Fools Rush In

“You’re wrong,” I said through another mouthful of ice cream. “The flowers are from the grateful parents of a lost child I rescued today, who, unfortunately, was wandering in poison ivy. The police were involved in urgent business at the Donut Shack, so I had to do their work.”

“You wish, kiddo. Next time, watch where you’re rolling.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

TRUE TO MY PROMISE to Danny, I went to a baseball game.

The poison ivy had cleared up, just a couple of pale patches not readily visible to the na**d eye. On a beautiful sunny evening, Katie, the boys and I went over to the high school to watch the big boys play. We sat on the bleachers while Corey and Mike played in the sand underneath, where Tripod was lying per Joe’s instruction. The dog was incredibly well-behaved, wagging agreeably if approached, waiting patiently for his master. Maybe Joe could give me some tips on how to get Digger to stop humping legs.

Despite having a dad who could name every player in every sport and a brother-in-law who had been as close to an athlete god as they come, I didn’t really enjoy sports. Too much of a good thing, I guess, since all my memories of childhood weekends involved some sporting event, on TV or live. But with Danny involved, I was excited. And of course, there was my boyfriend, looking rather magnificent in his Bluebeard’s Bait and Tackle uniform.

Joe and Danny were on the same team, Joe the pitcher, Danny the shortstop. Very prestigious positions, Katie informed me. Her twin brother, Trevor, was on the same team, in right field, so it was clear where our allegiance lay. Poor Sam. He played first base for the opposing team, Sleet’s Hardware. But my parents were here, so they could cheer for him. Not that they would, with their only grandchild playing for Bluebeard’s…

Katie and I chatted, not really paying attention that much, clapping when other people clapped. It was a beautiful night, a breeze just strong enough to keep the bugs away (that and the Deep Woods OFF! we had liberally bathed in). Watching Joe pitch was lovely, however. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who felt that way, for an appreciative murmur went up each time he wound up. There were plenty of high-school girls here, some to watch Danny, who had recently and suddenly gone from awkwardly cute to damn good-looking. Plenty of summer people wandered into the field to enjoy this most American of pastimes.

The game was pretty dull, and not just by my standards. Only one or two players made it to base. Sam hit a fly ball his first time up, caught by Katie’s brother. Danny struck out on his first time up, and Joe made it to first but no farther. The fun part was watching the easy grace of the men, throwing, catching, leaning on their knees. Danny looked so…adult out there. He adeptly fielded the balls that came his way and was rewarded with a good bit of applause and appreciative bellowing from my dad.

With two men on in the fourth inning, Sam stepped up to the plate.

“Easy out, easy out,” called a woman in the first row. It was Carol, Sam’s date from my birthday party. Sam heard her and turned around to grin. He tapped his cleats with his bat and took a practice swing. On the pitcher’s mound, Joe squinted at the catcher.

“Carol!” I called. “Come sit with us!”

She turned and shielded her eyes and waved. “Oh, hi, Millie! I’m with my neighbors, but thanks,” she answered.

“Oh, okay,” I said. “We’re going to the Barnacle later. Can you come?”

“Sure. That would be nice.”

“Hey, batter, batter,” someone else called. “Three pitches, Joe.” It was my dad.

Joe grinned and waved the infield in a few steps. Sam laughed easily—ever the good sport—and stepped up to the plate. Joe threw the pitch. Strike one.

“Two more, Joe,” called Carol, laughing. Sam smiled again.

“You got the stuff, Joe,” a woman called. Might have been my mom.

Another pitch. Sam swung and missed. The crowd clapped, a few feminine voices calling more support for my boyfriend. Poor old Sam! I stood up. “Come on, Sam!” I yelled. “Knock it out of the park!”

Katie and a few other people laughed, and Joe looked at me in surprise. Well, too bad. His fan club was big enough. I gave him a cheeky smile. He grinned back and wound up for the next pitch. Ball one.

“Good eye, good eye, Sam!” I yelled, still standing and clapping.

Katie stood up, too. “Take your time, Sam.”

Sam tipped his helmet to us. “Thank you, ladies,” he called. Joe wound up again and threw, high and outside. Ball two.

