had been trying to lie low. That would certainly have been his reaction to the scene if it passed before him again, and Jeff supposed he didn’t have any reason to think it wouldn’t.
It wasn’t so much that the girl didn’t see him, he seemed to remember, it was that she had already seen so much else she seemed completely numb to whatever was next. Her eyes had never fixed upon anything, and in the skewed phone photo, they were hidden beneath her dropped head. There was nothing in the hazy background behind her other than a scatter of hazy debris and towers of black smoke against a brightening sky. The blur of her face that he could see looked empty as the wind blew her black hair back. If he could have seen her completely, he would have seen eyes that looked like they had already cried out all the tears they had.
In the foreground was something very easy to recognize and very clear. At the girl’s feet and stretching across most of the bottom half of the frame above the line of desert floor in the photo were a person’s — a woman’s — legs. The left one was resting against what Jeff assumed was her now orphan daughter, and the right one was broken grotesquely upward at the shin.
Jeff still hadn’t left the Elegante parking lot, or even started his car.
- 8 -
“ Hello Jeff, Sandy. Hope you are having a splendid day. I got your emails and my, my, what fine things you have to say about our favorite two child prodigies in their jaunt to the American Southwest. Sounds like you all had a great time. I’m sure you saw SportsCenter or maybe even watched some of the delightful Mets game when you got back to your hotel. And so as it happens, dear friend, we will be forced to introduce Mr. Ainsley to the cheerful last-place fans right away. Do call me, kind sir.”
Sandy Morino was the man with the job Jeff used to dream about but now wouldn’t take if it were forced on him. The Mets’ director of player personnel was a great guy, one of the few left in that category in Jeff‘s opinion. Sandy generally exuded the kind of people skills that made it clear the separation between himself and Jeff in terms of being qualified for that kind of job.
The personnel boss spent his days collecting information from the scouts and the other teams and trying to keep it all neatly hammered into the maze of the entire organization, and trying to somehow make it translate into wins instead of losses and make it all seem logical to the ownership. He spent all of his nights watching baseball. The man, in his always delicate tone, was demanding a call back from Jeff immediately, undoubtedly to discuss Ainsley’s extremely subtle defensive ability at first base and its potential effect on a last-place team.
After awaking to a series of inexplicable things Saturday and then having a rare semi-sober chat with Riley, Jeff decided it was time to flee New Mexico at once, before he checked himself into a hospital and spent the rest of his days there. While the entire state might not have been to blame for all that had gone on the last several days, Jeff was quite sure if he stayed, he’d be treated to even more horrors and would be tempted to treat them with the same medicine, which was likely not helping at all.
So he listened to Ramon, the hotel clerk who seemed unfailingly concerned for his comfort and well-being — mainly because Ramon didn’t have any stake in any of this and hadn’t known Jeff quite long enough to judge him as succinctly as those who did know him. After sliding off his mud-masked hood and feeling an unexpected rush of relief upon remembering he had at least cleaned off his windows already, Jeff heaved the driver’s door open again, climbed into the car and, without hesitation, turned the key and listened to the Toyota engine cough a little — very likely expelling some dirt and grime out of the tailpipe — and then roar to life.
“ Warren GPS Technology. Welcome.”
“Ah, Jesus
It wasn’t so much that the girl didn’t see him, he seemed to remember, it was that she had already seen so much else she seemed completely numb to whatever was next. Her eyes had never fixed upon anything, and in the skewed phone photo, they were hidden beneath her dropped head. There was nothing in the hazy background behind her other than a scatter of hazy debris and towers of black smoke against a brightening sky. The blur of her face that he could see looked empty as the wind blew her black hair back. If he could have seen her completely, he would have seen eyes that looked like they had already cried out all the tears they had.
In the foreground was something very easy to recognize and very clear. At the girl’s feet and stretching across most of the bottom half of the frame above the line of desert floor in the photo were a person’s — a woman’s — legs. The left one was resting against what Jeff assumed was her now orphan daughter, and the right one was broken grotesquely upward at the shin.
Jeff still hadn’t left the Elegante parking lot, or even started his car.
- 8 -
“ Hello Jeff, Sandy. Hope you are having a splendid day. I got your emails and my, my, what fine things you have to say about our favorite two child prodigies in their jaunt to the American Southwest. Sounds like you all had a great time. I’m sure you saw SportsCenter or maybe even watched some of the delightful Mets game when you got back to your hotel. And so as it happens, dear friend, we will be forced to introduce Mr. Ainsley to the cheerful last-place fans right away. Do call me, kind sir.”
Sandy Morino was the man with the job Jeff used to dream about but now wouldn’t take if it were forced on him. The Mets’ director of player personnel was a great guy, one of the few left in that category in Jeff‘s opinion. Sandy generally exuded the kind of people skills that made it clear the separation between himself and Jeff in terms of being qualified for that kind of job.
The personnel boss spent his days collecting information from the scouts and the other teams and trying to keep it all neatly hammered into the maze of the entire organization, and trying to somehow make it translate into wins instead of losses and make it all seem logical to the ownership. He spent all of his nights watching baseball. The man, in his always delicate tone, was demanding a call back from Jeff immediately, undoubtedly to discuss Ainsley’s extremely subtle defensive ability at first base and its potential effect on a last-place team.
After awaking to a series of inexplicable things Saturday and then having a rare semi-sober chat with Riley, Jeff decided it was time to flee New Mexico at once, before he checked himself into a hospital and spent the rest of his days there. While the entire state might not have been to blame for all that had gone on the last several days, Jeff was quite sure if he stayed, he’d be treated to even more horrors and would be tempted to treat them with the same medicine, which was likely not helping at all.
So he listened to Ramon, the hotel clerk who seemed unfailingly concerned for his comfort and well-being — mainly because Ramon didn’t have any stake in any of this and hadn’t known Jeff quite long enough to judge him as succinctly as those who did know him. After sliding off his mud-masked hood and feeling an unexpected rush of relief upon remembering he had at least cleaned off his windows already, Jeff heaved the driver’s door open again, climbed into the car and, without hesitation, turned the key and listened to the Toyota engine cough a little — very likely expelling some dirt and grime out of the tailpipe — and then roar to life.
“ Warren GPS Technology. Welcome.”
“Ah, Jesus
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