Page 112 of Chasing Headlines

I set down the duster and made my way to the table. “Made it yourself?”

“Just sit. Getting tired of your smartass mouth. You have quite the attitude.”

“So I hear. How do you cope?”

“With what?” She raised an eyebrow.

“With people thinking you have an attitude problem all the time. Could use some pointers.” I tried to keep the smirk off my face.

She stared at me. Lifting her glasses from the chain around her neck, she glared through the lenses as she placed them on her nose. Tapped one finger on her table. “Wheredidyou go last night, since you weren't here?”

I sipped from my water. “Just crashed. Hit a wall. Thought I was coming down with something.”

“Nope. Good try, college boy. I'm betting I know exactly where you were. Which is exactly where an underaged kid shouldn't be.”

I took another sip of my water. Yes, I'd made a mistake. Thanks to her, it didn't have to become a bigger issue. I don't know what I would've done if I'd had to explain to the Director. Lying about it wasn't . . . good. But hell if I knew what I was supposed to do if someone else lied “for me”.

Like that time we snuck out of baseball camp. I didn't start it. I didn't say a word. I went along with it, but it'd been a case of “with them or against them”, with a promise of easy college girls . . . who could be against that?

I shook my head and sighed. At this point, telling the Director that I'd been an epic moron, knowing she and the Deputy were pals—and Coach—wasn't just my own death sentence. It would get Dotty in trouble, too. Right? “Why'd you do it?”

“Cover for you? Hmph. To quote Tom Holt: ‘In spite of intense competition for the job, I believe you're still your own worst enemy.’ Amusing bastard, but a bit jaded for my taste.” Dotty eyed me and drank from her mug. She grimaced, shoving it away. “I should just put ice in it at this point.”

Silence slid into the room. I was OK with that. I still felt like that mishmash of grossness on my floor this morning. Aching head, layers of insides scraped raw and fraying, my mind mixed up and spinning in circles like gears that couldn't catch.

At least, stuck in the closet, I'd had something else . . . someoneelse to focus on. In the dark, Milline had needed something from me. And for once, I'd been . . . enough.

“I hope I get to see you play. In person this time.”

I stood, knocking the chair off-kilter. It clattered against the tile. I could go back to dusting, needed to put all of her knick-knacks back on the shelf.

“I'm sorry I won't make it to your big game.”

I paced one way, caught myself before I ran into the couch and moved to the bookcase.

“We'd make plans. Like fuckin fairy tales.”

She let out a quiet breath. “It gave her hope.”

Then one day, the game ended. Andshewas sorry.

“Mr. Cooper.” Dotty called out from somewhere. I put the little ceramic figure of a kid with a cap and gown on the top shelf. I picked up the one of two 'old people' sitting on a bench, holding a book between them—the number thirty painted on the back.

“My mom likes stuff like this.”

Dotty moved closer. She took the figure from my hands and stared at the thing. “My daughter. She's the sentimental one. But the days we want to keep are the ones that go by too fast. And the ones we don't know what to do with, well, those speed by, too.” She set it on the second shelf, in front of the line of books. “You're not like the interns we get around here. Most of them act like we're patients in a terminal ward or at least some communicable disease. Like if they breathe the same air, they'll wake up wrinkled and addicted to daytime television.”

I focused on shuffling her figurines back into place. “I missed hanging around hospitals. This was the next best thing.”

She clicked her tongue. “You're the worst liar I ever saw. I heard Becca—we call her 'the warden' for fun—has to sign off on your hours. So, I know you're not here out of the kindness of your heart.”

“Why does it matter?” I went to pick up the duster, but she'd already grabbed it.

“Why does anything we do matter?” She pointed at me. “Because if it didn't, we wouldn't bother still being here. Doing anything.” She wrinkled her nose at the dust-covered thing, turning and shuffling away. I moved after her. She opened her pantry. A hollow-ish banging filled the air, capped off by ahacking cough. She pulled an extra-large trash container into the living room.

“You ok?”

“Peachy. As old as I am, I was hoping my allergies would die first.” She waved at the air. I reached for the duster, but she pulled it away. “Why does playing baseball matter so much to you, Jack?”