“Yeah.” He paced back and forth in front of the pitcher’s mound. And then he repeated it: “Yeah, it probably is.”
She went over and put her hand on his elbow. “How can I help?”
He looked down at her hand, then met her eyes. “You help.”
“I want to help more.”
He chuckled and gave that shoulder another rub. “Yeah. I know you do. Honestly, I can’t feel the ball anyway.” He took off his glove and stuffed it under his arm, and he bent and flexed all his fingers. “It’s like I said about pitching in the cold.”
She took her hands out of her pockets and put them on his. “Yeah, wow, your hands are freezing.”
He looked down and moved just his thumbs, pressing on her hands just barely, just enough for her to be sure he was doing anything at all. And then he nodded. “Okay. Let’s go home.” They gathered up the flashlights and the baseballs, and she got into her car and he got into his truck, and he followed her right back to the house, where they said good night.
As she got back into bed, Evvie kept thinking about that phantom catcher and kept hearing the ball clang against the fence. Pitching was something he’d been doing since he was a kid. There was only so much to it; he had the same body he’d always had. The same ligaments and muscles and joints. He had the same mind; he hadn’t forgotten anything he’d once known. Something had broken, and what was broken could be fixed. That was logic.
A FEW DAYS AFTER SHE TRACKED Dean down at Dacey Park, Evvie found a therapist in Rockland named Dr. Jane Talco, whose online profile said she treated anxiety, and who looked trustworthy in her picture. To fix a head case, she figured, you’d start with a head fixer.
When Evvie got there, the doctor was standing at her desk with her back to the door, and she turned with a legal pad in her hand. She was dressed casually, with a pair of glasses pushed up on top of her head. “Hi, there.”
“Hi, I’m Eveleth Drake, I have a two thirty appointment.”
“Absolutely, come in. Sorry, I was just pushing paperwork all over my desk.” She turned and extended her hand to shake Evvie’s. “I’m Jane Talco. Have a seat.”
Evvie sank into the couch, which was a little deeper than she expected. She smiled awkwardly, examining the placid artwork and the ominous box of tissues positioned on the end table beside where she was sitting.
“So what brings you into the office today?” The sound in the room seemed deadened, like they were in a blanket fort.
She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to start. Just jump in, she supposed. “Well, I need some help. I know people always say they’re asking for a friend, but I am asking for a friend.”
The doctor cocked her head. “Asking for a friend. Okay. Tell me a little more.”
“Well, I have this friend who used to be a professional athlete. Have you ever heard of the yips?”
“Steve Sax, right?”
“Right, right. My friend got the yips. And he retired. He says that he’s fine, but I don’t think he is. I’m trying to be a good friend. I know there’s a lot of research, and I wanted some expert advice in case it’s something like anxiety and I might be able to help.”
“Oh, interesting. Can I get some background from you so I know where you’re coming from, and then we’ll talk about this more?” Dr. Talco said. Evvie wasn’t wild about this part, but she figured the fact that she wasn’t being kicked out of the office suggested it might be worth staying, so she nodded.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Are you in a relationship?”
“No.”
“Any kids?”
“No.” Good lord. This was like talking to Nana when she was still alive, only with fewer ceramic ducks on the shelves.
“Have you ever been married?”
Evvie shifted on the couch. “I was married until a little over a year ago. My husband passed away.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Dr. Talco said, scribbling on her paper. “How are you doing?”
“As well as can be expected, I guess.”
“How long were you together?”
“Since I was fifteen.”
Dr. Talco nodded slowly. “That’s a long history.”
“It is.” Evvie cleared her throat.
“So in this last year or so, have you been physically healthy? How do you do with things like sleep? Do you sleep well?”