When Matt arrived home, Mrs. Wallenberg had left and his parents and Sophie had all turned in for the night. His mom and dad had flown in that morning on their way back from Fiji. They were staying for two days, so he’d already arranged for Mrs. Wallenberg to have the next day off.
Though his mom wasn’t the ideal babysitter, she loved Sophie and they usually had a good time. He had managed to curb his mom’s habit of taking her shopping. First up on tomorrow’s activity list was an excursion to Muir Woods to see the giant redwoods. He’d offered his mom his car, but she hated driving the California freeways. When he’d suggested the bus, she’d scowled. She’d probably hired a limo and driver. He had a long way to go to convert her to any recognizable environmental sensibility; visiting Muir woods would have to do for a start.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed for his study. His guitar sat in the corner, but he couldn’t get the tune from the symphony ad out of his mind, so playing wasn’t an option. He settled in behind his desk and clicked on his laptop.
In the sidebar of his homepage was a still from the same damned video, encouraging patrons to buy their tickets to the symphony gala early. Alana’s glittering smile beamed out at the world. If he believed in ghosts in machines, he’d say his computer was haunting him. In a perverse mood, he clicked on the video link and watched Alana and Marcel laughing, smiling, clinking glasses. He played it again.
Midway through the third replay, he came to his senses and clicked over to his email. At the top of his inbox was an invitation from Alex to attend the gala. He banged his head on his desk. Was there no justice in the world? Maybe there was and he was paying the price.
He looked at his bookmarked pages and saw the website promising to solve your loneliness problems. The site promised that it could help anyone combat loneliness in any situation. Reading the headline announcing that it was okay to feel lonely didn’t improve his mood. He went down the suggested strategies one by one.
Avoid sitting around and fretting. Failed that one.
Engage in a hobby. He looked over at his guitar. All it did was remind him of the night by the campfire, the night he’d first held Alana in his arms and shared mind-blowing sex with her.
Take a class. Not gonna happen.
Volunteer to help others. That one he might try in the off season.
Get a dog. Better not let Sophie see that one, or he’d have a dog before sunset the next day. He was gone too much for a dog. The post went on to say that dogs were natural friend finders. That made him laugh.
As if she’d been reading his thoughts, Lauradore jumped into his lap and started purring. The cat sure hadn’t been any help in the find-friends department. He set her gently to the floor and continued reading.
Go to a place of worship or a spiritual place. Great. If he were honest about that one, the ranch had become Mecca to him. That’s where he’d found love, found what he’d been searching for. He’d just been too stupid to realize it at the time.
Talk to strangers. Right. Just the ticket. He could see it now—he could hand out signed baseballs while he was at it. No thanks.
He read through the rest of the list and finally called it quits.
Alana Tavonesi was both the poison and the cure.
He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to imagining a life with her at the ranch, a life where he could put his carpentry skills to work and do something tangible, something lasting. A life after baseball. A life with her.
He was screwed.