Twenty-Six
Patches of snow clung stubbornly in the shadowy places of the yard, and high in the hilltops above Willow Lake. Yet where the sun shone, grass and daffodils and tulips burst through in a riot of color.
Six weeks after saying goodbye to Bo Crutcher, Kim still felt the deep hurt of losing him and AJ both. Together, they’d taken hold of her heart in a way she’d never thought possible. After she’d practically been destroyed in L.A., Bo made her believe in love again. But it was a funny thing about love. As much as it hurt now that he was gone, she had no regrets about letting him into her life. In a few short weeks, she had managed to love him with a depth and honesty that changed her in some fundamental way. In that sense, something good had come of it. She was better for having loved him, which made the empty ache almost bearable. Almost.
She could still picture a large, assured male hand, covering hers or feel the brush of his lips against her mouth. She could still hear the sound of his laughter, warm in her ear, and the memory brought on a bittersweet smile. She wondered where he was now, what he was doing.
No, she didn’t. When he left, he’d left for good, and that was the way it had to be. No contact. No phone calls or e-mail. Nothing. Kim knew her only chance of emotional survival would be to make a clean break with one swift, sure blow and no hope of reopening the wound. She refused to let herself dream of getting back together with Bo. They’d both agreed it wouldn’t work, not if he was going to create the family AJ needed—and one that would hold up to official scrutiny. She’d told Bo not to call her or send her e-mail. He needed to move ahead and do what he had to do for AJ.
After the reception, there had been hurried arrangements—passports and a swift departure for Texas. Now the third story of the house sat empty, abandoned, as though they’d never lived there, never filled the house with their voices and laughter.
According to the stack of picking-up-the-pieces self-help books she’d read, she was supposed to move on, too. By now, she should be emotionally ready, open to meeting new people, finding a new love. But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Bo had ruined all other men for her. Every time a man smiled at her, she thought about Bo’s smile. When a guy flirted with her, she remembered Bo’s voice, his easy laugh and the way his eyes lit when she walked into a room. There was no way someone else could compete with those memories. With Bo, she’d learned to fling herself into love in a way she never had before. Now she had to decide if it was worth the hurt.
What she could do was stay busy. At least one good thing had come from the night at the Pierre. True to his word, Stu Westfield, the producer, had contacted her about a job—not in media training or PR, but on the other side of the mic. He wanted her to work with the play-by-play announcer for the Yankees, providing live color commentary. She hadn’t given Stu an answer yet. It would be a dream job for her, but she wondered what it would be like, being in the same world as Bo Crutcher. It didn’t seem possible.
Still, she couldn’t bring herself to dismiss the opportunity out of hand. In the meantime, she had put her skills to use on behalf of Casa de Esperanza, which needed funding for its shelter for unaccompanied youths—American-born children, whose parents had been deported. She worked with advocates and volunteers, prepping them to take their case to the media. Because even though AJ was going to get his happy ending, there were too many others who lived in the shadow world of lost children.
Closer to home, she took unexpected pleasure in helping to plan her mother’s wedding. When Kim commented on how quickly it was all happening, her mother said, “I’ve waited a long time for a man like this. It’s either do it now or live in sin and embarrass you even worse.”
She set the countertop TV on ESPN, still her favorite channel, to keep her company while she polished the silverware for the upcoming wedding. A quick news wrap-up caught her attention. In the NBA semifinals, Lloyd Johnson committed a hard foul in the paint and started a brawl, abetted by his archrival, Marshall Walters. Sidelined and fined a fortune, Johnson found himself with a broken nose and bearing the brunt of the blame for giving away a shot at the championship. Kim felt nothing but a passing interest. Lloyd was simply becoming more like himself, and she was glad she wasn’t around to deal with the fallout.
A few minutes later, there was a recap of early-season baseball games, which she listened to with far more interest. She could easily picture herself in the broadcast booth, and the temptation to accept the job offer grew stronger. The Braves had defeated the Cardinals in a 9-0 rout. Cincinnati fell to Boston, and there was a puff piece on the identical twin brothers, each on opposing teams. After a commercial break, the latest Yankees win was covered, and the 90-second player spotlight that followed it galvanized Kim. “Once considered an unlikely prospect for this club, Bo Crutcher started his major-league journey as a batting practice pitcher. That only lasted a week, when a starting pitcher was sidelined by injury. Crutcher stepped in, and he stepped up, with a strong start to the season. A long, tall lefty with a deceptively smooth overhand delivery, his curveball is already getting a reputation—it just might be unhittable….”
Kim rubbed harder with the polishing cloth as her agitation morphed into energy. She and Bo had agreed not to contact
