Edward Everett shook his head. There was Webber on the ground, his shoulder broken, on the verge of finding out he would never play ball again, and there was Nelson slinking off across the lot, limping through the raised rock bed that served as a divider between the motel lot and the gas station. Edward Everett saw him twisting to avoid the yucca plants in the bed, and then …? He had no idea. He had turned around to look at Webber, to tell someone to call 911. Had he thought to look again for Nelson? He couldn’t remember. “No,” he said. “I have no idea.”
“Was he close to anyone on the team?” Earl asked.
Wouldn’t Cindy know that? he wondered. She gave no sign that she had an answer and Edward Everett tried to think: had he ever seen Nelson friendly with anyone? There was Nelson in the locker room, surrounded by the other players, but in the image that came to him, Nelson was on the periphery, listening but seldom talking, laughing at a joke someone told but never telling one himself, just going about the business of being a ballplayer, waiting for someone to tell him what to do. Get into the cage and take some cuts, Nels. Go shag some flies, Nels. And he took batting practice, chased fly balls, went out to the field when Edward Everett put him into the lineup, sat down when Edward Everett didn’t. Other players got angry if Edward Everett took them out, if he didn’t start them. Vila once knocked over a five-gallon plastic cooler of Gatorade when Edward Everett sent a right-handed batter to pinch-hit for him in a close game. Webber flung his glove against the dugout wall when Edward Everett pulled him from a game to discipline him. Webber and Vila had fire; until he went crazy, Nelson just nodded and sat down, tossed a handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth and watched the game, spitting out the husks, clapping if someone drove in a run or made a diving catch. “I don’t think he was close to anyone,” he said.
Earl nodded, glanced at Cindy, then back at Edward Everett. “Did you ever have a chance to see Ross play in high school?” he asked, the interview—what interview there was—clearly over, Edward Everett no help to them.
“No,” Edward Everett said. “I don’t do that. There are scouts.”
“He was something, you know?” Earl said. “He was All-Conference his last year. He was the best of the best. Once—”
But Cindy interrupted him. “Earl, I don’t think Mr. Yates needs us to rehash Ross’s past glories.”
“Sorry,” Earl said. “But we all thought he was the real deal back then. I got a kick out of being able to say that my sister was marrying Ross Nelson.” He paused. “But I guess everyone who gets this far was the real deal somewhere, right?”
“True,” Edward Everett said, resisting the impulse to look at his watch. He needed to get to the park, wherever the hell it was, to get ready for the game. “Is there anything else I can tell you? I liked Nelson. Ross, I mean. He was—”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Cindy said, standing. “I really don’t want to listen to you say nice things about him.”
Earl stood as well and took his wallet out of his hip pocket. Edward Everett wondered if he was going to pay him for his time but Earl took out a business card. Officer Earl Heidenry, Lakeport Police Department, with a phone number and an email address. “If you see him or hear from him,” he said, giving the card to Edward Everett.
“Sure,” he said, standing.
At the door, Cindy turned back. “I love Ross,” she said. “He’s … well, I love him. But I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“How do you mean?” Edward Everett asked.
“Do you have any children?” she asked.
“No,” he said. It was a lie he had told so often that it usually came easily but this time he wasn’t able to meet her eyes.
“Well, then you won’t understand,” she said. “But if you have kids, you do what they need. No matter what that costs. I hope Ross—” She stopped, let out a breath. “But if he doesn’t, I have to make sure my kids are okay. If you see him, tell him I said so.”
“I don’t think I’ll see him,” he said. “But if I do, I will.”