her voice sounded lighter. As if the ever-present world had been—at least temporarily—replaced by a mere continent.

"With blueberries?"

Munch liked a healthy breakfast, and he expected his girls to eat the same way. Alma didn't go crazy when he was away—she never knew when one of his spies might drop by for a friendly visit.

However, their first morning of temporary freedom was special. They splurged on food Munch never allowed them to have. Strong coffee—borrowed from their neighbor Mrs. Thomas, a woman who understood a thing or two about controlling husbands—and pancakes with lots and lots of real maple syrup—again, courtesy of their neighbor.

"Mr. Bingley at the farmer's market had the first blueberries of the season. I was able to snatch up the last two containers. Ten minutes?"

"I'll be there."

Delaney finished combing out her long hair, slightly damp from her morning shower. She didn't own a blow dryer, not that she cared. She wasn't interested in wasting time to get the heavy length completely moisture free, only to clamp it back into a severe, boringly ubiquitous, ponytail.

What she really wanted to do was hack the thing off. Short hair would be so much nicer. So much more flattering.

Delaney picked up the small silver hand mirror—the last gift her father had given her—and studied her face. She'd never be a beauty. But with a little effort, she might be pretty.

Her long, angular face could benefit from a little color. Blush on her naturally pale cheeks. Her eyelashes were bad, but some mascara would be a nice complement. And her lips—neither particularly full nor thin? Delaney longed to cover them in crimson. Or bright fire-engine red. Maybe a startling neon orange. Anything, as long as the color was bold.

One day, Delaney promised herself as she used a brown plastic clip to subdue her long, brown hair. She'd surround herself in bright hues of yellow, and blue, and red.

Silently, she chuckled. Seemed she'd made a lot of promises to herself lately. The reason was simple. Delaney was tired of living a drab, stilted, muted life. One day, she'd find the color she knew existed beyond Green Hills, South Carolina.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Delaney breathed deeply. Munch had only been gone a few hours, and already the air was sweeter. Filled with the scent of coffee, blueberry pancakes, maple syrup, and…

Pausing, Delaney breathed in again. Bacon? She smiled. Oh, yes. May was definitely the best month of the year.

 

"WHICH TEAM DO you think will draft you?"

"Probably Seattle. Maybe San Diego."

"Seattle sucks," Eddie said with lip curling disgust. "Not that San Diego is any great shakes. But at least the weather is better."

"The teams with the worst records get the first picks," Travis shrugged, shoving his cleats into his old, Army surplus duffle.

"Shitty system. But on the bright side, the higher you get drafted, the better the signing bonus. Cha-ching."

Before he could snap at Eddie, Travis bit his tongue. Lately, all his friend could talk about was money. Baseball money. Travis' baseball money.

With a sigh, Travis ran a hand through his hair, counting to ten. Maybe he didn't see things clearly. Eddie was his friend. Naturally, he was excited about the Major League Baseball Draft. He wanted his buddy to land on a good team. If he seemed obsessed with money—money Travis had yet to earn—so what? Neither of them had grown up surrounded by wealth. A little cash in the bank was a heady idea.

Green Hills had just defeated their division rivals—twice. Doubleheaders weren't the norm, but they had to make up a rainout from earlier in the season. After eighteen innings in which Travis had contributed with some stellar defense and six hits, including a home run and a bases-clearing double, all he wanted was a good dinner, a few hours vegging in front of some mindless television, followed by an early night.

Now wasn't the best time to have Eddie and his dreams of dollar signs, buzzing around. Normally, Travis saw his friend as slightly overeager, but relatively harmless. Today, he felt more like an annoying gnat.

All Travis wanted to do was swat him away. Instead, he ignored Eddie's comments, swinging his duffle over his shoulder before heading out of the locker room.

The season was in full swing, and Green Hills looked like they could finally bring home a state championship—an achievement Travis would have missed if not for his father's insistence he finish high school.

Thank you, Dad. Travis planned on using a big chunk of his signing bonus to buy his father a much-needed new truck. The least he could do after all the years of unwavering support and sacrifice.

What was left—if anything—would be slated straight for the bank. Travis wouldn't piss away his money on frivolous purchases and partying. No matter what hopes Eddie might harbor.

"A bunch of the gang is meeting out at Tillman's Quarry. Burt acquired," grinning, Eddie made exaggerated air quotes, "a keg from the basement of his dad's bar. I'm catching a ride with Janey. See you there?"

