Chapter Eight
It was past seven and Maisy couldn’t believe she’d slept so late. When she came down to breakfast, she found both her parents sitting at the table and frowning at part of the newspaper.
“Hi, honey.” Dad shoved the paper on a chair underneath the table.
“Good morning,” Sam’s cheery voice said from the stairway. How dare he sound so happy after haunting her sleep so badly.
“How is your foot, Sam?” Mom asked.
“Fine.” He was back in his freshly washed clothes. He clutched his shoes in one hand and walked barefoot down the last few steps. From clear across the room, Maisy saw the yellow, blue, and black tone of the skin around his middle toe.
Her father made a little whistle. “Well, you won’t be stepping on the clutch with that foot today.”
Sam grimaced. “I’m sure I’ll be able to shift gear with no problem. Watch. I can make it across the room without limping.”
He made it four steps before his intentions fell apart. He listed to the side and clutched the back of the couch and muttered, “Damn.”
“I know exactly how you feel.” Andrea rose from her chair. “Come have some breakfast, Sam. We have coffee and fruit and Bobby ran out for muffins.”
Maisy stopped her. “I’ll get it.”
“Thanks, Maisy,” Sam said. “I hope I didn’t keep you awake last night.”
Maisy felt heat spread across her cheeks. How dare he bring that up.
Sam dropped into the chair next to Bobby. “I’ve been told I snore, too, when I sleep soundly. Last night was as deep and dreamless a sleep as I’ve had in years. Must be all this country air.”
So, last night’s foreplay had made him sleepy? She fumed at the injustice. Her neck was still burning where his tongue had been.
“I slept like a baby, too,” she lied. “Didn’t even hear the rain.”
“That’s good. Black coffee, no sugar, if you don’t mind, Maisy.”
Maisy sent Sam a hooded glance and stomped to the coffeemaker. She toyed with the idea of putting tabasco sauce in his mug. It would be her pleasure to watch him sputter and spit in front of her parents, who both seemed to think Sam was a gentleman.
In the end she placed a plate and an unspoiled cup of coffee in front of him.
“Thanks.” He reached for a muffin and smiled at her blandly, as if nothing unusual had happened last night.
“Is that the Star I see?” Sam grabbed the paper from the table. He leafed through it, not finding what he was looking for. “Do you have the sports section? I should skim the MLB stats from yesterday.”
Bobby and Andrea exchanged glances. “I’m not sure I’ve seen it yet,” Bobby said.
Maisy reached over and picked it up from the chair. “You put it here a minute ago.”
She slapped it on the table next to Sam’s mug and froze when she saw her own face staring back at her.
“What’s wrong?” Sam pulled the paper closer and read the headline out loud. “ ‘Wins Aren’t the Only Thing the Turbos Can’t Get.’ ”
Maisy quickly scanned the story by that rat, Luther McLean, the reporter who’d written the first article about her. His intrepid sports reporting was famous in Indiana. And as she read the article, she remembered why. He was ruthless when he thought he knew what was best for a team. According to the article, not only were the Turbos failing on the field, but their management was failing with the fans. Turbos fans needed her at the stadium so that they could win again.
Maisy lost her appetite. Any chance that Turbos fans would forget about her had just disappeared. Luther McLean’s article had made sure of that.
Her father cleared his throat. “It’s just a silly article.”
Her mother nodded. “I’m sure no one will even see it tucked away in the corner like that.”
The phone rang. Dad grabbed the cordless phone from the cradle. “Hi, Jimbo. We haven’t seen you since Memorial Day. How’s—” The man on the other end didn’t let him finish. “We understand, but—”
Her dad’s normally calm exterior was transformed into agitation and something else that made Maisy’s stomach burn. While Dad fought for a chance to speak, Maisy returned to the article. It made no mention of her unwillingness to return to the ballpark. McLean blamed the management instead. The fans, he said, were being shortchanged as usual.
“Oh, for God’s sake, this article equates my absence at the stadium to a game without beer and hotdogs.” She tapped the paper with her fingertips.
“Hmm. How annoying.” Sam acted as if it didn’t faze him at all. He pushed the paper away and dismissed her feelings with a shrug. “Just ignore it, Maisy. You’ve already made it completely clear you don’t want to return to the ballpark. And I don’t blame you. The fans can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
Maisy was surprised how much he had changed his tune. Yesterday, Sam had been all over the idea of getting her to a game.
“She doesn’t owe anybody anything,” Bobby bellowed into the phone. “I’m done having this conversation!”
When he hung up, Maisy and Andrea stared at him with open mouths. He never let anything rattle him unless it had to do with the health of one of his patients.
