by Dana Mentink
Tippy. That word sank through the fog in his brain. Cal blinked, reliving the past few moments. He’d been focused, pitching for the benefit of the camera, then wham.
With effort, Cal turned his head. Photo guy was still there, but now he was on one knee, snapping pictures as fast as his Nikon would allow. Pete stood to block the shots. “That’s enough now. Have some decency. We got an injury here, for criminy’s sake,” he growled. Pete called to the security guard. “Escort this gentleman out, would ya?”
The guard was standing with a restraining arm on Gina’s shoulder as she struggled to hold onto a wriggling Tippy.
Gina. And Tippy.
“Why is that dog here?” he wanted to say. “Did that crazy woman actually bring the thing to the ballpark?” But it was too many syllables, and his nose was now dripping blood into his mouth and on his uniform shirt. Pete handed him a towel, still trying to block the photographer’s view.
The guard hustled forward, brow furrowed, and led the photographer away… but not until the guy got off one more picture. The blood shot. He’d get paid well for it.
Cal shook his head to clear it, but that only got him a shooting pain in his temple and one in his arm where Pete was squeezing his bicep. “Stay still, Cal. I mean it.”
Julio was pacing now, muttering to himself, anguished, sneaking looks.
“Relax, Ag. I’m okay,” he said, even though he fought to say it through lips that were swelling right along with his cheek.
Ag continued to mumble and Cal got the gist, if not the words.
What were you thinking, looking away, like some kid in his first Little League game?
What had he been thinking? He tried to recall.
Somehow the team medic arrived with a cart and Pete and Julio helped him onto it. Every movement made his head nearly explode with pain. He groaned and he heard an echoing female cry.
“Oh, Mr. Crawford,” Gina said, moving close and hauling Tippy with her. “I’m so sorry. I would never have believed that Tippy would have run for you like that. Actually I didn’t think she could run. Walking completely winds her.”
She talked on, trying to gesture and hold on to the animal at the same time. “I mean one moment Tippy was right by my side and the next… I feel just terrible.” She let out another cry as he lowered the towel. “Oh my gosh. Your face. And you’re bleeding.” She gulped and he thought he saw the gleam of tears in her eyes. Part of his addled brain noticed how very attractive she looked, cheeks flushed, green eyes brilliant as the field on opening day.
“Why?” he managed.
“Why did I bring Tippy here? I’m sure that’s what you’re meaning to ask, right? It’s the same thing I’ve been asking. I mean, why would someone bring a dog to a baseball arena?”
“Ballpark,” Pete said.
“Right, ballpark. Anyway, why would someone, I mean why would I do that?”
Ag was staring at Gina as if she was a rare exotic animal.
“Tippy wouldn’t eat, and I thought when you had your break time in between the baseball things, you could sit with her and, you know, encourage.”
The baseball things?
Now Ag was smiling through his black beard. Cal had the sinking feeling the whole “Tippy at the arena” thing was going to make the rounds of the clubhouse at lightning speed. Ag was a crack catcher and a loose-lipped gossip.
Pete patted her arm. “It’s okay, honey. It was an accident.”
Ag offered a shy smile. “Yeah, this cowboy knows better than to take his eye off the ball. Totally his fault.”
“No, I never should have brought Tippy. I should have tried tuna first. What dog can’t resist tuna?”
“Or cheese puffs,” Pete said. “She really went for those back on the boat.”
Gina bit her lip. “Can I do anything for you, Mr. Crawford? Is there any way I can help?”
This girl, with her nutty dog ideas, could have just cost him his career. And what would Cal Crawford be if he wasn’t a Major League pitcher? A dark thrill of fear crawled through him. He shut the thought down. “You’ve helped enough,” he said, ignoring the look Pete blazed at him.
Her expression crumpled. There was no way to take the words back, so he looked away. His eyes narrowed on that overweight canine, pink tongue lolling and legs swimming enthusiastically as if she was ready for a vigorous game of fetch.
“I didn’t realize what was happening,” Gina said lamely. “Tippy got so excited when she saw it was you. She seems to have bonded with you already. Who knew she could cause so much trouble?”
He stared at the dog. She seemed to be smiling. “I did,” he snapped as the cart carried him away.