Tillman's was the place for high school drinking and other shenanigans. More than one teenager had lost their virginity while hopped up on beer and whatever drug made party rounds. Once or twice, an unwanted pregnancy could be traced back to a wild Saturday night at the quarry.

Suddenly, Travis felt older than his years. Or maybe—with his dreams so close—he'd outgrown the need to fill the small-town boredom with booze and casual sex. Either way, the thought of joining the gang made him a little sad.

And more tired than playing two full, nine-inning baseball games.

"I think I'll skip the fun this time."

"You've skipped the fun a lot lately." Eddie crossed his arms, a frown marring his freckled brow. "Is she the reason?"

Travis glanced to where Eddie indicated with a jerk of his head, just catching sight of Delaney before the door to the music room closed behind her.

"People are starting to talk about you and Dippy Delaney."

"Stop calling her that. Or any of the other names you use. She's Delaney."

Eddie snorted.

"I'm serious, Eddie."

"Serious? About Dippy—" All Travis had to do was raise an eyebrow. Eddie recognized the look, though this was the first time the warning had been directed his way. He closed his mouth, but he wasn't happy with the turn of events.

"Do you want to know why you think Delaney is strange?" Travis asked as he stored his bag on the back of his motorcycle.

"Because she is? Sorry." Eddie raised his hands as if trying to ward off his oldest friend's displeasure.

Travis gave Eddie some slack. He couldn't condemn his friend for a crime he'd been guilty of not so long ago.

"Delaney is shy. Introverted. Instead of trying to see past her insecurities, we branded her. Strange. Dippy. Yes, she's different. Smarter than the rest of us. Younger. Not as experienced. But different isn't necessarily a bad thing."

Eddie shrugged, not ready to concede Travis' point.

Travis sighed, searching his brain for a way to explain that Eddie would understand. His lips twitched when an idea popped.

"Remember when we were around eight, maybe nine? The old shed by your house?"

"Maybe." Leary, Eddie's eyes narrowed.

"You wouldn't go near the thing because you were convinced a monster lived inside. All the creaks and groans when the wind blew had you freaked out."

"Freaked out is a bit of an exaggeration."

Travis snorted.

"Come on, man. I was there. You practically crapped your pants when your dad finally had enough and dragged you out there."

Eddie's father, flashlight in one hand, holding his son by the scruff of the neck with the other, examined every inch of that old shed. Under the rotting boards. The cobweb-covered corners. Twenty minutes later, no more monsters.

"The unknown is always scary. Try getting to know Delaney. She's worth the effort."

Slowly, Eddie nodded, as if giving Travis' words serious thought.

"You've forgotten the most important thing about that old shed."

"What's that?"

"The monster didn't disappear until the next day when Dad bulldozed the motherfucker. Razed the bastard to the ground." Eyes sharp as daggers, Eddie smiled slowly. "Then burned the remains to nothing but ashes."

Travis felt a sick lump form in his stomach.

"Jesus, Eddie."

"Lighten up, man. Can't you take a joke anymore?" Eyes clearing, a chuckle slipping past his lips, Eddie patted Travis on the back. "Enjoy your new little friend. If you change your mind about the party, you know where to find us. If not, see you Monday."

Watching as Eddie jumped into the cab of his girlfriend's late-model pickup, Travis wondered if the boy he thought he'd known for all these years had changed. Or had he been blind to a dark side that always lurked beneath the surface?

Since they could crawl, they had been like brothers. Mischief making. Secret sharing. Imagining their futures.

He was tired, Travis decided, blaming his restless sleep instead of Eddie.

Late at night, darkness invaded his thoughts as well as his bedroom, bringing nerves he hadn't realized he possessed and a trace of doubt to his—up until now—unflagging belief in his talent.

Maybe he wasn't good enough to play professional baseball at the highest level. Maybe he'd flame out, end up back in Green Hills, trudging through each day with nothing to look forward to but a nine-to-five, nowhere job and bitter regrets.

When the sun rose the next morning, Travis woke with renewed optimism. But the little voice of doom wasn't gone, simply waiting, making him toss and turn when normally, he'd sleep like a log. His brain clear and untroubled.

Shaking his head, Travis pocketed his keys, jogging across the lawn. Placing his hand on the door, he paused, music reaching his ears. The melody entered his blood, relaxing his tense muscles, easing his mind. Quietly, he entered the room.

