“Thank God.” The other woman’s revelation gave her cautious hope about Jake’s prognosis. If he’d been hospitalized before and pulled through, he could do it again. Right? She had to ask. “Maree, was Jake this bad off last time?”
Pain flashed in the woman’s golden-brown eyes. “Not quite. But close.”
“That’s something, then.” She squeezed the other woman’s hand. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For looking out for Greg, even if you don’t like him very much.”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Jenn shot out of the car like someone being chased by the killer in a slasher movie. She glanced back and saw the doors close on a dumbstruck Maree.
“Now I know how to get her to shut up,” she muttered to herself as she darted down the deserted hallway.
The cafeteria, plainly marked with a sign, was just as empty. Apparently she was the only one foolish enough to drink coffee at close to one o’clock in the morning.
She bought one cup, laced it with milk and enough sugar to feed an army of ants for a month and downed it in three gulps. Then she got two more. One she fixed for herself; the other she left black, the way Greg liked it. In case he was awake when she got back to Jake’s room, she didn’t want to return empty-handed.
Without Maree along, the ride back to the sixth floor was blissfully silent. Jenn crept down the hallway so as not to slosh coffee all over the floor. She used her hip to bump open the door to Jake’s room and stepped inside.
Greg jumped up right away, his eyes worried. “I woke up and you were gone.”
She held up the paper cups of coffee.
“Thanks.” He took the cup she offered. His Adam’s apple danced as he made the brew disappear. “I needed that.”
“Me, too. That’s why I went to the cafeteria.”
He took the cup from her hand and set it on Jake’s tray table. Then he pulled her into a hug. He squeezed her so tight it left her breathless. Well aware that Greg needed all the TLC she could give him, she hugged back. Her fingers stroked the muscles of his lower back, all bunched up. They twitched under her fingertips.
His voice wasn’t quite steady when he whispered in her ear. “Don’t leave me alone with Dad again. Seeing him like this tears me up.”
Jenn studied the sleeping form for a few seconds before answering. “I think he looks a little better. Maybe he really does just need a good night’s sleep.”
“I don’t think so.” He smiled against the top of her head. “But thanks for trying.”
“Jacob Gregory Bartlesby, don’t give up on your father yet.”
His chest shook with suppressed laughter. “Don’t worry, Jenn. I won’t. Big Jake’s too stubborn to die.”
They both turned to stare when a wheeze came from the hospital bed. Jake watched them intently. “Damn right I am. Don’t you forget it.”
****
Big Jake was still laid up on Tuesday, although Greg was relieved to note that by Monday night, he looked less like a three-day-old corpse. Ruddiness had returned to his cheeks and his voice had regained some of its strength.
Greg had spent Sunday and Monday shuttling between his apartment and the hospital. Visiting his father, and then going home to shower and eat. Jenn’s constant presence was the only thing keeping him sane. She reminded him it was time to eat, made him coffee and sandwiches, checked in with Ellen on Foundation business and generally anticipated everything he needed before he needed it.
If she had plants or pets that needed attention at her place, they were poor unlucky SOBs, because he had no plans to let her leave. Ever. Her being there brought comfort and joy—and they weren’t even making love. He hadn’t been in the mood to even try. In a way, that scared him more than how much he needed her. At least if they were together together, he could justify her presence for the physical benefits. As it stood, he just needed her. Period. He’d never thought that way about a woman before.
This morning they were headed to the office. He had business to attend to. Things that couldn’t wait until his father was cleared to come back, whenever that might be.
Like calling Matt. He’d been putting off making the phone call all weekend, hoping that Big Jake would make a miraculous recovery. Or that he’d magically get the call he’d been waiting on for the last four years.
Neither looked likely, so it was time to pick up the phone. Make his father proud. Soon. It’d be his first task when he sat down at his desk.
Jenn stood at the stove, sautéing veggies to put in their scrambled eggs. She cooked the way she did everything except defend him in court: capably. Every movement was efficient. No energy wasted.
Tenderness washed over him. “You’re amazing.”
She laid down the spatula and faced him. The look in her green eyes was guarded. “Not that a girl doesn’t like to hear compliments, but what brought this on?”
“You did. You’ve been the anchor holding me steady in all this craziness.”
Her wide smile brightened the kitchen. “Thanks, I think.”
“You’re welcome.” He broke eye contact, looked down at the tabletop. “When we get to the office, I’m going to call Matt.”
She crossed the room and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Something I can tell you’re dreading.”
“Slightly.” He sighed.
“I know you’re against asking your dad to help you make the leap to the majors.” Her hands worked the knots that had formed at the base of his neck as he contemplated the dreaded phone call. “Greg, Matt’s not your father.”
“I know that.”
“Then you also should know that having Matt make a few calls on your behalf is different.”
Her fingers dug into a particularly tense spot and he winced. “Either way, it’s saying I’m not good enough to get there on my own.”
“But Matt is your peer. He’s someone you’ve played with. You’ve earned his respect, right?” She laughed. “Your father, on the other hand, would sell you as the greatest player since Babe Ruth even if you sucked. Which you don’t, from what I’ve seen.”
