Fugitive Family

Lisa glanced at the park. She’d watched so many of their practices from her balcony that she almost felt as if she knew them. They had a strong first basewoman and pitcher. The outfield was okay, but second and third base were clearly the weak links. It would be nice to put names to the players. They’d be around for Lisa’s viewing pleasure long after Gillian stopped bringing Lisa home.

Besides, the clink of a bat hitting a ball, followed by cheers, was starting to be a feel-good sound—a sound that signaled home, safety, community. Plus, Gillian was quickly becoming a friend. The type of friend who might one day be the Let’s go shopping; how about a movie type of friend. Lisa had already turned down two invitations to Gillian’s church; attending a church softball team sounded safe.

“Yeah, great idea,” she agreed. “Let me run upstairs and drop off some stuff.”

Gillian followed her up the stairs and into the tiny apartment. She stood in the doorway and looked right, then left. “Wow, I’ve never seen a place so small.”

Lisa tossed her purse onto the tiny kitchen table and headed for the bathroom. “It’s perfect for now. I only signed a ten-month lease. Then I’ll either know this is the job and place for me and get something bigger or I’ll go back to Tucson.”

“Don’t let Principal Mott hear you say that,” Gillian called. “She expects life sentences from her teachers. Look how long Mrs. Henry’s been there.”

“Longer than I’ve been alive, and she’ll remind you of that every chance she gets.” Lisa laughed.

When Lisa left the bathroom, Gillian continued, “Karen, who you’re replacing, taught for fifteen years.”

“Hmm,” Lisa said. “So, besides me, that makes you the new kid on the block.”

“Not so new. I attended Sherman Elementary School, my mom was the school nurse—back when the school nurse was a full-time position—and my dad was on the school board. I basically was slated for a position the day I graduated college.”

Lisa grabbed a soda, offered one to Gillian, and opened the door to the sound of a ball connecting with a bat. A cheer followed. Gillian grabbed the soda and quickly headed down the stairs.

“Are you in a hurry?” Lisa asked.

Gillian slowed and nodded. “Perry was supposed to get back today. He hasn’t called, but he plays on the team. I just want to see if he’s back.”

Lisa had heard all about Perry Jenson. He worked for the mayor’s office and spent more time in Lincoln, Nebraska’s capital, than in Sherman.

“What position does he play?” Lisa asked.

“Second base.”

That certainly explained why second base had been weak during practice. The real player had been absent. Lisa hoped there was a good explanation for third base, too. “Why do you suppose he hasn’t called?” Lisa asked.

“Oh,” Gillian said breezily. “He gets busy.”

The team was still warming up when Lisa and Gillian climbed onto the bleachers. Gillian seemed to know everybody and everybody came by to say hi except Perry, who was back in town and busy warming up. There came a round of introductions, complemented by a smattering of Oh, you’re the new first-grade teacher and ending with a few You’ll be seeing my son, daughter, grandchild, come Monday.

Before Lisa had time to put faces to names, a man carrying a roster sat down next to Gillian. “We need two more players.”

“Not me.” Gillian held up a sandaled foot.

He looked at Lisa, and she shook her head. “I’d love to, but I don’t belong to your church.”

“Belonging to the church is a perk, not a requirement.”

“Reverend Pynchon never misses an opportunity,” Gillian joked. “Really, thanks for asking, but the last time I played outfield, the ball hit me in the head.”

The minister looked at Lisa.

“I play second base.”

Wrong thing to say, his eyes lit up.

“I don’t have any gear.”

“We can provide the gear.”

Lisa grinned. “Just tell me when and where.”

“Perfect,” he said. “We have our team, but I need a few more live bodies, and the list has to go in today. Gillian, can I put your name down, too?”

“Do it, Gillian!” Perry yelled.

Gillian looked trapped.

Lisa took the clipboard from Gillian’s hands and dutifully wrote down her name and number. Slowly, Gillian did the same, but stipulated, “Only call me as a last resort.”

He nodded, somebody hollered Batter up, and the game began.

A few minutes later, Lisa knew why the preacher’s eyes had lit up. Hopefully, Perry was better at politics than he was at softball. The church team was playing the field, and the other team scored three runs with their first three at bats. Perry missed a grounder aimed dead-on at him, one she would have snagged, and also failed to back up the first baseman on another grounder.

Perry didn’t act as if he cared that Gillian was in the bleachers. Lisa was about to make a remark about that when she finally noticed the man playing third base.

Greg Bond.

Why had he missed so many practices? Just how dizzy had be been last week? Well, he certainly wasn’t dizzy tonight, and he was a pretty good player. Definitely a better player than Perry, and more observant, both when it came to the game and when it came to women. When Lisa—along with a hot dog, a bag of chips and a brownie—settled down to enjoy the game, Greg looked her way. For an unguarded moment, a half grin came to his face. Then, the mask returned and he gave his full attention to third base. For the next half hour, as Lisa finished her hot dog, brownie and purchased another soda, he kept looking her way. It was almost embarrassing.

“See.” Gillian nudged her. “He likes you. He’s perfect for you, I’m telling you.”

“Hush,” Lisa said. “He’s still wearing his wedding ring. That says it all.”

“Perry barely noticed that I’m here,” Gillian complained. “One quick wave.”

At that moment, two little girls ran toward the fence in front of the bleachers. They hit it hard. A boy was moments behind them. “Daddy!” Amber cried. “I’m hungry.”

“Me, too!” the other two cried.

Lisa turned around. Behind her was the playground.

Greg hadn’t been checking her out; he’d been keeping an eye on his daughter.

Greg’s mind was definitely not on softball. If it had been anything but a church league, he’d have been benched.

His mind was on the bullet, Rachel and Burt.

He’d left work again, claiming dizziness, and had headed home. This time, his boss told him to see a doctor. This time, he didn’t have an accident or need to retrieve Amber. He’d scanned the Internet until his eyes were crossed. He’d watched the news until he could recite the same old reports. And after eight hours, all he knew was he needed—no, deserved—to bury Rachel properly, and he knew he was slowly losing his mind waiting for Burt to call. Burt had better have something more than what the news channels were reporting.

After making sure the batter wasn’t ready, Greg checked his cell phone one more time, just to make sure it was on.