Chapter Seven
April 1990
It was almost ten when Don unlocked the door of his dorm room. His game had gone extra innings and they'd lost, but he'd played well – two hits, three RBIs, two turned double-plays, no errors. And there had been a scout – at least, he and Dave Morrow, his buddy and teammate, assumed it was a scout – a guy in a tie making notes and stopping to talk to the coach.
He still had a paper to finish and a chapter to read, and he was thinking about a hot shower and pizza delivery as he pushed the flashing button on the answering machine.
"Don. It's Dad. Call me back as soon as you get this, no matter how late."
Even if Alan had not sounded so quietly urgent, the mere words would have made Don return his call immediately. Alan called once a week or so, leaving far more casual messages: "Hey, Donny, it's Dad, just calling to say hi" or "Dad here, did you see the Dodgers signed Mike Maddux?"
Don didn't even bother taking off his jacket. He kept his keys in his hand as he dialed. When Alan answered, he blurted out, "What's wrong?"
"Have you seen your sister?" Alan returned.
"Lyddie?" Don said stupidly, as if he suddenly had more than one. "No. Why, what happened?"
"It seems she's disappeared," Alan answered, his voice rising in fear. "Caroline – you remember her friend, Caroline Farr? She thought she might be headed toward you, so I was hoping she was there."
"What?" Don exclaimed. "What happened?"
"I don't know what happened," his father said. "She never showed up for dinner. Around seven, I started calling her friends, and Caroline said she'd been at her house, and was talking about going to see you."
"I haven't heard from her today," Don said. "Did she take the car?" Since getting her driver's license, Lydia had been using Margaret's car.
"No, that's here."
"Does she have money?"
"I don't know."
Don closed his eyes and swore to himself. "Go upstairs and look on her bookshelf. Check between chapters four and five of Alice in Wonderland. And please don't ever let on I told you this."
Alan put down the phone and, without comment, did as Don instructed. A moment later he reported, "There's no money there."
"I'll go look for her," Don said. "Maybe she took the bus, maybe she's already on campus. Did you call the police?"
"Not yet."
"Did you call Mom?"
Alan was quiet for moment, then said, "Your mother will just worry. She has her hands full with Charlie. But maybe I'll give the police station a call, just in case."
"I'm sure she's fine," Don said. "I'll call you back."
He hung up and called the bus line. The next one from Pasadena was due in forty minutes. He headed there immediately, not having any other ideas. He drove slowly the whole way, scanning the sidewalks, wondering what he was going to do if he was wrong.
But his instincts were correct, and when Lydia got off the bus, she didn't seem surprised to see him standing there. She walked over to him, as if she'd been expecting him to be there all along. "Well, this saves me the phone call and the cab fare," she said.
"Dad's really worried," he said. "What happened?"
"I didn't get into Berklee," she answered.
Don's heart sank. "Oh, Lyddie, I'm so sorry," he said softly. "Why not?"
"I don't know. I thought the audition went okay, and I've got the technical skills – I just wasn't good enough, I guess."
"You're terrific, and they're idiots," Don said, and was rewarded by a small smile. "So what's your second choice? Maybe you can reapply next year."
The smile faded at once. "Yeah. Well. Here's the thing. Remember how Mom and Dad kept saying I ought to have a back up plan? I should have listened. I didn't want to go anywhere else, so why apply anywhere else?" Her eyes started to fill with tears. "It didn't occur to me I wouldn't get in. What an ass I am."
Don hugged her then, and when her breath blew into his face, he could smell alcohol.
"Where'd you get the booze?"
"Stole it."
For one wild second, Don thought she'd actually knocked over a liquor store, and then she said, "Caroline's dad only ever drinks beer. The bottle was dusty. He'll never miss it."
"Come on." Don took her arm and steered her through the bus station. "We need to find a phone and call Dad."
Lydia shook her head.
"Yes," Don said firmly. "You can stay with me tonight, but we can't have Dad thinking you're lost."
Between the change in his pocket and Lydia's backpack, Don found enough to make a brief call to Alan. He talked their father out of coming right to San Bernardino and promised to deliver Lydia back the following day.