Affronted, he turned his head to glare up at her. “Of course I don’t suck. I can deliver for any team that signs me.”
“Then what’ll it hurt to ask a friend to talk you up?”
Jenn had a point. Matt had seen him at his worst, both in his rookie season and when he got arrested, during his sophomore slump. Well, mental slump, anyway. Even at his wildest, he still played like a champ. If Matt was willing to vouch for him, putting his own reputation on the line, maybe that was different from letting his father throw weight around. Different from trading on the Bartlesby name.
Armed with Jenn’s perspective, he faced the phone call with less dread. The moment he sat down at his desk, decidedly less empty now that he was temporarily in charge of all Foundation business, he dialed Matt’s number.
When Matt answered on the fifth ring, Greg could hear a child screaming. “Is this a bad time?”
“Just a sec.”
While he waited, the racket quieted and then stopped altogether.
“Okay. Now I can talk.”
Curious, he asked, “How’d you get the kid to be quiet?”
“That’s the magic of a binky, my friend.”
“Isn’t she a little old for that?”
Matt chuckled. “Kid, we’re never too old for a pacifier. It just changes forms. What are MP3 players and smartphones if not expensive toys to keep us occupied and out of trouble?”
“Never thought of it that way.” But now he probably wouldn’t stop. It made a certain amount of sense. And hearing Matt call him “Kid” again reminded him of old times.
“So what’s up?”
The request wouldn’t get any easier no matter how long he put it off, so he took a deep breath. “At the derby, you offered to make a few calls on my behalf.”
“And you said no.”
“I know, but things have changed. Does the offer still stand
?”
“It does. What’s going on, Kid? How’s your dad?”
“Still in the hospital.”
Matt whistled. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m asking.” He closed his eyes. “Dad wants to see me in an MLB uniform before he goes, and I’m afraid I’m running out of time to get there.”
“I’ll call a few people. Let ’em know you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Matt.”
“You can thank me by not blowing it.”
He winced. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
His former teammate grumbled. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t.” He had a hunch, but wasn’t ready to admit it even to himself, let alone to Matt.
“I have no doubt you have the talent to play big league ball. But you also have a knack for getting in your own way.”
Yep. Just what he expected. “That’s young, dumb Greg. I’m older and wiser these days.”
“I sure hope so.”
A tap sounded at the door and then Jenn walked in, carrying a cup of coffee that she put on his desk. He met her eyes and smiled his thanks. “I am.”
And it was all because of Jenn.
Chapter Thirteen
“You have to tell him, Jenn.” Her twin glowered at her from across the table at the all-night diner. “You can’t be practically living with the guy and still lying to him.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
Jess no longer needed cab service now that she’d accepted Jenn’s advance from Greg’s father as a down payment on a reliable car. But when Jenn called her sister to say they needed to talk, she’d readily agreed to meet at the diner. Jenn should have known it was only to scold her for not telling Greg she wasn’t who he thought she was. Too much had changed since they last talked, when Jess assured her it wouldn’t hurt to keep him in the dark.
“Then just do it.”
“Thanks for being a Nike commercial, sis.”
Jess’ freckled nose scrunched up in annoyance. “You know what I mean, Jenn.”
“I do.” She sighed. “But there are plenty of reasons I can’t bring myself to break it to him. For one, I like it when he looks at me like I’m the sexiest woman on earth.”
That elicited a sisterly eye roll. “You are, dummy.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re gorgeous.”
“We’re identical twins, Jenn. That makes you gorgeous, too.”
“You’re comfortable with—” She waved her hand over her body. “All this. I’m not.”
“You should be.” Mischief danced in Jess’ eyes. “We have a rockin’ bod, Sis. Work it.”
“Right.”
Her sister’s smile disappeared. “Seriously, Jenn. It comes down to confidence and attitude. If you think you’re sexy, he will, too.”
“Says the woman who makes men drool three times a night.” She shook her head. “Having that sexy attitude might be easy for you, but it’s not for me.”
Jess bit into a French fry and slurped down the last of her peanut butter milkshake before standing. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Jenn refused to get up without knowing why.
“Shopping.”
“At two in the morning?”
Her sister grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the booth. “Yes, at two in the morning. You’ve heard of the twenty-four-hour Walmart, right?”
“I don’t need paper products or cleaning supplies.”
Jess giggled. “Good, because we’re looking for clothes.”
“From Walmart?” She planted her feet. “Uh-uh.”
“Not everyone buys used designer crap from Goodwill, Jenn. Some of us spend less on brand-new crap instead.”
She sniffed. “Quality clothes are still quality, even when you buy them used.”
“Whatever.”
Jess was undeterred, so Jenn found herself a passenger in her sister’s new-to-her Prius. The paper floor mat was still under her feet, and it had that unmistakable used-new-car smell, as if it had been cleaned and deodorized a half-dozen times. “Nice ride.”
“Thanks for the loan.”
“Anything for you, Sis.”
Her sister’s answering smile could only be described as devilish. “Then you’ll try on whatever I want you to without complaining?”
“Anything but that.” Visions of Greg’s stepmother danced in her mind’s eye and she shuddered. “Please.”