The phone rang again.
“Hello.” Her father listened for two seconds and hung up. He put the cordless phone on a shelf above the cookbooks. “Don’t answer the phone today.”
“Who was it?”
“Some nosey reporter. Just ignore any calls, okay?”
Sam put a hand on Maisy’s arm. “I deal with this kind of thing all the time. Don’t worry. It will pass over before you know it.”
Easy for him to say. His name wasn’t all over the paper— Wait. Actually, it was. Sam’s name was mentioned in the article just as many times as Maisy’s. Technically the article didn’t blame her for not showing up. It blamed Sam for not taking the fans seriously.
Sam rose from the table. “I’ve taken up your hospitality way too much, Bobby and Andrea. I think it would be best for all of us if I get back to Indianapolis and try to diffuse this ridiculous gossip on my own.”
He took one step and hobbled to the side, grabbing a chair.
“You still can’t drive, Sam,” Bobby said.
“Sure, I can. I’ll just use my other foot—”
Before he could finish, they were interrupted by the rumble of tires on gravel and a car door slamming. From her vantage point, Maisy could see a woman emerging from a cloud of dust and marching toward the back porch.
She jumped up. “Quick, lock the doors and windows!”
Before she could hide, the woman barged through the screen door. “Where is she?”
Sam stared at Kevin’s mom like a little kid at Halloween. She was a scary witch, that was for sure.
Thin, angular, and dour. Those three words described Sarah Halderman ten years ago, and they still applied. Kevin’s mother’s shrill voice was so loud dogs ran from her and children cried. She’d never liked Maisy or her family. She didn’t like anything other than her son, to be honest.
“There she is.” Sarah stomped across the room.
Maisy knew when it was time to cut and run. “I can’t talk right now, Mrs. Halderman.”
“I warned Kevin he should stay away from you years ago. I thought it was all over, but here you are again. Back in his life and causing chaos. I hope you are proud of yourself, young lady.”
Bobby blocked Sarah’s path. “That’s being overdramatic, Sarah. Maisy is hardly to blame for—”
“I’ve already had three calls this morning,” she shouted. “I can’t have any peace of mind until I know you will stay away from that stadium. Kevin’s success has nothing to do with you. And that no-hitter was his doing. Not yours!”
Maisy was halfway up the stairs. “My words exactly.”
“You always did manage to take the spotlight. And here you go again.”
That was a new one. No one had ever accused Maisy of stealing the spotlight before.
Sarah pointed her finger. “I want a guarantee that you won’t get anywhere near Indianapolis…”
Nothing like a challenge to galvanize Maisy into action. She ran upstairs, calling after her, “Sorry, I have to pack.”
From the kitchen, she could hear her mother’s firm voice telling Sarah that none of this publicity was Maisy’s responsibility. Moving as fast as she could, Maisy pulled out an overnight bag and stuffed an extra pair of clothes inside.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out to see a text from Chad. Change your mind yet? He attached the article along with an emoji that was supposed to be funny.
Heather had sent another text. WTF? Call me.
Maisy grabbed her toiletries from the bathroom and made her way back downstairs.
In the middle of the kitchen, Bobby stood toe to toe with Sarah Halderman. Andrea was behind him, grasping her crutches like weapons in case Kevin’s mother made any moves. They had never liked each other, but Andrea had always taken the high road for Maisy’s sake. Sarah had no idea what she was in for if Andrea let her temper loose.
“My daughter did nothing but support Kevin from the time they were in elementary school. And let me tell you…” Dad continued his attack by tearing into Sarah and her treatment of Maisy.
“Where’s Sam?” Maisy whispered in her mother’s ear. She wouldn’t blame him if he was hiding behind the couch.
“He’s sitting in his car. He said something about trying to see if he can drive.”
Maisy kissed Andrea on the cheek and gave her dad a quick hug even as he kept talking. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Love you.”
“Where is she going?” she heard Sarah say as the screen porch slammed behind her. She should feel guilty about leaving her parents with Kevin’s mom, but something told her they were enjoying the opportunity to give the witch a piece of their minds.
It was time to get the Turbos general manager out of the house and out of Comeback. Then, maybe things would go back to normal. Her father had office hours. Her mother needed her rest. Maisy had a little more than a month before she had to get back to the classroom. Maybe she would take a vacation to China or, even better, a remote desert island.
She marched toward Sam’s car. The door stood open and he sat in the driver’s seat. She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “I’ll drive.”
His eyes sparkled, and he made no comment as he handed her the keys to his Cadillac.