Gray Matter

People were yelling, cheering on the runner, cheering on Dylan. The coaches were shouting to Dylan to throw it. Throw it anywhere.

Rachel shot to her feet and pointed. “Second!” she shouted.

Whether or not Dylan saw or heard her, he fired the ball with all his might toward home. A giant “Whooooa” rose up from the stands. The ball bounded on the third base line in front of the runner and into the catcher’s mitt which surprised the catcher as much as the crowd. The runner fell on top of the catcher just two feet from the plate, and was called out.

In left field, Dylan didn’t know the call until he saw Rachel bouncing on her feet and cheering. Then he started yowling and jumping up and down. Rachel knew she was no doubt overreacting, but it was a glory moment for Dylan, and she just didn’t give a damn.

“You know,” Sheila said, when the noise died down, “Bloomfield has a terrific baseball team. They were second two years in a row in the Indy school regionals.”

Rachel looked at her blankly. Damn her, she was stealing the moment from them. “Beg pardon?”

“The Bloomies. Maybe … you know, in a few years …”

Sheila was trying to be encouraging, but Rachel was offended. She wanted to say, Fuck you and the Bloomies, but she only nodded politely.

“Anything’s possible,” Martin said.

“Depends what’s important to you as a parent,” Sheila said.

“I didn’t realize they were such a sports school,” Martin said.

“Absolutely,” Sheila said, latching onto Martin’s interest. “You know what I’m saying? With his arm, he could be a superstar there. Lucinda’s going to be starting two years from September. Maybe they’ll be classmates.” And she winked at Martin.

Martin made a promising smile. “Maybe so.”

Then she dropped her voice. “By the way, if some Sagamore cop comes by asking about Julian, my advice is to tell him nothing.”

“Of course,” Martin said.

“Oops! Gotta go,” Sheila said, checking her watch.

Rachel muttered a silent prayer of thanks.

“By the way,” Martin said. “Would Lucinda want a couple of gerbils? Dylan’s just had a bunch of babies. About the size of a peanut.”

Sheila’s face seemed to harden. “No, that’s all right.”

“How did the kitten work out?” Rachel asked.

“Ran away. The mailman left the back door open. C’est la vie. What can I say?” She slung her bag over her shoulder to go. “By the way,” she said, pressing into a huddle again. “Turn on your TV Sunday night at nine. A special edition of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? for kids under eighteen. I’m not supposed to tell, but a boy named Lincoln Cady’s going to be a contestant.”

“Who?”

“Lincoln Cady. A black boy from Detroit.” She made telling wide-eyes.

“You mean … ?” Martin began.

Sheila nodded and winked.

Enhanced, thought Rachel.

Sheila stood up. “I know nothing about him, but he’s supposed to be something else.”

“We won’t miss it,” Martin said.

And she whispered, “And mum’s the word.” She fluttered a good-bye and climbed down the stand.

Rachel watched her cross to the parking lot to her car, thinking that her visit was not by accident.

49

Martian and Dylan dropped Rachel off at the Delta terminal at Logan Airport a little before two that afternoon. They pulled up to the entrance where cars and busses were double- and triple- parked.

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re glad I’m going?” Rachel said as Martin waved for a redcap to take her luggage.

“Why do you say that?” He looked at her in partial dismay. Perspiration made a beaded mustache band under his nose.

“I don’t know. You seem anxious. That’s all.”

Martin looked at Dylan. “It’s just that we’re going to do some guybonding today, right, champ?” And he tousled his son’s hair.

“But you know what, Mom? Me and Dad, we go the movies.”

Rachel knelt down and hugged Dylan. “That’s a great idea.”

“You wanna go, too?”

“I’d love to, but I have to visit Grammy. When I come back you take me, okay?”

Dylan nodded. “And you know what? I sing you a new song.” And he gave her a big hug.

She held him for a long time.

“Mom, are you crying?”

“Only because I miss you already.”

Dylan stared at her with a dreamy concern. Then he asked, “Mom, where are my Gummy Bears?”

“In your backpack.” She opened the rear door of the car, and Dylan slid in and began to search through his backpack.

Martin checked his watch. “We’ll be fine,” he said. “My love to everybody.”

He kissed her good-bye and started to pull away toward the car, but she caught his arm. “Martin, promise me something.”

“What?”

“If Malenko calls again—”

“Rachel, he’s not going to call again.”

“But he may. He’s pushing us, and I don’t like it.”

Martin sighed. “It’s because he has a deadline, and you know that.”

“It’s not his son!” she snapped.

Dylan looked up at her from inside the car, and his eyes locked on hers.

She lowered her voice, and in a grating whisper, she said, “If he calls again, just tell him that you’re not going to discuss it until I return. Not until next week. Period.”

Martin made a face of exasperation. “Okay, okay.”

“Promise me.”

“Yeah, okay.” His eyes were perfect clear orbs. “I promise.”

Dylan climbed out of the car. He came up to Rachel and put some Gummy Bears in her hand.

“What are these for?”

“To make you feel better. The green ones are the best. They make you happy.”

“You make me happy,” Rachel said and pulled him to her. “I love you, little man.” She hugged him for a brief spell, then let him get into the car. The traffic behind them was piling up.

“Love you, too.”

Rachel watched as Martin strapped Dylan into the front passenger seat. “Have a nice flight,” he said and walked around to the driver’s side and got in. As they pulled away, Dylan waved out his window at her. “Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, sweetie.”

Please, dear God, let me do the right thing.