Chapter Thirty

Stacy propped her head on her hand and stared at the glowing computer screen. She still couldn't believe she was actually doing this. It was all Felicia's fault - Stacy was going to blame her completely. A few days ago, during the middle of an especially slow inning, they had started a discussion of press coverage, and Felicia had been completely shocked to find out that Stacy had never read any of the many articles that featured Nick. At the time, Stacy had emphatically declared that she wasn't going to look at any of them either. But, the very next time she was at the local library, she found herself looking at them anyway. Call it lack of willpower, call it curiosity, she was still interested.

It wasn't just the abundance of Sports Illustrated, ESPN, Baseball Weekly and other assorted sports magazines that were featured. There were several celebrity magazines that had followed his relationship with Chelsea Powers. The Carter family themselves were featured in many different articles as well. If Stacy was to sit and put it all into order, she could create a timeline of Nick's entire life.

There were pictures of Nick at age six (according to the caption) with brown hair, wearing a little pinstriped Yankees uniform and waving a bat; there were pictures of him and his father at Yankee Stadium for almost any age, six to twenty; pictures of him in high school, the hair now blond-blond and hanging in his face; just a couple pictures of him in the Yankees minor league system; and finally, once he reached the Yankees, the coverage became almost absurd.

It was when he reached the majors that the super professional photo shoots, usually featuring Nick alternately scowling or smiling at the camera appeared. The Sports Illustrated covers. The pictures from People's Fifty Most Beautiful. ESPN magazine. Beckett Baseball Monthly. The list went on and on. Stacy couldn't believe the amount of material floating around on him. This couldn't possibly be the same guy that showed up to meet her for lunch every day or let her fall asleep against his shoulder while they were watching TV. This was an ultra-slick facade of the person she knew, placed up on a pedestal by the press.

It wasn't as if Nick was completely unknown now - he was stopped quite often for autographs, and she knew he still had a large amount of press coverage, but she had never paid any attention to it before. Still, it was nothing compared to what Stacy was finding in the library archives.

She had gone through the magazine shelves and pulled out some of the most recent articles, including a couple that featured his break-up with diva-in-waiting Chelsea Powers. Nick was never quoted in any of the articles, but Chelsea was, and frequently. According to the tiny little platinum blond, they had both agreed that being separated for six months out of the year just wouldn't work and it was a mutual agreement to call it quits.

The story Nick had given her was slightly different. They had gotten off on a discussion of ex-boyfriends and girlfriends a few weeks back, and Nick had just two comments about Chelsea. "We didn't look at our relationship in quite the same light," and "she's even more messed up than I am." He didn't offer anymore information, and truth be told, Stacy wasn't really that interested in finding out any more. She had learned one thing about Nick over the last few months. It wasn't always what Nick did say, it was what he didn't say.

Over half of the sports magazine articles dealt with the relationship of Nick and his father. It was almost as if they couldn't mention Nick without bringing Bob into the discussion in some way. There were comparisons of the two's playing abilities, of their personalities, of their attitudes. There were essays on young rookies getting too much media attention and adding to their already inflated ego's, and still more articles on how growing up as the son of a major leaguer had managed to affect the way Nick saw reality. Stacy didn't even bother to read them. She didn't need some sportswriter offering up an opinion of what was going on in Nick's head. She had a hard enough time trying to figure that out on her own.



Denise McLean reached over and pressed the doorbell again, more firmly this time. She had flown all the way up from Florida just to see her son and daughter-in-law, and she was going to ring that doorbell until one of them let her in. She checked her watch. It was 9:30 in the morning. It was time for them to get up anyway.

"Will you STOP?" AJ, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweat pants and one sock, his hair standing on end, yanked the door open. "I will NOT convert to your religion, so just stop... oh... Mom. Hi." He had changed his hair color since the last time she had seen him. It was now blond, minus the roots, which were still dark. It made him look older. Or maybe he was just getting older and she hadn't realized it until now.

"Where were you?" Denise picked up her suitcase and stepped in the door. Felicia must have handled getting the house. It looked like something she would find - the oak and maple trees lining the streets, the little rose trellis in the side yard and the flowers lining the driveway. If AJ would have had his way, they'd be living in a condo overlooking downtown.

"It's six in the morning." AJ pointed out, none too nicely either. "Where do you think I was?"

Ooops. Denise had forgotten about that little time zone change. "I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to wake you up."

AJ closed the door and thunked his head on the wood a couple times. "You didn't."

Denise rolled her eyes. AJ's sense of logic had always been a little different. "Is Felicia sleeping?"

"Yeah." AJ said weakly.

"What's wrong?" Denise said suspiciously. That was the main reason for her visit. She hadn't seen Felicia in seven months, and Denise had every intention of making herself at home for the last trimester of Felicia's pregnancy and taking charge. She knew AJ was considerably more capable than people gave him credit for, but he was out of town half the time.

"Nothing's wrong." AJ turned around, leaning against the door. "She's... she hasn't been feeling good, and so now she's not sleeping, so I'm not, and I'm kind of crabby."

Denise slipped her jacket off and set it on the back of the couch. "Then why don't you go back to bed? I'm fine - everything's under control."

AJ raised one eyebrow. "Did I just hear that come out of your mouth? You - the same woman that single-handedly caused me to miss the school bus every single day of second grade?"

"I've matured since then." Denise corrected.

A small smile appeared on AJ's face. "That'll be the day. What're you doing up here anyway?"

"I was bored. I had frequent flyer miles." Denise shrugged.

"Yeah, well, we missed you too." AJ smirked, stepping over to give her a quick hug. "I'm goin' back to bed. Try not to snoop through every drawer in the house this morning, okay?" He pulled away and started back up the stairs.

"Who, me?" Denise said innocently.

"Mom?" AJ paused halfway up the stairs.

"What?"

"I'm glad you're here. You've got perfect timing, you know that?"