Sparks the Matchmaker (Aaron Sparks Series) (5 page)

Ollie had already started shifting his weight and was about to let his bat fly through the zone, but he held up at the last second. The ball bounced behind home plate.

“Strike one!” the umpire said, pointing his right index finger.

Ollie stepped out of the batter’s box and took a few steps toward the stands, pretending he needed a few seconds to continue warming up his swing. “I should have swung at that one.”

“Trust me,” Sparks said.

The next pitch landed in front of home plate and the one after that nearly hit Ollie on the foot as he backed away. He lined up for the fourth pitch, trying both to act natural and to listen for his limpy little helper.

“Swing!” Sparks yelled just in time.

He did. The ball sailed gracefully down the third base line. As Ollie ran, he began to slow up at second base. Keith was rounding third on his way to score the team’s first run. He pointed an excited finger at Ollie as he made his way back to the dugout, and Ollie grinned at him.

Unfortunately, the next batter grounded out.

Seeing that Keith had grabbed his mitt, Ollie waited at the ridge of the grass for Keith to meet up with him. He handed Ollie his glove. “If we’re gonna play a rover, I’ll do it.”

“No, trust me. I’ll play rover.”

“Look, I’m team captain, and I’m faster than you are. I’ll do it.”

“No, trust me.”

“Alright, fine! You’re rover. But if we lose, it’s your fault.” Keith organized the outfield accordingly.

Ollie took his position where Sparks, who was still sitting in the bleachers, was pointing. He found himself in perfect position to snag the first hit of the inning; a soft line drive over the shortstop.

“This guy’s left handed,” Keith yelled. “Move over to a short right-center position.”

Sparks was pointing elsewhere, though, so Ollie stayed put. He found himself in perfect position for the next out as a result. The third out came easy too, and Ollie held his head up high as he made his way back to the dugout again.

“Good call on using a rover,” Keith said, as they walked back to the dugout. “I could have sworn that lefty was looking to pull the ball toward right field, but... good call.”

“When ya got it, ya got it,” Ollie said.

Through the next handful of innings, Ollie was in perfect position more often than not. On every at-bat, Ollie had reached base safely. He wasn’t able to singlehandedly rout the other team, but once the final inning came around they were only down by a score of 10-8.

The sun had disappeared a long time ago, and the lights were the only source of illumination across the field. The other ballgames on the nearby fields had all finished; most everyone had either left the grounds or was making their way to the parking lot.

Ollie was showing the first signs of life since Anne had knocked the wind out of him earlier that day. With everything else having gone so badly, he was hoping he could at least have this one triumph to take home with him: he wanted to win this game. It would be even better if he got the chance to play the hero and score the tying run.

Ollie was up. It was 9-10 in the bottom of the ninth with two outs. “Don’t swing at the first pitch,” Sparks said through the chain link fence as he walked toward the batter’s box.

Ollie watched as the first pitch bounced off the back of home plate and the umpire called, “Strike!”

“What are you talking about? That hit the plate!” Ollie yelled at him.

“It hit the black lining on the back of the plate,” the umpire argued back. “That’s a strike.”

“Open your eyes,” Ollie said. “That hit close to the center of the plate. You just want this game to be over so you can go home.”

“Turn around. And this time, maybe you could swing the bat,” the umpire said.

Sparks said, “What are you doing? Why are you arguing balls and strikes? What, you worried about striking out or something? Just hit the next pitch. And make sure you run hard.”

Ollie turned his glare from the umpire to the catcher and chuckled to himself. He and Keith had always joked about how to tell if someone knows nothing about softball. This catcher was a walking advertisement.
This guy’s dressed like he’s about to go to the grocery store.
Wearing blue jeans was forgivable, as was failing to wear a hat. But to wear tennis shoes? That was laughable.

“This is your pitch,” Sparks said. “Run hard.”

Ollie took a swing. Ollie got a solid thwacking piece of the ball; he was certain it was going to clear the fence in straightaway center field.
Sparks had a reason for telling me to run hard,
so run hard Ollie did. The ball missed clearing the outfield fence by a few inches, striking the top rail and ricocheting back into the outfield. The outfielders were clearly not expecting that. As they scrambled to track it down, Ollie rounded first base. The outfielders chased the ball as it bounced and rolled back toward the infield, and Ollie rounded second. The right-centerfielder reached the ball first, firing it toward home plate.

