Nineteen

The challenge came to the forefront the next time she saw Trent, or rather, shortly afterward, when they went to a baseball game together. Trent figured aloud that a huge crowd would be a safe place; after all, Canadians are not particularly intrusive when it comes to celebrities. Surely they could enjoy a nice summer evening together without constantly being barraged by autograph-seekers.

The evening started pleasantly enough. Emily met Trent at the gate of the stadium, her hair pulled back in a pony tail and tucked under a ball cap. She was dressed in her usual summer uniform of shorts and a t-shirt, and was hiding the dark fatigue that ringed her eyes behind make-up and sunglasses. The week had been long and hard, and Emily had seriously considered canceling the date.

Work was crazy; she’d been working night shifts, which never served her system well. Aidan had been particularly challenging with his behaviour this week, too. She felt like she had spent the last few days in one giant time-out with Aidan, without ever feeling like she’d made an impression. It was exhausting, and irrational resentment towards Thomas for being gone, she found, was flaring a bit this week. So she felt justified in bailing on Trent, knowing she wouldn’t be very good company. But it seemed that each time she picked up the phone, she would hear ‘Some Day’ playing on the radio, and the sound of his voice would conjure up those eyes of his, and she would hang up the phone without dialing.

That night at the stadium, she was simply exhausted. That she even went was, she knew, a testament to the obsessive quality of her interest in the man; she told him immediately that she was tired and unlikely to be much fun. He laughed and put his arm around her waist.

“Even cranky, I would rather be with you right now than anywhere else in the world,” he said. Her mood lifted instantly.

They got beer and giant pretzels, like proper baseball fans, and took their seats. Trent also wore a baseball cap and sunglasses.

“Sorry about these things,” he said, indicating the glasses. “I seem to be spotted everywhere I go these days, and I thought they might help.”

Emily shrugged indifferently, although she was secretly hoping she could get him somewhere private later on so she could see those stunningly green eyes again. “S’ok,” she said, her mouth full of pretzel. “Don’t worry about it.” He said he’d rather be with me, her heart sang. He could be wearing pretty much anything and she’d forgive him at this point.

It wasn’t five minutes into the game that the first fan came and asked for Trent’s autograph. He smiled uneasily and scribbled on the ditzy young woman’s belly, and groaned uncomfortably as soon as she’d left. He and Emily joked a bit about how she’d never wash again, and then shuddered comically at the thought. By the end of the third inning, at least a dozen requesters had come their way, and Trent was becoming less gracious with each cocktail napkin or proffered body part. Emily stifled giggles at first, but it started to be wearing when it became evident that they were unlikely to be able to carry on a conversation, uninterrupted. Although, she had to admit, the staccato conversation made it much easier to dole out small, measured, safe doses of information about herself as she considered how to approach the subject of her premature widowhood.

Sometime before the seventh inning stretch, Emily heard the announcer say Trent’s name, and suddenly, there they were on the Jumbotron, three storeys high. Trent puffed out his chest and waved, and it occurred to Emily that this was what life was like for Trent Buchanan. She noticed flashes of the arrogance she saw in him that first night at the hospital, but recognized it now for a combination of embarrassment, at the attention, and modesty. Constant recognition must stretch the patience, she thought. Glad it’s not me.

She made that comment aloud, and he replied, “You know, I just realized it now. I used to get a real charge out of being asked for my autograph, but now it’s just annoying.”

“I noticed that you seem a little uncomfortable,” Emily observed.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied thoughtfully. “I guess there’s a little self-preservation, you know? I need to keep my feet on the ground, but it’s kind of hard when people react the way they do.” He smiled self-consciously.

“Well, that’s one way of describing millions of screaming fans, I suppose,” Emily said dryly. “But I certainly understand the need not to work when you’re not at work. I mean, every time someone in a restaurant gets chest pain, I’m supposed to jump up and start CPR.”

Trent looked at her for a moment, as if trying to decide if she was joking, and then they both cracked up. “That’s exactly it,” he said. “It’s pretty easy to lose track of yourself when you need to be ‘on’ all the time.”

It was a moment of insight for Emily, and she realized then that the bravado and arrogance was, in some measure, a way of keeping his distance, a professional image with little relation to his personal one. It went a good way, she noted with some surprise, to counteract her initial impression of the man, helping her forget their unfortunate first encounter.

They left the game early, tired of the scrutiny, but still managing to have enough fun, making derisive comments about the star-watchers and baseball fans. They headed for a sports bar in Forest Glen that Emily knew, and sat in a dark booth near the back, laughing and holding hands. By ten o’clock, Emily’s fatigue was speaking louder than her infatuation, and she said, “I need to go or I’m not going to make it home awake.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you falling asleep at the wheel and driving into a tree or anything,” Trent said with mock petulance. She could see he was disappointed with the way the evening had gone.

“I had a good time,” she reassured him.

“Me too,” he said, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. “I’m sorry about all the interruptions.”

“No worries,” she said honestly. “It didn’t bother me at all.”

“Maybe I’d better follow you home, just to make sure you get there okay,” he said.

A small stab of panic shot through her. No, she thought. You know enough about me. You don’t need to know where I live. But a good part of her knew that if he came home with her, she wouldn’t be getting much sleep, and she definitely wasn’t ready for that.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager to be on her way. “I really need some sleep. I work again tomorrow night.”

Trent walked her to her car. They hugged, and Trent reached up to where her hands were around his neck, and clasped his fingers through hers. He pressed her back against the door to her car and kissed her, hard. She gasped with pleasure and longing, and kissed back, oblivious to those around them. When, reluctantly, they parted, he spoke.

“I can’t wait to do this again,” he said when he finally broke away. She wondered if he meant the kiss or the evening, but didn’t ask. Her body ached for more of him, but, despite her fatigue, she was able to smile and pull away.

“Me, too,” she said frankly, and gently nudged him away. There was a pull, almost physical, that she likened to an undertow, as he stepped away from her. She felt a void, as if she was already missing him. He trailed a finger down her jaw and touched her lips. She shivered.

“Let’s talk tomorrow,” she said, and got into her car quickly, before his look could talk her into inviting him home, which, she knew, was far too close to happening. She rolled her windows down knowing she would need the wind; if not to keep her awake on the drive home, then so the sound of that wind and the chill evening air could drag her back to earth. They waved, and she sped off toward home and sleep.