Travis could have spent all day trying to explain to Eddie the connection he felt to Delaney. But why waste his time when he didn't understand completely? On the surface, they had little in common. But they could talk nonstop about nothing in particular. Or simply walk side by side, the silence never feeling awkward.

Friends. Pure and simple.

"I know you're there," Delaney said without breaking the flow of the song.

"Naturally. You have eyes in the back of your head." In a few long strides, Travis covered the distance between them. "Besides, I wasn't trying to hide."

Delaney raised her head, her eyes—a clear, pure purple—unobstructed by the glasses that sat on the piano. Lips curved in a small, but welcoming smile.

"Then why stand in the shadows?"

"The acoustics are better over by the door."

"Okay." Her smile widened, not buying his excuse for a second.

Travis shrugged.

"Sometimes when you know I'm watching, you stop."

"You made me nervous."

Her fingers flew over the keys, ending in a flourish Travis could appreciate but never dream of duplicating.

"I made you nervous? Not anymore?"

"Not anymore."

Delaney lowered her hands to her lap. Once, she would have clasped her fingers together, her knuckles white. She would have kept her head down, her eyes averted.

Gaze steady, chin held high, hands relaxed, the way Delaney held her body told a tale beyond her words.

No. Travis didn't make her nervous. Not anymore.

"I didn't expect you to come to the game."

"How did you…?" Delaney frowned. "I didn't think anybody noticed me."

"You can't hide from me." Travis grinned. "Not anymore."

"I should embroider that on a pillow."

"You embroider?"

"Badly," she admitted. "But if pressed, I could do a few simple words."

"If pressed, I'll buy us t-shirts."

Laughing, Delaney reached for her glasses. Travis was faster.

"What would happen if I accidentally stepped on these things?" Casually, he tossed the frames in the air, catching them easily. "Again and again?"

The look in Delaney's eyes told him she wouldn't mind if his questions become a reality. Still, she held her hand out, waiting until Travis gave her back the glasses.

"My stepfather would buy me another pair. As soon as he gets back from Mexico."

Travis didn't know Munch Brill beyond recognizing him on the street. But if he were anything like the rest of his family, living with the man couldn't have been easy.

The Brills weren't particularly liked around Green Hills.

"When did your stepfather leave?"

"Yesterday."

"How long will he be gone?"

If a sigh could tell a story, Delaney's did. Happiness and joy. They looked good on her.

"A month. Four whole weeks."

"Thirty-one days?" Travis grinned, her mood contagious.

"If we're lucky."

"Delaney—"

Travis didn't know what questions to ask. He wanted to help. But how?

Before he could think of something—anything—Delaney tossed her own question his way. And surprised all other thoughts from his head.

"Can we go for a ride on your motorcycle?"

"Now?"

The hope that briefly sparkled in her eyes died a quick death.

"I suppose you have plans." Delaney's chin dropped to her chest with a dejected sigh. "Saturday night at Tillman's Quarry."

"What do you know about the quarry?"

"Everybody knows, even if they aren't invited."

Travis couldn't picture Delaney standing around an impromptu bonfire, a beer in her hand.

"You want to go?"

"Not really. But I wouldn't mind if someone had asked—at least once."

"Now I feel guilty."

"Good." Delaney squared her shoulders. "I'm not the only one who's been left out, Travis. Look around sometime. You might be surprised how many kids go unnoticed. People you might like if you gave them a chance."

Hadn't he said almost the same thing to Eddie not thirty minutes earlier? Talk about his words coming back to bite him.

"Well, shit."

"Exactly," Delaney nodded. "Don't beat yourself up, Travis. You did a good deed by me. One charity case is enough for anybody."

"You're my friend, Delaney." Travis took her hand—one of the few times he'd touched her. But he wanted her to understand. "Friends. From the beginning."

Delaney looked at their joined hands, then looked at Travis. Her eyes—God, those eyes—were like a punch to his gut and ray of sunlight all tangled up together.

"I know."

"Good. Still want to go for that ride?"

"Really?"

Travis laughed. For the first time that he could remember, Delaney's face lit with excitement. She looked like what she was. A fifteen-year-old girl.

"But you can't go wearing that."

A little of the light left her eyes as she touched her baggy dress.

"I don't have anything else."

"Don't worry. I do."