Ollie’s teammate, coaching at third base, yelled, “Stop!” trying to get him to hold up and wait for the next batter.

But Ollie wanted to tie up the game. Thinking of Sparks telling him to run hard, he rounded third and headed for home plate.

He could see the catcher standing one step away from home plate in his tennis shoes, waiting for the ball. Ollie’s run would tie the game, it would force extra innings. He lowered his right shoulder. He would plow right over the catcher and tag home.

The ball took a single hop and then buried itself in the catcher’s mitt. Ollie’s shoulder found the catcher’s midsection somewhere between his silly blue jeans and his ridiculously hatless head. The pathetic catcher was half his size; he barreled him right over. Ollie’s flying momentum carried him across home plate and the little man with the ball went tumbling toward the backstop.

But he held onto the ball, which meant Ollie was out.

“What are you doing?” the opposing team’s pitcher yelled as he threw his mitt down.

Ollie’s run would have tied the game, but he was out. The game was over.

“This is city league softball,” the pitcher said, stalking toward home plate, “not the Majors! You don’t plow people over at home plate!”

As the fight began to break out, Ollie quickly set aside the knowledge that he’d just lost the game for his team. He turned toward the pitcher who was loudly making his way toward him. From both sides of his peripheral vision he could see that he’d emptied both dugouts; both teams were converging on the action bubbling up around home plate.

He was about to offer up his witty retort when out of the corner of his eye he saw the catcher’s fist. It was coming in quickly, alarmingly so. Ollie could only turn his head away in an effort to protect his jaw. Ding! The catcher’s knuckles crashed into his skull behind his ear, and he felt his knees go rubbery.

He wasn’t unconscious, but he still lost control of his legs. The red dirt of the infield greeted the right side of his face with a hard thump and it took him a second to regain his strength enough to roll over.

Once he had rolled onto his back, he saw the umpire jump in front of the catcher to hold him back.

If Ollie had felt normal that day, he would have fought back. But he’d lost all the fight he had. He heard the scuffle of players as a distant and inconsequential drama.
Somebody else started that.
He was suddenly very sleepy.
Somebody else can deal with it, too.
He thought of Sparks.
Where is he now?

“You okay?” It was Keith.

“Fine.”

Keith stood over him and laughed a little.

“I’m fine, really. Stop laughing.” Ollie stared up, flat on his back, at the bright lights illuminating the infield.

Keith held out a hand. “Seriously, what was
that
about? Since when did you start plowing catchers over?”

Ollie didn’t have an answer. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. He was pretty sure he would have been safe if he’d chosen to slide under the tag instead of plowing right into it. He had nothing to say to his teammates. He had nothing to say to the umpire. He had nothing to say to the players on the other team. He knew he should have apologized to the catcher, but he didn’t. He picked himself up off the infield and walked to the dugout. He couldn’t turn off all the nasty words coming from his teammates, but he could tune them out.

***

With Sparks three steps behind, Ollie slunk back to his car. They sat in silence for a while, Ollie’s hand still on the key, before he finally started the engine and put the car in drive. “Okay, now spill it. What do you want from me?” he asked Sparks. “Today has been a complete disaster and you’ve only helped make it much worse.”

“Don’t blame that on me.”

“Oh really? Who should I blame it on, Bomber?”

“I dunno. Got a mirror?”

“Hilarious.”

“Well you’re the one who kept running when the third base coach told you to stop. You’re the one who ran over the catcher. And you’re the one who can’t dodge a punch.”

“I…” Ollie had expected the other things to be said, but that last comment caught him a little off guard. Still, he needed to vent somehow, and Sparks was the closest punching bag. “You knew I was going to do that, didn’t you? You knew if you told me to run hard that I would ultimately run that catcher over and the catcher would come clean my clock. You knew, huh? Admit it.”

“Maybe.”

They had only driven a block, but Ollie pulled over and jammed it into park.

“Get out. I don’t need you.”

“What do you need, then?”

“What I need is for you to get out of my car. That’s what I need. I need to go back to my own house and to my own life and start putting everything back together.”

