The Night Mark(22)

“Tell me,” Pat said, looking her straight in the eyes.

“I’d give up the right to vote just to do one more load of Will’s dirty laundry.”

She laughed at herself—better to laugh than to cry again.

“I promise I won’t tell Gloria Steinem on you,” Pat said with a wink.

Faye laughed even harder at that.

“Will had these baseball T-shirts,” she said, trying to compose herself. “So many baseball T-shirts. Every team you could think of. Two weeks after he died I found a Bronx Bombers shirt in a bag under the bed. Can you imagine? A kid who grew up on the Sox with a Yankees shirt? Goddamn it, Will.”

Those stupid baseball T-shirts, they were all he wore when he wasn’t naked or in his uniform. The single time she’d seen him in a suit was at their wedding. Those shirts... He had so many of them she’d wash them all in one load. Laundry was sorted into whites, darks, towels and baseball shirts. She’d given the shirts away after he died to relatives and close friends who needed something of his. She’d kept one for herself—the soft heather-gray one with the big red B on the front that Will had worn on their first date. That was the one she’d always slept in when he was on his road trips. She didn’t sleep in it anymore. Crying oneself to sleep only worked in the movies.

Pat handed her a handkerchief and pressed it to her burning cheeks.

“Sorry about the ‘goddamn it.’ I shouldn’t swear in front of a priest.”

“You must not know any priests. You can say whatever the hell you want. Trust me—I’ve heard worse. Said worse, too.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, slowly bringing herself back under control. “Will really looked good in his T-shirts. Had the arms for them. Gotta say, there are a lot of perks to being married to an athlete. Having the sexiest husband at the beach was one of them, and I’m shallow enough to admit that.” She laughed again, remembering...remembering... “Will had this great baseball player walk. It wasn’t like a strut, more like an amble. This loose-in-the-hips amble. When he was leaving the house to go on a road trip, I’d always tell him, ‘I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you walk away.’ I didn’t know the last time I watched him walk away would be, you know, the last time I watched him walk away. If I’d known, I would have stared at his ass longer.”

Faye laughed again and cried again. Her body ached for Will. She could talk about his T-shirts but what she really missed was his body. The way he smelled after a game—sweat and leather. The way he picked her up and threw her into bed like a rag doll just because he could. The way he made love to her. He was twenty-three when they met and had just broken up with his high school sweetheart, the only girl he’d been with before her. But during sex he made her feel like she was the only woman in the world, and he was the lucky schmuck who got to have her. For a long time she had to think of Will to orgasm during sex with Hagen. That wasn’t something she had told anyone. Widows might as well be nuns for the careful way people treated them. What would people think if they knew what she missed most about her late husband was the sex? The hard-core full-body, full-soul, all-in, nothing-held-back sort of sex you could have with someone who knew everything about you. Will filled her up and emptied her out and gave her what she needed. And what she needed was him, just him, but all of him.

“I should be ashamed of myself for how much I miss having sex with him. Kind of shallow, I guess.”

“Taking pleasure in your own husband doesn’t make you shallow. I know a lot of husbands who wish their wives saw them like that.”

“Will was one of those guys born for heavy lifting and getting stuff off the top shelf. He made me feel small, and he made me feel safe, and it takes a special kind of man to make a woman feel both at the same time. One day I teased him that I heard ‘Like a Rock’ by Bob Seger automatically start playing when he walked into a room, and at the very next game, they played that as his walk-up song.” Faye laughed. Will had always looked for a way to make her smile. Even now, even through the tears, here she was smiling because of him.

“He sounds like one in a million.”

“He was. And we were so happy it doesn’t even seem real now. As good as it was, it somehow managed to get even better. I found out I was pregnant the same week Will got called up to the majors. Which meant, of course, I got called up, too. I was officially a WAG.”

“WAG? What on earth?”

“WAGs. Wives and Girlfriends of pro athletes,” Faye said.

“I see,” Pat said. “We don’t get to have those in the priesthood. At least, we’re not supposed to.”

Faye grinned as she wiped her face. “Probably for the best,” she said. “A couple days after Will went to Boston, I got invited to a WAG party at the house of one of the pitcher’s wives. Nice women, but every last one of them warned me my life was about to change, and not for the better. So many women told me about the jobs they’d had to quit, the dreams they’d had to give up for their husbands’ careers. And if I wanted to keep doing my little photography thing, they said, I should probably save it for the off-season, treat it like a hobby. I thought they’d be happy when I told them I was expecting. I just got this look like...”

Faye mimed the look of disapproval.

“I had committed the cardinal WAG sin,” Faye continued. “I was going to give birth during the season.”