baseball diamond. He turned toward the visitor's dugout, scanning the lower boxes and finding the exact seats he and his brother had sat in all those years ago. Funny what you remember. He walked toward the pitcher's mound, the grass making a gentle whooshing sound, and sat down on the rubber and waited. Clu's home. The one place he'd always felt at peace.
Should have buried him here, Myron thought. Under a pitcher's mound.
He stared up into the thousands of seats, empty like the shattered eyes of the dead, the vacant stadium merely a body now without a soul. The whites of the foul lines were muddied, nearly dirt-toned now. They'd be put down anew tomorrow before game time.
People say that baseball is a metaphor for life. Myron did not know about that, but staring down the foul line, he wondered. The line between good and evil is not so different from the foul line on a baseball field. It's often made of stuff as flimsy as lime. It tends to fade over time. It needs to be constantly redrawn. And if enough players trample on it, the line becomes smeared and blurred to the point where fair is foul and foul is fair, where good and evil become indistinguishable from each other.
Jared Mayor's voice broke the stillness. You said you found my sister.
Myron squinted toward the dugout. I lied, he said.
Jared stepped up the cement stairs. Sophie followed. Myron rose to his feet. Jared started to say something more, but his mother put her hand on his arm. They kept walking as though they were coaches coming out to talk to the relief pitcher.
Your sister is dead, Myron said. But you both know that.
They kept walking.
She was killed in a drunk driving accident, he went on. She died on impact.
Maybe, Sophie said.
Myron looked confused. Maybe?
Maybe she died on impact, maybe she didn't, Sophie continued. Clu Haid and Billy Lee Palms weren't doctors. They were dumb, drunk jocks. Lucy might have just been injured. She may have been alive. A doctor might have been able to save her.
Myron nodded. I guess that's possible.
Go on, Sophie said. I want to hear what you have to say.
Whatever your daughter's condition actually was, Clu and Billy Lee believed that she was dead. Clu was terrified. Drunk driving charges would be serious enough, but this was vehicular homicide. You don't walk away from that, no matter how far your curveball breaks. He and Billy Lee panicked. I don't know the details here. Sawyer Wells can tell us. My guess is that they hid the body. It was a quiet road, but there still wouldn't be enough time to bury Lucy before the police and ambulance arrived. So they probably stashed her in the brush. And when it all calmed down, they came back and buried her. Like I said, I don't know the details. I don't think they're particularly relevant. What is relevant is that Clu and Billy Lee got rid of the body.
Jared stepped into Myron's face. You can't prove any of this.
Myron ignored him, keeping his eyes on Jared's mother. The years pass. Lucy is gone. But not in the minds of Clu Haid and Billy Lee Palms. Maybe I'm over-analyzing. Maybe I'm being too easy on them. But I think what they did that night defined the rest of their lives. Their selfdestructive tendencies. The drugs You're being too easy, Sophie said.
Myron waited.
Don't give them credit for having consciences, she continued. They were worthless scum.
Maybe you're right. I shouldn't analyze. And I guess it doesn't matter. Clu and Billy Lee may have created their own hell, but it wasn't close to the agony your family experienced. You told me about the awful torment of not knowing the truth, how it lives with you every day. With Lucy dead and buried like that, the torment just went on.
Sophie's head was still high. There was no flinch in her. Do you know how we finally learned our daughter's fate?
From Sawyer Wells, Myron said. The Wells Rules of Wellness, Rule Eight: 'Confess something about yourself to a friend something awful, something you'd never want anyone to know. You'll feel better. You'll still see that you're worthy of love.' Sawyer was a drug counselor at Rockwell. Billy Lee was a patient there. My guess is that he caught him during a withdrawal episode. When he was delirious probably. He did what his therapist asked. Rule eight. He confessed the worst thing he could imagine, the one moment in his life that shaped all others. Sawyer suddenly saw his ticket out of Rockwell and into the spotlight. Through the wealthy Mayor family, owners of Mayor Software. So he went to you and your husband. And he told you what he'd heard.
Again Jared said, You have no proof of any of this!
And again Sophie silenced him with her hand. Go on, Myron, she said. What happened then?
With this new information, you found your daughter's body. I don't know if your private investigators did it or if you just used your money and influence to keep the authorities quiet. It wouldn't have been difficult for someone in your position.
I see, Sophie said. But if all that's true, why would I want to keep it quiet? Why not prosecute Clu and Billy Lee and even you?
Because you couldn't, Myron said.
Why not?
The corpse had been buried for twelve years. There was no evidence there. The car was long
gone no evidence there either. The police report listed a Breathalyzer test that showed Clu was not drunk. So what did you have: the ranting of a drug addict going through withdrawal? Billy Lee's confession to Sawyer Wells would probably be suppressed, and even if it wasn't, so what? His testimony about the police payoffs was complete hearsay since he wasn't even there when it happened. You realized all that, didn't you?
She said nothing.
And that meant justice was up to you, Sophie. You and Gary would have to avenge your
daughter. He stopped, looked at Jared, then back at Sophie. You told me about a void. You
said that you preferred to fill that void with hope.
Sophie nodded. I did.
And when the hope was gone when the discovery of your daughter's body sucked it all
away you and your husband still needed to fill that void.
Yes.
So you filled it with revenge.
She fixed her gaze on his. Do you blame us, Myron?
He said nothing.
The crooked sheriff was dying of cancer, Sophie said. There was nothing to be done about
him. The other officer, well, as your friend Win could tell you, money is influence. The Federal Bureau of Investigation set him up at our behest. He took the bait. And yes, I shattered his life. Gladly.
But Clu was the one you wanted to hurt most, Myron said.
Hurt nothing. I wanted to crush him.
But he too was fairly broken down, Myron said. In order to really crush him, you had to give
him hope. Just like you and Gary had all these years. Give him hope, then snatch it away. Hope hurts like nothing else. You knew that. So you and your husband bought the Yankees. You overpaid, but so what? You had the money. You didn't care. Gary died soon after the transaction.
From heartache, Sophie interrupted. She raised her head, and for the first time he saw a tear.
From years of heartache.
But you carried on without him.
Yes.
You concentrated on one thing and one thing only: getting Clu in your grasp. It was a silly trade everyone thought so and it was strange coming from an owner who kept out of every other baseball decision. But it was all about getting Clu on the team. That's the only reason you bought the Yankees. To give Clu a last chance. And even better, Clu cooperated. He started straightening out his life. He was clean and sober. He was pitching well. He was as happy as Clu Haid was ever going to get. You had him in the palm of your hand.
And then you closed your fist.