“Finally! We’re down to the important stuff and we can forget about softball for a while.”

“First of all, ‘we’ aren’t down to anything. You’re getting out of my car and me myself and I are going home.”

“Oh, the three of you have plans? That’s adorable.”

“Please go away. Stop helping me. I don’t need help like this.”

“I think you forget who you’re talking to. I know home’s not where you’re going.”

“Oh, yeah? All right. I’m gonna go see Anne. So what? Let me guess, you won’t be able to tell me if she’s gonna punch me either, right? Just tell me where you want me to take you and I’ll drop you off. You’re lucky I’m giving you that much.”

“Take me with you to Anne’s place. That’s where you’re planning to go, isn’t it? You’re thinking you have nothing to lose, so you might as well face it tonight since you probably won’t get any sleep anyway. Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”

“Stop that.”

“Guess what, though,” Sparks said, tapping a finger on the brim of the Yankees hat he knew Ollie loathed. “The gimpy Bronx Bomber is coming with you.”

“What are you gonna do? You gonna coach me the whole time I’m talking to her? Right. You’ll give me enough rope to hang myself. I bet you were yukking it up when that guy knocked me down in one hit. Besides… I think having you with me might make it a little awkward for all of us. Don’t you think?”

“I won’t even get out of the car.”

“Right. Social smoothness isn’t your thing. But you’d find some way to make me look stupid.”

“Trust me.”

Ollie scoffed. “That’s rich. Why should I?”

“Because you need me.” Sparks’ eyes looked serious; a little sad. “And you know it, Ollie.”

Chapter 5

Finding a parking spot around Anne’s apartment was never an easy task, especially at night. Ollie thought about asking where he could find the best parking spot, but before Ollie could say anything Sparks pointed toward an empty spot a short distance from Anne’s front door.

She was sitting on the stairs outside, chatting with a new guy. Ollie had never seen him before, which was odd, because he used to practically live at Anne’s place. He watched her flirting with him and an avalanche of bittersweetness let go inside of him. He felt sick inside at the thought that she only needed a few hours to move on from him, but Ollie also knew it had been a long time since she’d laughed like that at something
he
had done. He’d forgotten what it sounded like; it was music.

Ollie felt foolish, which dragged him mercilessly back to the softball field. He rubbed behind his ear. It was still tender. “Why didn’t you tell me the catcher was going to hit me?”

“I’m not the one knocking people over at home plate,” Sparks said. “Why aren’t you going to admit you’re the reason it happened; that it’s not anyone else’s fault?”

Ollie glared out the window, resenting everything in the world.
Am I really asking for so much? Why can’t I just be happy?
He blinked his eyes and groaned. It was masochistic, watching Anne laugh as her hand rested on this guy’s knee, but Ollie needed to punish himself for allowing their relationship to decay. It was like attending the viewing at a close friend’s funeral. “I ended up leaving the game looking like a fool.”

“Is that why you think I’m here?” Sparks asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?
Everything’s
your fault.” Ollie knew it was a desperate lie as soon as he said it, and he had a feeling Sparks would see through him.

“Can’t you just say it wasn’t my fault that the catcher hit you?”

“Fine. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have knocked that guy down.”

“Actually, you
should
’
ve
stopped at third base.”

“Come on! Are you really going to make me admit every tiny thing I did wrong today?”

“Okay, fair enough. I knew he was gonna punch you. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to.”

“Just like that. Because you didn’t want to.” Ollie kept staring at Anne and the boy. “That’s it?”

“It’s more complicated than that, but yeah. I didn’t want to.”

“So why were you ‘helping me out’ in the first place?” Ollie looked at Sparks and made air quotes at him.

Sparks grinned at him and said nothing.

Ollie looked back across the street to where Anne was sitting. “You know what I think?”

“Of course. I think you do a lot of thinking without really thinking.”

“So now you’re going to insult me. That explains everything.”

“It does?”

“Yeah, it does. You enjoy watching me squirm, you enjoyed the little awkward dance you made me do in the outfield, and you enjoyed seeing me get hit by the catcher, too. I bet any second now you’re going to start pouring some lemon juice into the wound that Anne left for me earlier today. You are, aren’t you? You chose to come to me because I’m a miserable person and you’re a miserability magnet.”