Lydia was silent for the ride back to Cal State. When Don opened the door of his room, she looked around and asked, "Where's your roommate?"
"He has a girlfriend with a single," Don answered. "He's never here." He watched his sister shrug off her jacket and kick off her shoes, not sure what to say, and finally decided on doing what he'd started when he got his father's message. He pulled his toiletry bag off his dresser and grabbed a towel, sweats and a t-shirt. "I'm going to shower, okay? And I'm starving. Why don't you order us a pizza? The number's by the phone."
"Okay," she said quietly.
Don pulled his wallet out of his pocket and Lydia waved him off. "I'll pay for it," she said. "It's the least I can do."
When Don returned, the pizza had just arrived. Lydia was sitting cross-legged on his bed, a bottle of wine in the crook of her knees. She was carefully putting a slice on a paper towel for him. A can of Coke sat on the edge of his desk.
"Now, this is service," Don said. "Thanks." He took a bite and asked, "So why didn't you tell Dad?"
"Because he'll flip," she mumbled.
"Lyddie, he will not," Don admonished her. "He'll be surprised, sure, but not mad. Come on. Give him some credit."
"It's all he talks about," she protested. "How we're all on our way to becoming the 'men and woman we're supposed to be.' How he's so proud of all of us. 'A baseball player, a musician and a top-level mathematician,' he says. And he gets that look on his face, you know that look?"
Don chuckled. He knew exactly the look she meant – a mix of pleasure and sorrow that left them wondering if Alan was going to burst into tears or hug them. It had grown worse since Margaret and Charlie went east.
"I did call Mom," Lydia said abruptly. "From Caroline's. Her solution was to have me go out to New Jersey with her next year."
"You could do that," Don said carefully.
"No, I can't. I was too stupid to get into college, so you think I'm going to go hang out with my little brother, who knew more when he was three than I ever will?" She leaned back against the wall. "Maybe I could teach myself guitar; then I could play in the subway for spare change."
"Lyddie --"
"Charlie told me once I had perfect pitch, but he was wrong," she interrupted quietly. "I don't have that, not like you guys do. You – you can feel the ball coming. You just have that instinct. You can make connections. Charlie – he sees things that aren't even there. I don't understand what the hell he's talking about most of the time, but I know it's important. He could change the world, even. But me? I'm just me."
"You play like that, Lydia," Don assured her gently. "You play what's not on the page."
"Then why didn't I get in?" She took a long swallow of wine and held the bottle toward Don. He shook his head. "I'm not completely delusional. I didn't think I'd be the next Carole King. But, shit, Donny, I'd have settled for a one-hit wonder. I thought maybe I was good enough for that."
Her eyes were starting to close. Don leaned over and took the bottle out of her hand, then took the pizza off the bed. She stretched out, like a cat, already falling asleep – or passing out. Don couldn't tell which.
"Want one of my shirts to sleep in?" he asked, covering her with an afghan at the end of the bed.
"I'm fine."
Don glanced at the clock then settled himself at his desk. It didn't matter that it was after midnight, that paper of his was still due in the morning.
"I'm sorry I bothered you," Lydia said, so quietly Don had to strain to hear her. "I didn't know where else to go."
"It's all right," he said, and wondered what his own back-up plan was.
When the phone rang hours later, Don jerked himself awake, wincing at the bad crick in his neck. He glanced at the bed – Lydia was snoring – and stumbled over to answer.
"Hello."
"Donny."
"Hi, Mom." Don rubbed at his neck and stretched. "What time is it?"
"Seven – I'm sorry if I woke you."
"It's all right. I've got a class in an hour."
"I just talked to Dad and he told me what happened," Margaret said. "Is she all right?"
Don was silent. He had no idea how to answer. Finally, he said, "She's upset. She'll be all right. I have to go to my government class but I'll bring her home later."
"You're a good brother," Margaret said. "Take care of her, sweetie, okay?"
"Sure," Don said, and bit back his sudden, resentful reply: I've been taking care of Lydia since I was eight years old.