“Got him on the ropes now, buddy!” I yelled.

On the mound, Joe motioned for a time-out. He loped off the field toward us and climbed right up onto the bleachers where I was standing. “You’re my girlfriend,” he said, planting a big kiss on my mouth. “You’re supposed to be cheering for me.” With that, he turned around and trotted back to the mound as the crowd laughed.

“Come on, Sam!” I called again, undeterred. Joe shook his head, smiling, and Sam waved again.

The wind-up. The pitch. Crack! The ball flew high into the air and over the left fielder, who bounded after it. As Sam raced for first, his helmet flew off. The other runners on base scored, and Sam slid into second. Joe cocked an eyebrow at me, his hands on his hips. I blew him a kiss.

By the bottom of the ninth, the score remained 2–0, Sam’s team. Joe came up to bat and made it to first, and I applauded enthusiastically, if a bit automatically. After all, I didn’t really care who won as long as Danny held his own. Besides, Corey and Mike were getting tired. Sal DiStefano also got on base. So did Katie’s brother. Bases loaded. Danny came up to bat, and my heart leaped into my throat.

The winning run was on first. Joe on third. Two outs. My seventeen-year-old nephew was at bat.

A tense silence fell over the crowd. No more catcalls, no more joking. My heart began to thud. Katie pointed out Danny to the boys, and even they seemed to sense the gravity of the situation.

Danny took a practice swing and stepped up to the plate. The Sleet’s Hardware pitcher squinted ominously, nodded, and then wound up and threw the ball. Danny swung so hard he practically spun around.

“Hee-rike!” called the umpire. An uneasy murmur rippled through the crowd. A couple of high-school girls clutched each other’s hands.

My dad stood up. “Take your time, son,” he said.

The second pitch. Another huge swing, another miss. Strike two. I swallowed hard. “Come on, baby,” I whispered. Katie patted my leg.

Danny stepped out of the batter’s box and tapped his cleats. He stretched his arms behind him and stepped back in. His shoulders were tense, his face expressionless. The pitcher shook his head at the catcher’s first signal, then nodded. My heart was pounding so hard I felt ill.

The pitch blazed in. Danny swung hard. Bam! The ball sailed into the rich blue sky, up, up, up. By the time it landed, Danny was rounding second and Katie’s brother was headed for home, and the outfielder hadn’t even gotten close to the ball yet. The crowd was screaming, my parents jumping up and down, the high-school girls shrieking. I stood stock-still, speechless with amazement as I watched Danny run to home plate and his cheering teammates. A grand slam. My nephew had just hit a grand slam.

I looked over at Sam, who was applauding into his glove. He glanced over at the stands, and our eyes locked. Then Danny emerged from the crowd of his teammates and loped over to his dad. Sam shook his hand and then hugged him. My eyes filled.

Joe appeared at my side as I watched father and son in their Field of Dreams moment. “Great game, wasn’t it, Millie?” he said.

I shook myself mentally. “Oh, it sure was,” I replied huskily.

“Are you coming to the Barnacle?” he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears. It was tradition for the winning team to buy the losers drinks.

“I think I’ll help Katie put the boys to bed first,” I answered. Katie was busy packing up the boys’ Matchbox trucks and cars into her bag. “I’ll stop by later, okay?”

“Okay,” Joe answered, kissing my cheek. “I’ll see you there.” He gestured to Tripod, who leaped up and followed Joe to the parking lot.

Climbing down the bleachers, I went over to my nephew, who was talking animatedly with my parents.

“Aunt Millie! Wasn’t that awesome?”

“Oh, honey, it was fantastic! I was so proud of you, I just about peed my pants!”

The lad hugged me, making me feel very short. He was at least six feet tall now. Sam joined our little circle.

“You going to the Barnacle, Dad?” Danny asked, his eyes still shining.

“You bet,” Sam answered. “You owe me a Coke.”

“Hal!” my father yelled to our neighbor. “Did you see my grandson hit that ball?”

“Looking like Ortiz there, Danny!” Hal called back. My parents said their goodbyes, and Danny went off to join his teammates.

“I can’t believe it,” Sam said dreamily. “My son hit a grand slam and won the game.”

