Mendoza's Return

She closed her eyes for a few seconds. He hadn’t even called her. After all those years, all that love, and he hadn’t even felt that he owed her a phone call ending their relationship.

It all came back to her in one stab-in-the-heart moment—all the pain, all the loneliness, all the anger. And now she had to go downstairs and face him as if nothing was wrong.

It’s been ten years, she reminded herself. You’re not the same person. He isn’t, either. Let it go. Just let it go.

She towel-dried her hair, stared in the mirror for a few seconds, then padded downstairs. He was thumbing through the yearbook she’d left on the coffee table.

“It seems so long ago.” Rafe straightened, no discernible emotion on his face, even though she remembered that the book had been open to the homecoming photos, when they were crowned king and queen.

“A lot of life has happened since then, that’s for sure,” she said casually. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

She went into the kitchen, separated from the living room by an open bar counter. She poured herself a glass of water, more to keep distance between them than because of any real thirst.

“When’d you learn to swim?” he asked, leaning against the countertop.

“A couple of years ago. I’d watched so many people conquer fears in order to recover from debilitating diseases or injuries that I decided it was hypocritical of me not to defeat my own.” Of course, she’d also advised a lot of her patients to forgive those people responsible for causing them pain and yet she had never forgiven Rafe—which was also hypocritical. The framed letter was proof of that. “It took me over a year of lessons twice a week.”

“Good for you. So, the nightmares stopped, too?”

“For the most part. I can still see my cousin drowning, but now I see myself diving in and saving her instead of standing by helplessly.”

“You were five years old when it happened, Melina.”

“I know.” And the impact of the experience had changed her life for years. She’d never spent a hot summer day in the river as a teenager. Never even splashed in a kiddie pool as a child.

Melina set down her water glass. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t answer right away, as if gauging her mood. She knew how to keep her expression blank, even though she wanted him to leave. She didn’t want to picture him in her house—or to give in to temptation again. Because no matter how much pain still lingered, she couldn’t escape the attraction that was still there, powerful and tempting. She’d wanted to kiss him by the pool. Turning away had been close to impossible.

“I had a few questions before we meet with the Andersons tomorrow,” he said. “I would’ve called but I didn’t have your number.”

“Yet you know where I live.”

“Some information is easier to obtain than others. I’m guessing you don’t have a landline, that you use only your cell? Anyway, can you find out when the team is practicing again? And is there a way you could get me a team roster, as well?”

“I’ll put my spies to work on it.” She crossed her arms. “Anything else?”

A few beats passed. “If this is making you uncomfortable, I can call you tomorrow at your office.”

She looked at the counter for a moment. She could so easily slip back into the part of their relationship that had worked so well—talking. At least until the very end. Until then they’d talked all the time, about anything and everything. She’d missed that so much, even the occasional argument.

“It’s just weird, Rafe. I haven’t seen you in all these years, and then …” She gestured toward the pool and their almost-kiss. “We need to keep it just business between us. So, do you have more questions?”

He slid his hands into his pockets, signaling something, but she wasn’t sure what.

“In your professional opinion, should we be fighting for Elliot to play ball? Will he be able to do okay at it?”

“His having Asperger’s won’t prevent ultimate success, but it will take him longer to learn and he needs more intensive, individual work, which his father has been giving him.”

“For batting, you said. But what about the other skills, like catching and fielding?”

“I honestly don’t know. I only know that he can’t learn to be part of a team without being on a team. It’s the socialization process that’s hard. But, most important, Elliot wants to be part of it. He’s enamored with the idea of playing ball. He says over and over that he wants to be with them, meaning the other kids.” Needing to do something, she set her glass in the sink. “That drive, that need, can take him far. He just requires more help than the average kid to get there. And perhaps success might be measured a little differently than with other children, but doesn’t he deserve that chance?”

“Are you sure you didn’t go to law school, after all?” he asked.

She didn’t appreciate the reminder, but she didn’t call him on it. “I hope that means I’ve swayed you, because he needs an impartial advocate.”

“I’ll let you know tomorrow after I’ve met him and his parents, and dug around a little more.”

When she didn’t respond, he glanced at her kitchen clock. “I’d better get going. If you can get that info and fax or email it to me before we meet, I’d appreciate it.”

She nodded, then followed him to the front door, noting how he’d taken one last glance at the yearbook, in the same way she had with his trophy case in his office. He was holding back, just as she was, she realized. There were things that needed saying, and at some point they would have to be said.

But first things first. Elliot was more important than long-buried emotions. It wasn’t like her to hold so much inside, but it was necessary this time.

She held the front door open as Rafe stepped outside. One safety light stayed spotlighted on the pool all night, even though a decorative metal fence prevented anyone from accidentally falling in.

“Did you get the material I left with your dad?” she asked.

“I’ve already watched the DVD several times. I wish it was more definitive.” He turned to face her. She was unable to read his expression. “Good night, Melina.”

Her throat closed. The way her porch light spilled onto him took her back to all the times they’d kissed good-night by her front door. She hadn’t known disappointment then—or loss. She’d come to hate him since then for that.

And yet she wanted to haul him upstairs and make love with him.

She’d heard it said that there was a fine line between love and hate. Walking that tightrope between those two emotions was too risky, especially without a net.

“Good night,” she said, then shut the door, burdened with doubt that she could work with him, but knowing she had no choice.

For Elliot’s sake she had to put her personal feelings aside for now.

For her sake she needed to lock those feelings away forever.

Chapter Four

Melina had just finished making the introductions the next day at Rafe’s office when Elliot Anderson, who’d taken a seat on the sofa between his parents, hopped back up and rushed to the glass case on Rafe’s wall. “Wow! Look at all the trophies, Dad. They’re awesome!”

Steve Anderson sent a look of amusement to Rafe then followed his son, coming up behind him. He was a smaller version of his father, both sporting matching crew cuts.

Rafe joined them, grateful for the icebreaker of the trophies. “I see you’re an Alex Rodriguez fan, Elliot. That’s a cool jersey you’ve got on.”

“A-Rod, yeah. Number thirteen. First-round pick of the 1993 draft. He never went to college. The Seattle Mariners signed him. Then the Texas Rangers. My dad took me to see him play but I was too little to remember. I got pictures, though. The New York Yankees got him now. His batting average is—”

“Not now, Elliot,” his father said. “We’re here to talk to Mr. Mendoza.”

“I know. We looked him up on Google.” Energy and excitement burst from him. “Rafe Mendoza was a pitcher for Red Rock High School. His senior year his ERA was 2.28. His batting average was .432. He got forty-six RBIs and six home runs. He struck out 205 and walked forty-two. He went to college at the University of Michigan on a baseball scholarship. His ERA was—”