Page 5 of Pitcher

“That’s my girl.”

I ignore the fluttering feeling when he calls me his girl. Instead, I smack the ball from his grip and dribble up the driveway before he can catch me.

This friendship is either going to be a huge disaster or one of the best mistakes I’ve ever made.

Turns out, it’s both.

Four years later…

Wary glances are cast my way as I push past the guests without anexcuse me. These nosey motherfuckers should be grateful I checked my attitude at the door. My purpose here is not to kiss ass or show the good people of Madison what a respectable young man I can be today.

Hines and Grace were family.

I came here to pay my respects, and to get my girl. “Did you find her?” With no greeting, my brother gives me a worried look as we pass each other through connecting hallways.

I swipe a hand through my hair—not having a hat on feels strange. “No.”

I force out a breath, my eyes scanning the mass of people for any sight of her.

“You don’t think she…” Thad trails off, afraid to finish his question.

“She wouldn’t do anything stupid.” The confidence in my voice is fake. I don’t know what is going through Anniston’s head today. The only family she had is dead.

Her mother.

Her father.

And now both of her grandparents.

Two days before she walks the stage as salutatorian for our High School, Anniston McCallister will smile at two empty seats in the crowd.

She’s all alone in this world.

My heart pounds in my chest as panic settles in.

“Keep looking,” I bark at Thad, pushing past him. I don’t give a fuck if we’re at a wake or not. Ans needs us, and if I have to upend this entire funeral home to get to her, I will. Consequences be damned.

“Check the caskets if you have to,” I add, totally serious, before blazing through the crowded hallway on the hunt for my girl.

I shouldn’t have let her drive herself. Anniston was insistent she would be fine and there was no sense in me going out of my way to come get her. She promised to wait for me in the parking lot, but when Thad and I arrived, she was nowhere to be found. The funeral home director said he spoke with her soon after she arrived before excusing herself.

She hasn’t been seen since.

Two women ease out of the bathroom with frowns, catching my attention. “Is she in there?” I ask the younger one who looks back at the closing door. I don’t need to clarify who she is; they know. Anniston McCallister is the only granddaughter of Hines and Grace McCallister. In a small town, everyone knows about her tragic entrance into this world. And now everyone knows how a tragic car accident left her the sole heir of their plantation.

“Yeah,” the gray-haired woman breathes out. “She’s not speaking to anyone.”

I don’t give her time to finish or thank her. I shove past them into the ladies’ bathroom. Ms. Tate, a teacher from the public school that my father finally allowed me to attend, is standing at the stall door trying to coax Ans from the stall. “Sweetheart,” she coos, “can you open the door?” When she spots me, she slides to the side, making room.

I rattle the handle. “McCallister, open the door.”

I hear a muffled cry like she’s been holding it in and hearing my voice popped the seal.

“Please, sweetheart, open the door.” Ms. Tate’s voice is soothing, but it’s not what my girl responds to.

With a hand to her shoulder and a reassuring smile, I thank her for trying. She looks confused at my dismissal but takes the hint and leaves. When we’re alone, I open the stall beside the one Ans has barricaded herself in and step up on the toilet to peer over the stall. On the bathroom floor, curled up in the corner and hugging her knees, sits my girl—the only person in this world that I can’t live without. The ache in my chest feels like I’ve been hit by a pitch, a stinging sensation only an ice bath will soothe.

“Open the door, Ans, or I’ll climb over.”

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