“Come on, Jenn. My taste isn’t that bad.”
Over her vehement protests, Jenn soon stood in front of a three-way mirror under Walmart’s fluorescent lights. Her curves were covered—barely—in clingy sequined spandex.
“I thought you said your taste wasn’t this bad,” she grumbled under her breath.
“I heard that.” Jess poked her side. “Jade would wear it.”
“I’m not Jade.”
“But you’re pretending to be.” Jess’s look was pointed. “If you won’t tell Greg the truth, you might as well dress the part. This’ll be perfect for the Bartlesby Foundation’s holiday party.”
She eyed the skimpy red mini-dress with distaste and tugged on its hem. “Only if I want to traumatize every male guest between the ages of eighteen and eighty.”
“More like twelve to a hundred-twelve.” Jess pushed her hand away and edged the skirt back to the height Jenn had just liberated it from. Then she plopped a Santa hat on Jenn’s head. “Besides, I wouldn’t call fueling a man’s fantasies traumatizing. You’re providing a valuable service.”
“You’re providing a valuable service. I’m just a kid playing dress-like-a-tramp.” When Jenn pulled down the skirt again, the hat’s white pouf fell down over one eye. She blew it out of the way, but it immediately flopped back. “I look like a hooker elf.”
After giving her a critical once-over in the mirror, Jess snatched back the hat. “You might be right. Maybe a poinsettia in your hair?”
“Maybe.” More likely nothing short of three more yards of fabric would guide the trampy dress to respectability. She tried to direct the conversation away from what she was wearing—no easy feat when the dress glowed as bright as the stoplight in a one-light town. “I want to tell Greg the truth. I do. I just don’t think now’s a good time. With Jake in the hospital, he has a lot on his mind.”
Jess tucked a red fabric flower behind Jenn’s ear and stepped back, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she studied the effect. “Hair up, I think.”
“Jess, did you hear me? I can’t tell him now, with his dad in the hospital.”
“I heard you, Sis.” She plucked the flower out of Jenn’s hair. “And I forgive you for lying to yourself—and me.”
“I’m not—”
“Yeah you are.” Jess’ voice was flat. “You’re more worried about changing the way Greg looks at you than you are about his state of mind.”
“I am not.” A part of her couldn’t help but wonder if her twin was right. One of the hazards of having a sister hatched from the same egg was that they sometimes read each other better than they knew themselves.
Serious Jess retreated as quickly as she’d arrived. Now her sister’s lips turned up and her eyes danced with mischief. “Come on, Jenn. I dare you look at yourself in this dress and tell me you’re not sexy.”
“I—”
Jess stopped her protest by clamping a hand over her mouth. “Forget all the societal bullshit about what other people might think and just look.”
Jenn tried to comply. Really she did. After staring at her reflection until the sequins blurred into one bright, shiny mass, she got what her sister was saying. She saw lush curves and intelligent eyes. Long legs and toned arms. “This dress might be growing on me.”
****
“What am I doing here?”
“Here” was the coffee shop Greg’s car sat in front of on Saturday morning. Thanks to Matt, in 10 minutes, he’d walk inside for a meeting with Sam Stringfellow, a scout for most of the MLB teams in the Wes
t.
He was more nervous than a kid playing his first Little League game. His gut danced a cha-cha, his palms were wet and he was at a loss for words. For almost the first time in his life, he feared the legendary Bartlesby charm would fail him.
Jenn laid her hand on his arm. “Just be yourself. You’ll be fine.”
Her touch grounded him and her belief in his ability to succeed slowed the churning in his stomach to the nice, staid box step he’d learned when his mother forced his surly eighth-grade self to take dance lessons.
Thank God Jenn was here with him. She’d agreed to ride to the coffee shop and planned to read on the patio, enjoying the late October sun and cool-ish temperatures. Eighty-something wasn’t cool by normal standards, but it sure beat Phoenix’s 110-degree summer days.
“I hope you’re right.” If things went as planned, they’d leave this meeting and go straight to Big Jake’s hospital room with exciting news. Exciting for his father, anyway. The jury was still out on how he felt about it.
Her fingers tightened around his wrist. “It’s time.”
“Yeah. Okay.” After swiping his sweaty palms on a towel from his bag, he got out of the car and strode up to the coffee shop. He gave Jenn a peck on the cheek and pushed his way inside. It was a locally owned place, busy but not as packed as a Starbucks would be on Saturday morning.
He scanned the crowd. There, in the corner, the scout waited. He’d somehow managed to snag a table and already had a paper cup in his possession.
Be confident. You’ve got this.
More to the point, you want this. He forced a smile until it no longer felt unnatural and met the legendary scout, who’d seen him and rose to greet him, a few steps from the table. A firm handshake later, he sat across a wooden tabletop from the older man.
Greg tossed the first conversational pitch. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Stringfellow.”
“Call me Sam. Please.” He sipped from his cup. “It was no hardship. I’ve been watching you for years. Waiting.”
“What for?”
Sam sipped again and smacked his lips. “That’s good cocoa. Sure you don’t want to wait in line to get some? I can wait. Been waiting so long already that a few more minutes won’t hurt.”
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