Author: Robyn Carr
Landon, Eve and Ashley got to the game in the fourth inning. Downy was playing first base, a change from his usual position as pitcher but just as natural for him. He played four more innings and was up to bat four times—two base hits, a double and a home run just while the Thunder Point contingent was there. He was magnificent; he had the stadium on their feet. Then the game ended and Oregon State had shut out Arizona. Ashley was on her feet, screaming herself hoarse for Downy and the team at every play. The stands were full and the sun was setting, the stadium lights coming on before all was said and done.
People were streaming out of the stadium when Ashley said, “I want to see him.”
Eve stopped short. “What for? Ashley, what for?”
“I just want to tell him, good game. That’s all.”
“No, Ash. I don’t think you should,” Eve said.
“What can it hurt? Landon? What can it hurt?”
Eve shook her head. “He hasn’t called you,” she said. “It’s going to hurt.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Ashley said, stalking off toward the exit. But rather than heading for Landon’s car in the parking lot, she walked around the stadium. She looked over her shoulder at Landon and Eve. “I know where the locker room and exit is—back here,” she said. She put a little skip in her step as she headed down the walk toward the back.
She had good instincts—she found what she was looking for. It wasn’t exactly an original idea. There were quite a few students waiting back there. Also, a player’s bus was parked off to the side—probably for the Arizona team, taking them either to a hotel or the airport, or perhaps even home.
People were loitering, standing around and leaning against cars, waiting for the players to come out. The first couple of guys came out and were greeted by friends and girlfriends with whoops, cheers, high fives and kisses. A few more emerged and got into the Arizona bus. Ashley stood back, waiting. She couldn’t help it, she twisted her hands a little bit. All she wanted in life was for Downy to see her and be as thrilled as he had been in the old days.
More players came out—a big rush of them, duffels in hand, shoes dangling by the laces—all of them still pumped from the game.
“Dupre?” Downy shouted, noticing Landon and rushing over to him, hand outstretched. “What are you doing here, buddy?”
Landon took the hand. “We came up to see you play. Great game.” Then he inclined his head toward Ashley.
And Downy frowned. “Oh, man. This isn’t good.”
“She wanted to see you play,” Landon said.
“Hey, Ash.”
She stepped forward, smiling, still holding her hands together, trying to keep them still, praying. A few weeks ago she would have thrown herself into his arms and he would have lifted her and kissed her silly. “Downy,” she said smiling tremulously. “Good game.”
“Thanks,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why? You used to love it when I came to your games.”
He dropped his duffel and looked at her harshly and she felt her lips quiver. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out. You have to stop now. Stop calling and texting all the time. Don’t come to the games.”
“Can’t we be friends?” she asked, her eyes tearing. “We’ve known each other since we were about five.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, clicked a little and held it toward her so she could see the million texts and pictures she’d sent him. “This is not friendly. This is just about harassment.”
“Well, forgive me for living,” she snapped. “I thought you might appreciate some friends coming to your—”
“Downy!” a female yelled. “Baby!” And the tall, slim, dark-haired girl from the frat house threw herself on him, wrapping her legs around his waist and hugging his neck. “You are such a stud!” she yelled against his shoulder.
Her, Ashley thought. It’s still her.
“Selena,” he said, gently putting her on her feet. She looked a little confused when he put her down. “Some of my friends from home,” he said. “Landon, Eve and Ashley.”
At first Selena smiled, but then she glowered. She turned her attention toward Downy. “Is this the little psycho who keeps calling you and sexting you, day and night?”
Ashley felt the growl come out of her before she realized what was happening. Little psycho? She put up her hands in the shape of claws, nails bared, and took two giant steps toward the girl named Selena. She was going to claw her face and rip her hair out. But as fast as a lightning bolt, Downy put Selena behind him and Landon jumped between them. He grabbed Ashley’s wrists.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Landon said.
And Downy yelled, “What the hell, Ashley! Are you crazy?”
“Okay, we’re outta here,” Landon said. “Good seeing you, Downy.” He looped his hand through Ashley’s arm and gripped her tightly. She pulled against him and snarled, but he held on. “Don’t even think about it or I’ll throw you over my shoulder,” he muttered. “Come on, Eve. Come on.”
Landon made pretty fast tracks around the building to the parking lot. Eve was scrambling to keep up behind them while he was dragging Ashley.
“Let go,” Ashley said.
“Not a chance. I don’t want to have to tackle you.” Then he laughed without humor. “Seriously? A cat fight? Have you totally lost it?”
“He hurt me,” she said fiercely.
“And so you were going to scratch her eyes out?” he asked, marching her along.
“She called me a little psycho!”
“So you were going to prove it?”
She groaned and kept up with him somehow. But by the time they got to the SUV, Ashley was softly crying. “You just don’t get it,” she said softly, pitifully. “He said he loved me, that he’d love me forever....”
