I glance at the clock. Time’s up.
13
“The record-breaking heat wave continues, with highs today and tomorrow in the upper 90’s, heat indexes in the low 100’s. But there’s some relief in sight. Showers and thunderstorms, some potentially severe, on Tuesday evening and into the overnight hours should cool things down a bit, as well as bring us some much-needed rain. The high on Wednesday is only expected to reach 91. That’s your latest look at the forecast; now here’s the latest from some guys who put on an awesome show here in the Windy City last weekend—”
Eff me. I quickly switch off the radio before I get sucked into the song, which I happen to like a lot. Unfortunately. But I don’t need any reminders of Jude. Especially now, as I’m on my way to the dreaded baseball game.
I’ve never, ever, ever dreaded going to a Cubs game. Ever. And I’m pretty pissed off that I’ve put myself in the position I’m in right now. I should have just let Jude fight his own stupid battles.
I watched the first pitch from the comfort of my own couch and contemplated calling Marvin to tell him I was sick. But I already had my ticket. And it’s one of the only games I’ve had a chance to go see at Wrigley Field this season. And they’re playing the wretched Cardinals. The pull of the ivy is stronger than the revulsion I feel for my date.
By the time I park and climb my way to my seat in the outfield bleachers, it’s the bottom of the third inning. When Marvin sees me, he stands and waves both hands over his head. As if I don’t know where my seat is. And as if I needed a reminder that he keeps two of the Great Lakes under his arms (Superior and Michigan, by the look of things today).
“It’s about time you got here,” he greets me as I sit down. “I was starting to wonder if you were gonna stand me up.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, motioning to the beer man that I need a drink. Now.
Marvin retakes his seat, brushing up against me. At the risk of invading the space of the person next to me, I move over a little.
“Yeah, well, Jude told me you got a phone call as he was dropping you off after your couch shopping, and that’s probably what was making you late.”
I pay the beer man and take the first wonderful sip of my ice-cold drink. Then I say caustically, “Oh, Jude told you that, huh? What’d you do, call him to find out where I was?” What a stalker!
We all stand up as the batter hits one hard toward center field, right where we’re sitting. But it drops well in front of the wall, caught by the Cardinals’ outfielder. After we’re seated again, Marvin says impatiently, “No, I asked him when he showed up here without you.” He mops his brow with his t-shirt sleeve, which is already sweat-soaked.
I resist the urge to:
gag;
spit my mouthful of beer onto the head of the person in front of me;
shout, “Jude’s here?!”;
look around frantically for him; and
punch Marvin in the face for the implied “dumbass” at the end of his sentence.
Instead, I manage to swallow my beer and say coolly, “Oh. Right. I didn’t realize he beat me here.”
The next batter strikes out, ending the inning. Marvin turns his full attention to me as the sides switch out. “He went to the bathroom. So what’s the deal? I thought he said he wasn’t coming to the game.”
“I guess he changed his mind.”
Marvin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, thank God you’re here. The dude’s been asking me so many questions about the game that it’s embarrassing. I’ve hardly had a chance to watch.”
I hide my smile in my plastic beer cup. “Sorry. I got here as soon as I could,” I manage before drowning my grin in another swallow.
The people immediately to my right stand up, allowing someone through. Jude edges past me and moves to retake the empty seat on the other side of Marvin, but Marvin willingly scoots over to make room for him between the two of us.
“Go ahead, man. Sit next to Libby. She’s the one teaching you about baseball, right?”
Jude hesitates for a nanosecond, then takes the seat. “Right. Excellent. Thanks, mate.”
Marvin’s absence is literally a breath of fresh air. I can breathe through my nose again without getting a snootful of sweaty man. And there’s enough room between Jude and me for a slight breeze against my left side.
“Thank you,” I whisper to Jude.
“Not at all,” he answers, smiling. “What’d I miss?”
I know he’s talking about the game, but I say quietly, “You missed my finding out that you covered for me, probably knowing that I was sitting at home, bribing myself with season tickets next year to get myself out the door.”
He laughs out loud, then covers his mouth as he murmurs back, “I actually thought it was a huge bag of Kit Kats you were promising yourself, but I was spot-on with the rest of it.”
Marvin startles me by standing up right as I’m about to say something about his sweat glands. I quickly close my mouth and smile up at him as he announces he’s going to the bathroom and slides past us.
As soon as he’s gone, I inform Jude, “He’s really mad you’re here. He’s already bitched to me about it. Why’d you change your mind?”
Hiding behind his sunglasses, Jude watches the action on the field, a routine ground-out by the other team’s hitter. “Already had the ticket. Had nothing better to do. Etcetera, etcetera...”
“But you told Marvin—”
“He can bugger off. He did a great job on the animation, and he really saved my bacon, but he’s