Gina was more or less in control of her emotions the next morning when she arrived at Cal’s house. He’d been admitted to the hospital and she had no idea what she should do aside from praying with all her might. Lord, how could I have been so dumb? This was a question she’d put to the Lord on a number of occasions, so she figured He was pretty used to it by now. Please let Cal be okay.
She fingered her cell phone again. Call him? Call her cousin? No, she’d decided that avoiding the inevitable conversation was the best policy, at least until she was officially fired. Let Lexi have a few more days of peaceful recovery. Right up to the moment Cal sent her packing, she was Tippy’s caretaker and she would do her job.
“Hey, Tippy,” she said, greeting the dog that was sprawled on the foyer floor in the patch of sunlight that streamed through the front window. “I brought you something.”
Tippy offered a halfhearted wag, but did not resist as Gina slipped the pairs of socks on her paws, two pink socks in the front and two yellow on the back. “They’ve got the little gripper dots on the bottom so you won’t slip, see?”
Tippy regarded her with those somber brown eyes. “Oh, honey,” she said, sitting next to the dog. “I know you didn’t meant to startle him. It was all my fault anyway. I’m supposed to be the one in charge. I never should have taken you to the arena or stadium or whatever it is.”
“Ballpark,” Cal said.
She jerked to her feet. He stood leaning on the doorway in jeans and a T-shirt. His face was a mess, bruised and battered, one eye swollen and a black shadow underneath. The wounds made her breath catch. Tippy roused herself to a sitting position, ears lifted.
Gina swallowed. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“Convinced ’em to let me go.”
“Is there… um, will there be any lasting damage? I’ve been praying like crazy.”
His gaze wandered. “Thanks, for the praying.” Tippy hauled herself onto her paws and trotted over to Cal, tail wagging. He ignored the dog. “Why is it wearing socks?”
“She,” Gina corrected automatically. “You said you were afraid she’d scratch the floor and she slips a lot.”
“Why are they two different colors?”
“Because,” Gina said, letting loose with a giggle, “socks come in twos, not fours. Or haven’t you bought socks in a while?” She regretted her flippancy. When one is about to be fired, one should not be cracking jokes. She sighed. “Anyway, I got Tippy to eat a little something, but I had to mix in a cheese puff.”
Cal just shook his head, wincing at the motion.
“I really am very sorry, Mr. Crawford. Really and truly.”
“I know,” he said, sitting on a chair and gesturing for her to do the same. “Please call me Cal. Mr. Crawford sounds like a high school math teacher or something.”
She settled uneasily onto the sofa across from him as she prepared to be fired. On the coffee table was a crumpled section of the paper with a picture of Cal sprawled on the grass, dazed, a pudgy Tippy looking on. The headline said “Star Pitcher Toppled by Tippy.” She winced. “If you want, I’m sure I can help you find a new dog sitter.” After I ’fess up to my cousin that I lost her a client.
“Not necessary. Don’t need a new one.”
Hope sparked in her stomach. “Um, so, you mean I can sti
ll be Tippy’s dog sitter?”
He hesitated, leaning forward, hands on his gangly legs. “No, I didn’t mean that.”
Uh oh.
“Gina, I appreciate what you’ve done for Tippy with the, uh, socks and everything, and I know you didn’t mean any harm bringing her to the ballpark.”
Gina could not hold back the smile. “You did it.”
“Did what?”
“You called Tippy a her.” She sat back, triumphant. A huge step for both man and dog.
He blinked. “Right, let’s just try and stick to the point here. Like I was saying, I appreciate all your help with Tippy, but it isn’t going to work out.”
So she was being fired after all. Muscles tightened up in her stomach. She forced a calm tone. “I understand. At least let me help you find someone else. I’m sure my cousin can recommend a replacement.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Did you find someone else to take her?” Tippy would be devastated without Cal. As it was, the hapless dog sat staring at him, mesmerized by his every move, but it would be better in the long run for her to live out her days with someone who loved her.
He sighed and ran a hand gingerly over his stubbled chin. “This isn’t going well.”
