35. Leo

35

LEO

I swing at the white ball the next morning.

It whizzes past me.

Another white orb flies in my direction.

With laser focus, I keep my eye on the ball and take aim as it sails over the plate. I connect in a satisfying thwack . The ball goes sailing all the way to the fence, smacking the chain link at the edge of the batting cages.

I’m here because there’s no cemetery to go to. There are no graveside conversations to be had, like in the movies. Besides, graveside conversations are stupid. A rotting pile of bones can’t exonerate you.

But something has to.

Something has to give.

I’ve tried running all night.

I’ve tried furniture stripping all morning.

The way I see it is this—the busier I can make myself, the better I can process and the sooner I can be with Lulu.

If I push this boulder of the past higher up the hill, soon I’ll reach the top. And maybe it won’t come sliding back down to crush me.

I zero in on another ball, whacking it to kingdom come.

Yes. That’s it. More imaginary home runs. More time in the cage. More anything . I grit my teeth, willing myself to figure this out.

“You know, it’s not about him.”

I startle, and the next ball flies past me, landing with a thunk at my feet. I swivel around to find Dean outside the batting cage, and I turn off the machine. “What are you doing here?”

“When I texted you this morning, you said you were going to the cages. A little slow on the uptake today, mate? Did you take one to the head?”

“I mean, why did you come?”

“It’s so nice to see you too.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a fucking mess.”

“I know.” He looks me over. Dean knows the basic details of what went down at the end of the hunt. I don’t keep secrets from Dean. “Leo, it’s not about him.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not about him. It's about you. That’s what I came here to tell you. Because I had a feeling you were going to try to run your feelings away, strip them away, South American history them away. Am I getting warmer?”

I gulp. More like red-hot. I leave the cage, joining him on the other side of it. “Very warm.”

“Or perhaps whack them away.”

“It’s not working.”

“Shocking.”

“So, what do I do?”

He laughs. “You’re the man who always talks about choices. Why don’t you make a choice to move the fuck on?”

“Gee. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“It’s not about thinking it. It’s about doing it.” He claps me on the back. “The present is a gift. Start acting like it. Otherwise, you’re going to be spending a lot of days and nights at the batting cage.”

That’s all he says. That’s the only advice he drops on me. But it starts to wiggle around in my head, making its way to my heart.

“Want to go a round?” I ask.

He points to the ball machine. “Come to think of it, I do. And I believe the next round, and the one after that, and the next—they’re all on you.”

He grabs a helmet from the ground, drops it on his head, walks into the cage, and proceeds to whack the hell out of baseballs for the next few minutes. He has cannons for arms. It’s insane, and as he nabs hit after hit, something loosens inside me.

Something I didn’t realize was coiled too tight.

A sadness I barely knew I had.

I lost my best friend, and that stung.

But I’ve gained something else along the way.

Another one.

This guy. Right here. He’s part of my present, part of my life, and I want to enjoy this time. He’s not the same kind of friend as Tripp. He doesn’t have to be.

Dean’s himself, and I can be myself with him.

As soon as that thought occurs to me, I let go of a little more of the guilt I’d been holding on to.

I wasn’t always myself with Tripp. I was holding a big secret inside.

But with Dean, I can be myself.

And even though I definitely don’t want to spend my nights here at the cages, right now I’m sure this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

When Dean’s done, I take my turn, and like that, we spend an hour or so at the batting cages, and it’s the most fun I’ve had with a buddy in ages.

It’s fun, and it’s freeing, and when I return home, I’m ready to tackle what to do next.

Then, when I unlock the door to my apartment, I find a letter on the floor.