“Is that even a real word?”

Ollie raised his hands in exasperation. “See?” He looked Sparks in the eyes. “You’re a parasite looking to feed on my misery.”

“You got part of it right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re right that I chose you because I think you’re miserable.”

Ollie shook his head and looked back toward Anne: the object of all his affections, the One Thing he couldn’t have. Every second he stared kept the bubbles of pain boiling inside him, but every moment also brought him closer to letting go.

Sparks reached out and touched his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “I know it’s tough to understand it. It’s just a little more complicated than we have time for right now.”

Ollie rolled his eyes.

“I promise I’ll give you all the details you can stand tonight,” Sparks said. “I just don’t think you
want
to know right now. At least not until you’re done staring at… at somebody else’s girl.”

Ollie’s eyes became moist.
He’s right,
was all he could think, and that hurt him deeply. He had come here to have a conversation with Anne, beg and plead and argue with her, try to get her back. But that wasn’t happening. Somewhere between a minute and an hour later, Ollie quietly turned the key and pulled out of the parking spot.

He looked over at Sparks, expecting to see him grinning again. But he wasn’t.

***

Ollie was relieved to find the main room of Tall House unoccupied by any of his roommates, even though it was now well past midnight. He and Sparks trudged up the stairs to his room.

Ollie sat on the edge of his bed, resting his face in his hands.

“Would you like me to wait somewhere or do you want to talk right now?” Sparks asked.

Ollie collapsed onto his back. He knew Sparks already knew his answer, but he appreciated the courtesy anyway. “Where do I go from here?” He looked blankly up at the ceiling. His voice box sounded like it hadn’t been used in years.

“That’s gonna be completely up to you.”

“Can’t you just tell me what I want? I mean, you already know what I want, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sort of. But it doesn’t work that way. I know what you’re
going
to want, but since you don’t
know that
yet, well… You need to decide for yourself. Nobody can do that for you. I’ll just be here to help you get going once you know.”

“Can’t you at least tell me when? I feel stuck.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll know tonight what you want. You just need some time, is all.”

Ollie wanted nothing more than to push Sparks out the door so he could begin thinking right then and there. Every second he sat with the parking brake on his life was a moment of pain he could avoid. Still, he felt like he needed some answers first. He sat up. “So. Is this the part where you finally tell me who you really are? What’s your story?”

“Yeah, fair enough,” Sparks said, taking a seat on the cluttered floor. “I can tell you now. Should I make some popcorn or something first, though? Maybe get you your snuggly blanket? Go find Mister Floppy?”

“My mom told me not to bring it to college. Just tell the story, Bomber.”

“Okay, here goes.” He adjusted his position on the floor a little. “When I was a kid, I was just ordinary.”

As Ollie listened, he felt like something important was about to happen in his life, that some small change was about to break it open, but there was no way of knowing for sure.

Sparks went on. “Nothing special or different about me at all. When I was fourteen years old, a friend of the family let me start working at their dairy farm to earn a little bit of money in the summer. I used my earnings to buy my first iPod.

“Even though my mom always told me not to wear it when I rode my bike, I didn’t listen to her. Well, I didn’t hear the car coming from behind. I never bothered to look for cars because there never were any out there. I mean, the dairy was in the middle of nowhere.”

“I suppose that explains your limp?”

“Yeah. I think I was just about to hit my growth spurt too, but I didn’t grow anymore after that. It looks like I’ll be stuck at five foot three forever.”

“Who was the driver? What happened next?” Ollie sat on the edge of the bed with a horrible sinking feeling.

Sparks nodded. “For a long time, I didn’t know. I couldn’t remember anything about the accident at first. I woke up in a hospital, unable to recognize any of the sad faces surrounding my bed, incapable of recalling any details from the accident at all.” He paused and held a hand to his mouth.

After a while, he continued. “My brain was damaged, but in a really unusual way. You know how different parts of the brain work to control different things, right?”

“Sure. One part is for vision, other parts control aggression, anger, memory… all that kind of stuff.”

