On Monday morning, the association lawyer called back.
"We'll stand with you at the review."
"Not in the 50B."
"That's a private case."
"So who stands with me there?" I asked.
"You do."
"Hand the judge the sign yourself."
I wrote that on a sticky note too.
At 7:00 PM, Hollis Hall held 400 people in black tie.
The Ospreys Foundation Diamond Gala.
Rhett had put me on his ticket.
I wore the dusty blue dress from the wedding.
It was the only long dress I owned.
He'd thrown seven innings on Sunday.
He was still moving his right shoulder like it owed him money.
The owner's table was up front, by the stage.
The Rebound table was beside it.
Garrett sat there in a tux.
Brielle sat next to him in teal satin.
Before the auction, Rhett found me by the bar.
"Let me pay your lawyer."
"No."
"It's not charity, Callie."
"It's legal fees."
"It's your money for my mess."
"No."
He put his hands in his pockets.
He let it go.
Todd Kimbrough took the podium at 8:00.
He had the mic and a big emcee grin.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Carolina Ospreys!"
The room clapped.
He found our table with the spotlight.
"And I see Rhett brought a date."
"Rhett, check your pockets."
"She keeps souvenirs."
Four hundred people laughed.
Garrett laughed hardest.
My face went hot.
I kept my hands folded on the tablecloth.
Rhett didn't laugh.
He picked up his paddle and set it in front of him.
The screen behind Todd changed.
Lot 9 · First pitch at the home finale — presented by Rebound
"Now, Lot 9 was made for Rebound's favorite couple," Todd said.
Garrett raised his glass to the room.
Brielle waved.
"Opening bid, five thousand."
A paddle went up at the Rebound table.
Rebound's VP of marketing was holding it.
"Five thousand from our friends at Rebound!"
Nobody else moved.
The VP raised the paddle again.
"Twenty thousand!" Todd said.
"Rebound, showing everybody how it's done."
Garrett blew Brielle a kiss.
Rhett lifted his paddle.
He didn't say anything.
He just held it up.
The spotter by the stage leaned in to hear.
Rhett's voice carried anyway.
"Fifty thousand."
The room went still.
Todd's grin stayed on.
"Rhett, buddy, you don't have to—"
The spotter called it.
"Fifty thousand, table eleven!"
A man at the next table said it to his wife.
"He bid FIFTY grand for her!"
Todd cleared his throat.
"And who's throwing, Rhett?"
"Callie Dunaway."
Four hundred heads turned to our table.
Todd's hand tightened on the podium.
"Unfortunately, she's banned from Catawba Yards."
"Club policy."
"Sorry, folks."
A few people at the Rebound table clapped.
I opened the gala catalog to page fourteen.
I'd read it during the salad.
I stood up.
I didn't need the mic.
I'd spent five years talking over twenty-two kids.
"Page fourteen."
"'The winning bidder designates the thrower.'"
"'The Foundation guarantees access for the thrower and one guest.'"
I closed the catalog.
"It's the Foundation's lot, Mr. Kimbrough."
"Not yours."
At the front table, the owner set down his fork.
He looked at Todd for a long second.
Then he nodded.
"Page fourteen stands, Mr. Kimbrough," I said.
I sat back down.
Rhett handed me my water glass.
The auction moved on to Lot 10.
Todd read it like he'd forgotten how.
On my way back from the restroom, I passed the owner's table.
He was talking to his chief of staff.
He said it plainly, the way people order lunch.
"The Lot 9 thrower gets the mic and the camera."
"Make sure the truck knows."
The chief of staff wrote it down.
Back at our table, Rhett was signing a pledge card.
$50,000 · Foundation Youth Baseball
"That's for the kids' league," I told him.
"Not for me."
"I know."
"Then I'll throw it for them."
"That's the deal."
At 10:15, the coat check line was long.
Garrett got in behind me.
Brielle was in the restroom.
He leaned close.
"Nice speech, Cal."
"Saturday I'm on that field too."
"Rebound has a whole thing planned."
I took my coat ticket from the girl.
"Wait your turn, Garrett."
He laughed.
He didn't leave the line.
Outside, the air smelled like rain coming.
Rhett pulled his truck around.
I climbed in and held the catalog on my lap.
Page fourteen had a coffee ring on it now.
"I haven't thrown a ball since fourth grade," I said.
"You caught one."
"That's different."
He turned onto Tryon Street.
I looked at his right shoulder.
"Will you catch it?"