Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

this is not the way you're supposed to be." Oliver slid behind the wheel of his Audi. "And start taking pictures again. There's film already in it. The repair guy loaded it for me. He said it was tricky if you've never done it before."
    Oliver jumped into his car and pulled away before he thought of a retort. George strode to his truck. He set the camera in the passenger seat and stabbed the key into the switch but just sat there for minutes, stewing over Oliver's remarks as he glared at Oliver's way of trying to push him to do things he wasn't ready for.
    Besides, if Oliver knew about the hallucinations he was having, the dude might not be so anxious to shack up with a has-been photojournalist.
    ****
    George stood in line at the concession stand watching his son warming up on one of the two small baseball fields tucked behind the aging Duncan Park stadium that'd once been home to a single-A Phillies affiliate. The Phillies had offered him a minor league contract. Musing on the path not taken as he stepped up to the counter, he pushed three ones across the wooden counter, ordering a drink and a pack of sunflower seeds.
    "Which one's yours?"
    George looked up in surprise at the woman holding out his Gatorade. Pointing to the field on his right, he replied, "The one shagging flies in centerfield."
    She leaned forward, though there was no possibility she could've seen Adam from inside the stand. Laughing, she batted her eyelashes at him. "I'll have to wait till he goes up to bat. What number is he?"
    "Twenty-four. I kinda made him into a Griffey, Junior fan."
    Her smile became seductive. She held onto the drink briefly as he reached for it. "I like your taste in role models."
    Abandoning his change, George snatched a pack of sunflower seeds out of the display and grabbed his drink, nodding as he moved toward the field, doubly grateful he hadn't brought Oliver along. Oliver wouldn't have been able to resist staking some sort of claim.
    Two games into the season and he already thought of the fence running along the foul line as 'Divorced Daddy Row'. He picked a spot as the blue-shirted umpire signaled for the opposing team to take the field to warm up. Adam streaked across the outfield grass toward him, a huge grin splitting his face.
    "Dad! Dad! Did you buy bubblegum?"
    "Nice try, son. You want your mother to kill me?" George handed the drink and snack over the fence, resisting the urge to pull the cap off his son's head and ruffle his hair. Adam was getting too old for that sort of thing.
    "I'm batting clean-up," Adam announced proudly, glancing toward the dugout. "Gotta go, Coach's waving at me."
    To his left, someone snorted. "My kid makes me feel like a walking teller machine, too."
    George glanced at the man, but before he could reply, he felt a hand on his arm.
    "Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news first?" Connie asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
    "Good news. Always the good news." He noted her nervous gesture apprehensively, but smiled as he turned from the fence and followed her to a spot only a few steps away. The low off-field lighting hid the little wrinkles she wasted time worrying about, and for a change, she was smiling.
    "I got a job."
    George's momentary good mood evaporated. "Damn it, Connie, you know how I feel about that. I never want Adam coming home to an empty house. Especially not now, when he's just about to turn into a teenager." When they'd met, Connie had been trying to juggle her job and her three-year-old, often coming to work without sleep because of Adam's severe ear infections. A lot of their early 'dates' had been evenings George walked the floors with Adam so Connie could get some much-needed sleep.
    She placed her fingers over his lips. "Can I finish, please?" At his silent nod, she continued. "I got an editor's job, George, for a small electronic book publisher. I can work from home. It won't pay much to start, but I'll get increases. College, George, we have to start thinking about Adam's college, especially if you're not going back into journalism."
    Guilt dropped onto his shoulder, drumming his heels into George's chest. He'd started showing up for his studio segments drunk, then had blown off assignments. He understood now he'd been suffering from PTSD, as well as survivor's guilt, from his days as an embedded reporter, and he'd gotten help as part of rehab, but deep down, he despised the way he'd made a living off other people's misfortunes. He drank to