Free Outside the Lines by Amy Hatvany Page B

problem. His balls should drop any day.” She rolled her eyes before glancing at her watch. “In fact, I need to get going.”
    “What about our walk?”
    She motioned to the waitress to bring our check. “I’ll have to take a rain check. Call me later?”
    “Sure. We’ll dissect your date with the lawyer.” I paused to hand the waitress two twenty-dollar bills and told her to keep the change.
    Georgia waved her hand at me over the remains of her breakfast, dismissing the idea. “Eh, there’s nothing to dissect.”
    “He didn’t irritate you?”
    “Not even in the slightest.”
    “That’s too bad,” I said, laughing as I stood up to pull on my coat.
    “No worries,” she said. “Tomorrow’s another day.”
    By the time I had dropped Georgia off, driven home, and walked Jasper, I arrived at the community center where Bryce’s competition was being held about ten minutes after the event began. I spotted my mother and John sitting on the bleachers before they saw me, and the sight of my mother’s chemo-induced short hair didn’t fail to throw me. I had watched it disappear. I cried with her the first time she brushed her thick blond locks in front of the mirror and huge chunks fell to the ground. Now it was layered on her head in a fashionably spiked mess, similar to the style Rita wore. Even with the weight the steroids had packed on her she looked beautiful. Luminous, really. Nothing could disguise the light in her eyes as she looked up and laughed at something John had said. I had no memory of her looking at my father that way. I knew that she must have. I knew their life together wasn’t always filled with despair.
    I pushed my way through the crowd and climbed up to their seats. “Hi!”
    “Hi, honey,” my mom said, giving me a quick hug and a kiss. Out of habit, I gauged her temperature with my cheek against hers. She felt cool. Healthy. I sent off a little thanks to the universe for keeping her alive.
    “Eden!” John bellowed. “How’s my girl?”
    As usual, I cringed internally at his claim on me. I’m not yours, the child in me said, pouting. I’m my daddy’s girl. I was well practiced at not letting this feeling show on my face. The few times I had shown it when I was younger, my mother made me regret it.
    “You will show your stepfather respect, young lady,” she’d said one time. “Do you understand me?” When I didn’t respond right away she gave my arm a little shake.
    “Fine!” I pouted in a manner only an adolescent girl could pull off. “Okay! I understand!” I liked John, but it bothered me how hard he tried. Everything was over-the-top. His Hawaiian-print shirts were too loud; he was jolly when just happy would do. He insisted on taking me to Mariners games and I didn’t even like baseball.
    I squashed my irritation now and sat next to my mother in the bleachers. “I’m good, John. How are you?” Since marrying John, my mother was happier than I’d ever seen, so I did my best to be nice to her husband, if only for her sake. She was an entirely different person than she’d been with my dad—serene, relaxed, and cheerful. She still worked, but only part-time, and she wasn’t the only person responsible for paying the bills. Worry didn’t constantly pull at the muscles in her face; she no longer cried more than she laughed. There had been a fundamental shift inside her.
    “Good, good. I’m great. Kickin’ ass and takin’ names.” He grinned at me. John was a bear of a man, well over six feet tall, and packing enough flesh to make me wonder how he could continue to pass the firemen’s physical fitness test. Didn’t they make him climb a ladder? He was always clean-shaven and I didn’t think I had ever seen him without a perfectly sheared crew cut. From the day my mother told me she was going to marry John, I couldn’t help but compare him to my father. And while he was the physically bigger man, in my eyes John always came up short. My father taught me