“Yeah. To illustrate that point— and sorry to bring back something painful— but when we pulled up at Anne’s and you saw her with that other guy, your brain was going nuts. It immediately started communicating with all the different parts, piecing together what everything means.”

“And you could read that in me?”

“Sorta.”

“Are you trying to tell me that the part of your brain that interprets cause and effect was somehow… I dunno, that it got some sense knocked into it instead of getting damaged?”

Sparks grimaced. “Not exactly. It’s more like blind people. They tend to have very sharp hearing, right? It’s sorta like that. The accident was permanent in some important aspects, but not in others. The parts of me that weren’t damaged now work a little better than usual. Like you said, the ‘cause and effect’ parts.”

Sparks cleared his throat. “It’s been about a decade now. The more I work at it, the better I get at understanding what makes things the way they are and what’s going to happen.”

“So at some point— I’m guessing— you were able to put together the missing pieces of what happened with your accident. You caught the guy who hit you, didn’t you?”

“I did piece things together, yes. I remembered it all. I didn’t turn him in to the cops, though.” Sparks looked down and his face clouded with pain. “No. I never turned him in.”

“That was big of you. I woulda.”

“I’m not proud of what I did, Oliver. I
should
have turned him in. Instead I decided I’d go to his house and knock at the front door. When he answered, all I said was that I knew what he did and I wouldn’t forget it. Then I turned my back on him and walked off his porch.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s not so bad. You’re a bigger man than I would have been. I would have maybe hit him. I’m not that quick to forgive.”

“I wish forgiveness were the case.” Sparks didn’t raise his eyes from the floor. “I knew when I limped my way up his front steps that I would be sending his life into a tailspin. My senses had grown keen enough by that time to see how those simple words would be all the revenge I would need. What I wasn’t yet any good at, though, was seeing how my words would affect the rest of his family. He left ‘em, Ollie. He left his family. That night he loaded as many things into his car as he could fit, and without a word to his wife and daughter, he was gone. The thought of being charged with a hit-and-run, spending the next few years in prison, that was too much for him. He took off.

“Then, after a little less than a month, he came back, but the damage to his marriage was done. He turned himself in to the police, did six months, and by the time he got out the divorce was final. The story only goes downhill from there, and all because of the way I handled it.”

“It wasn’t your fault. The guy committed a crime.”

“Yeah, but I could have handled the situation differently. That was the hardest part, knowing that things wouldn’t have ended up how they did if I’d chosen to have the whole conversation. He wouldn’t have left them, maybe. If I’d have left it alone, maybe he wouldn’t have…” He backhanded the thought and moved on. “I was too focused on revenge. I didn’t pay attention to who else might suffer. Some children grow up just fine without a father, but that girl… she needed her father.”

Sparks looked very sad to Ollie. He asked softly, “Where is she now?”

Sparks shook his head and continued to stare at the floor.

Ollie wasn’t sure what to say now. Remorse and regret poured off of Sparks as he paused again to gather himself. Ollie waited, suddenly feeling less alone. Not only was it a little comforting for Ollie to know that Sparks had normal emotions and feelings just like everyone else, but in a selfish kind of way he found a little relief in knowing he wasn’t the only one in the world who was hurting.

“After that,” Sparks said, “I started to realize just how different I am. I also saw the path I was starting to take, and I didn’t want to be that kind of person. I didn’t want to be the kind of guy who spent his time picking people’s lives apart. Instead… well, here I am with you.”

“Not to sound insensitive, but why didn’t you try to find the girl and try to fix—”

“Because I
did
try.” Sparks didn’t allow him to ask the whole question. “I tried to help her when her life started to spin out, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Remember how I said some people won’t accept any help? She’s one. I’ve tried to go back more than once, hoping for a chance. But every time I only make it worse. Maybe… hopefully someday, but not now.”

“And I suppose this also explains… uh, your stubb— er, your personality?”

Finally, a smile. Sparks made eye contact and let a small laugh slip out. “I know. I know. I’m the life of the party.”

Ollie felt satisfied that he had a general idea about who Sparks really was. He was still, however, left with one question in regard to himself, and it was the big one: what— specifically— was Sparks here to help him with? He knew he wanted help getting back on his feet somehow, but he felt like he needed to pin it down better than that. He didn’t quite know how to articulate it.