“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.
Legs wobbling, I sat down on the exam table.
Jennifer Bianco. Her grandmother lived in my parents’ neighborhood. I had a vague memory of the night she’d mentioned, and now I remembered something else. Joe had fixed Mrs. Bianco’s back porch steps a few months ago. Apparently, while he’d been doing his good deed, he’d been doing Jennifer as well.
I knew I could, if I tried, rationalize this. I could find a way to justify Joe’s behavior. I could tell myself how different he was with me, because he was different. But somehow I couldn’t summon the energy. Seeing Jennifer in the flesh was different from thinking about Joe’s many past girlfriends.
When I got home that night, I called Joe and asked him to come over. He happily agreed. I made dinner, a simple pasta dish with vegetables that I had perfected, and we ate on the back deck. We didn’t talk much. Was it my imagination, I wondered as I picked at my dinner, or did we never really talk? We held hands, we flirted, we went out, we slept together, but did we talk? Weren’t soul mates supposed to talk? It seemed like Digger and I talked more than Joe and I.
“Joe,” I began cautiously. “Why do you think we’re, um, doing so well together?”
Joe looked at me, surprised. “I don’t know. I like you.” He grinned. “A lot.”
I gave a small smile. “I like you, too, obviously. But, well, you know, you’ve dated a lot, haven’t you? And you told me this was the longest you’d been in a relationship. Why do you think that is?”
Joe took a swig of his beer and looked out at the darkening sky. Digger came over and put his nose on Joe’s leg, and Joe scratched his head idly. “I don’t know, Millie. I guess I feel like you’re different.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“Oh, shit, Millie, I’m not really good at talking about stuff like this. Are you mad at me or something?”
I reached for his hand across the table. “No, Joe, I’m not mad. I’ve just been thinking about the two of us, that’s all. And we don’t really talk about stuff like this….”
“Talking can be overrated.” He gave me a crooked grin.
“Sometimes, definitely.” I smiled back but didn’t drop my gaze.
He sighed, then kissed my hand. “Okay, I’ll try. I guess I like how you don’t chase after me, Millie. I mean, we’ve known each other forever, but you were always just kind of friendly and normal to me. A lot of girls, you know, they kind of…throw themselves at me. And you didn’t. You weren’t out to get me, and you didn’t go crazy picking out wedding dresses when we started seeing each other. You have a great job and friends and you’ve got this funky little house and your dog…you just seem, I don’t know…happy with yourself. There, how’s that?”
“Great,” I answered, my heart sinking. Because of course, all of the above was exactly what I wanted him to think. While that had been the whole point, I nonetheless felt deceitful. To cover my dismay, I made a kissing noise at Digger, who happily left Joe to nuzzle my crotch. “No, no, Digger. Sit. Good boy.”