“I get it,” Landon said. He turned her toward him and gripped her upper arms. Eve caught up to them. “I get it. You were serious. You were a couple. And you broke up. I’m sorry, Ash. You think you’re going to get him back by acting like a psycho and beating up his new girlfriend?”
She stared at him, knowing the truth and wisdom in what he was saying, but it somehow didn’t help her at all. She could feel her face contort, then crumble as a fresh flood of tears ran down her cheeks. “It can’t be over,” she whispered, sobbing and gasping softly. “It can’t. It can’t. It can’t.”
Gina made the appointment for Ashley. No discussion. She tried to channel Aunt Lou and merely announced to Ashley that she was going, then drove her to Bandon. “I’m not crazy!” Ashley railed at Gina.
“Of course you’re not—you’re upset, that’s what you are. And you have good reason to be upset and brokenhearted and angry. Counselors have helped people get through all kinds of emotional situations and crises. Just talk with her. It certainly can’t hurt.”
“I’m not telling her my personal business!”
“And I’m sure she’s been through plenty of that before, too,” Gina muttered.
The ride to Bandon to the counselor’s office was quiet and sulky. Every now and then Ashley muttered, “I don’t want to go” and “I’m not telling her anything.”
The office of Simone Ross was small, nondescriptly furnished in what resembled cheap, old apartment furniture, maybe dating back to the I Love Lucy show. There was no one in the waiting room, however there was a desk with a clipboard, piece of paper, pen and at the top of the page it said, Please Sign In. There was a door, presumably to an interior office. After sitting in the waiting room for ten minutes, the interior door opened and a grandmotherly woman with an ample bosom, pink cheeks, short silver hair and wide hips smiled. “Ashley?”
Ashley nodded nervously and stood.
“Hello. I’m Simone. Why don’t you go inside.” Then she turned to Gina. “Ms. James? We’ll be about forty minutes. You can wait here or step out for a while.”
“I’ll...ah...wait.”
Simone gave a nod and immediately closed herself in with Ashley.
Gina sat on one of the uncomfortable chairs, alone in the reception area, listening. She didn’t hear a murmur from that inner office and she was aching to know what was happening in there.
Support like this was relatively new and many people relied on the right insurance coverage. When Ashley was born, Gina’s mom had been working at the diner for Stu. It was that event, the cost of the birth, that caused Stu to amp up his coverage for his full-time employees, of which there were two besides himself and his wife. It had been enormously expensive. It hadn’t gotten any less so, but Stu had gotten used to it. The coverage included some counseling.
This was what Gina would like to do one day, once she completed her master’s degree in counseling—help people through crises just like this. She had two reasons for this pursuit—she knew that things like this didn’t kill you and with the right kind of support, you grew stronger and wiser. Truthfully, since the moment Ashley and Downy started dating, Gina had feared the extremes—that they would marry young before ever experiencing life or finishing their educations, or that it might end disastrously, leaving her beautiful girl brokenhearted.
Ashley so needed this objective assistance. Gina would remember to thank Lou for insisting on something Gina should have thought of herself.
She leaned back and closed her eyes. Wasn’t this just the rule rather than the exception...? Just when you thought things had fallen so sweetly into place—Carrie’s business was good, Ashley had been happy, Gina had finally come together with Mac—some life event shook everything up. Right now all Carrie and Gina could think about was Ashley, suffering in sadness and depression, losing weight just as efficiently as any divorce diet, weeping into her pillow at night.
It was a long forty minutes before Simone opened the door to the reception room and Gina shot to her feet, betraying her anxiety.
“Will you join us for a few minutes, Ms. James?”
“Gina,” she said. “Please, just call me Gina.” And then she followed the older woman into the office.
Ashley held a wadded-up tissue in her grip and it was obvious—she’d done a little crying for the counselor. This suggested she had shared her personal business. Gina tried not to smile. The counselor indicated a chair and Gina took it expectantly.
“Ashley and I have talked about things and I’ve asked her to come back in two weeks for another talk. But in the meantime I’d like her to try a teen group that meets here, in this office. Their issues run the gamut—a little of everything—but they seem to be very helpful to each other. That group meets Tuesdays and Thursdays here—my associate moderates the group and he’s terrific. Ashley is willing to give that a try.”
“Okay,” Gina said. Why did she think this one counseling session would provide a cure? She knew better. And why did she fear group therapy? Ashley had a broken heart—almost a rite of passage. She feared hooking her up with a bunch of troubled teens, some possibly there by court order. “You’re good with that idea, Ash?” she asked.
“My first choice is to go home and just sit in the closet for a year,” Ashley said.
“Thus the counseling, group and individual,” Simone said. “The closet is not a good idea. Not designed for recovery. You move at your own speed in group,” she went on. “They’re not going to hold you down and make you talk—that’s entirely up to you. And if it’s not right for you, well, we’ll just try something else. In the meantime, please call me if you’re having a hard time.” She looked at Gina. “Ashley has my cell number and I’ll take her call if I’m not in session. If I’m in session, I’ll return the call as soon as I can.”