“That must have been the best moment of your life,” I said, giving him a squeeze.

“I think you’re right,” he answered. “And thanks for cheering for me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, big guy! I’ve always been your biggest fan.”

Sam laughed and slung his arm around my shoulders. “Remember how you used to come to my football games? You’d sit there, reading a book the whole time, then tell me what a good job I did.”

“I watched!” I protested. “Whenever you had the ball, I looked up.” It was true—I’d go to the games (attendance was pretty much required, as my sister was dating him and held the coveted position of head cheerleader), but I’d always felt a secret thrill as Sam dodged his way down the field or intercepted a pass.

Sam slapped at a mosquito. “Too bad Trish—” His smile dropped.

I studied his face. “You wish Trish were here?”

He tilted his head. “Yeah, I guess I do. To see her son’s big moment.”

“Well, you can have Danny call her later on, right? Or even right now, before you get to the Barnacle.”

“Good idea, kiddo. Thanks.”

“You know, dopey, Carol’s waiting for you.”

Sam jumped. “Oh, right! God, I almost forgot. Okay, I’ll see you later, right?”

“Right-o, matey.”

I helped Katie gather the last of the boys’ paraphernalia and scooped Mikey up. He buried his sticky little face in my neck, and I kissed his silky hair. “Ready for bed, sleepyhead?” I asked.

“I’m not tired,” he yawned, closing his eyes.

As we walked across the field, I glanced over at Sam, who was still talking to Carol. Their laughter floated over to us. Then Sam leaned in and kissed Carol, not a huge kiss, but definitely not just friendly, either. My step faltered.

It was just strange, seeing Sam with somebody other than Trish, I told myself. Carol was nice and all, but it didn’t seem…normal. Natural. They began walking toward the parking lot. Sam caught my eye and lifted his hand. Carol turned and waved, too.

I swallowed and continued toward the parking lot.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

AT THE CLINIC A FEW DAYS LATER, Jill informed me that we had a young woman with a chief complaint of “not feeling well.” She’d been waiting for a while, Jill said, and had asked for me specifically.

I glanced at the chart as I went into the exam room. There on the exam table was a rather beautiful young woman, tawny hair, tanned, lovely complexion. I checked the chart again. Jennifer Bianco, age twenty-three. “Hi, I’m Millie Barnes,” I said, extending my hand.

“I know who you are,” she said coolly.

“Have we met?” I asked.

“Actually, yes. And we have someone in common,” she said. “Joe Carpenter.”

“Oh. How do you know Joe?” I asked. A feeling of dread unfurled and flapped in my stomach.

“I used to sleep with him.” She looked at me steadily.

“Ah.” My cheeks began to burn.

“And now you are, aren’t you? I saw you at the baseball game the other night.”

“Well, Ms. Bianco, I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re here at the clinic, and I have other patients to see. Do you have a medical problem I can help you with?” My neck felt stiff, my mouth like chalk.

“What if I said I had some disease, like gonorrhea or something? Or what if I said I was pregnant?”

“Do you think you are?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“No. I’m not, but I could be. Your boyfriend’s a slut, you know. And an asshole, too.” Her voice was husky. She slipped off the exam table. “I thought you should know.” She stood in front of me with her fists on her hips, eyes bright with tears…not exactly angry but pretty damn intimidating.

“Listen, Jennifer, are you sure I can’t help you with anything?” I asked.

She sighed and looked away. “No. I’m fine. I don’t have anything, Dr. Barnes.” Somehow her calling me Dr. Barnes made me feel sad, as though I were so much older but still obviously clueless. “I just wanted to tell you that Joe sleeps around,” she continued. “He dumped me for no reason that I could see…. One day we were doing it in my grandmother’s attic, the next day he wouldn’t return my phone calls. When I finally tracked him down, he just acted like we had nothing serious, that it was just for fun.” Her voice cracked, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “But it was serious, to me, at least. So be careful.”

She stepped around me and opened the door, then turned and looked at me again. “You babysat for me once. When I was sleeping over my grandparents’ house. We colored, and you let me have ice cream before bed. I thought you were nice.” With that, she left.