Gina stared at him. He picked an invisible piece of lint off his expensive jeans. Her stomach muscles tightened further. “Wait. If you don’t need a new dog sitter and you’re going to be busy with all that baseball stuff you were telling me about… ” She clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh no. Your career is over. Your occipital bone is mashed and you can’t pitch anymore. I’m so, so sorry. Tippy and I are both sorry.”
He shot her a bemused look. “No, no. My occipital bones are fine.”
“Then how are you going to take care of Tippy? Are you giving her back to Pete?”
He looked down at his feet. “I’m taking her to the pound.”
The words splatted there between them, like wet towels tossed on the locker room floor. “You can’t do that,” Gina said, with much more calm than she felt.
“It’s the best way. I can’t have her around here. Someone will come along and adopt her.”
“No, they won’t.”
He eyed the dog. “She’s not that bad looking. Nothing some weight loss wouldn’t help.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, voice quavering. “Tippy is thirteen years old and not in great shape. No one will take her. They will euthanize her.” She said the word carefully, precisely, each terrible syllable spooling out between them.
“Gina… ”
“Or she’ll be shut in a wire cage on a cold cement floor. People will pass right by her on their way to the puppies. No one will adopt a geriatric dog.” Her voice rose. “Even if she’s wearing cute socks.”
“Let’s keep this under control.”
“I am under control. I’m just outraged. This is what I sound like when I’m outraged.” The last bit came out loud.
He held up a palm. “You’re getting hysterical.”
“That’s better than being an inhuman robot.”
“I’m not an inhuman robot. It’s called being practical.”
“I’ll take her.”
“Your landlord won’t allow it.”
“I’ll move.”
“That’ll take time.”
“Tippy and I will live in my car until we find a spot,” she squeaked.
He sighed. “You can’t do that.”
“Yes, I can. It’s got a roomy backseat and cup holders.” She realized tears were streaming down her face.
A look of horror broke across his face. “There’s no need to cry. Please calm down.”
“I can’t,” she cried. “This is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.”
He stood and held up his palms as if she was a wild animal he was keeping at bay. “Gina, I’m sorry it worked out this way, but try to think logically. It’s for the best.”
“It’s because of your pride, isn’t it?” She flung a hand toward the newspaper. “A dog made you look silly in the paper and now you’re going to have her destroyed.”
“That’s melodramatic.”
“No, it isn’t.” She shot to her feet. “You’re dumping her out like a piece of trash. How can you do that?”
“I’m taking her to the pound, not pitching her into the river.”
Gina dashed a hand across her eyes. “Even if you don’t care about Tippy, your mother loved her.”
He flinched. “It’s just a dog, an animal.”
Gina felt like she’d been hit in the stomach. “Tippy’s a she and you’re a heartless egomaniac.”
“I’m not,” he said.
“Yes, you are, Cal Crawford, and I hope everyone in the arena knows it,” she shrieked, slamming the door behind her as she fled.
Four
Cal fumed. Heartless egomaniac? What did the pet sitter know about his heart anyway? How could she know about something he didn’t even understand? She’d been praying for him? He didn’t want to hear it, since he wasn’t speaking to God. No sense in anyone else doing so on his behalf. Trying to roll the tension from his shoulders, he shifted on the tile floor. Tippy sat complacently. The dog was probably too full to move after she’d hoovered up a bowl of kibble while he crouched next to her, hoping Luz would not arrive and see him there sprawled on the floor.
“Look, dog. You’re going to be better off without me, I can promise you that.”
Tippy snaked a pink tongue across her lips.
“All I care about is pitching. I don’t want a dog. I told Pete and Gina right from the start.” He realized he was engaging in conversation with an animal. That crazy Gina was rubbing off on him. Best to have her out of the picture too. As soon as his doctor cleared him, he was going to have to put in double the effort to make sure he was up to speed. More resistance band stuff and maybe some weighted baseball work to boost his velocity training. The headline rolled through his head. Toppled by Tippy. His teammates had been Tweeting him jibes all day. Hilarious.
“But that’s not the reason you’ve got to go,” he found himself saying.
Tippy stared through cloudy eyes. “Mom… ” he started. Mom wouldn’t want you to feel unloved, he wanted to say, but he could not get past the first word. “This is ridiculous.” He found Tippy’s leash and clipped it on, and they made their leisurely way to the classic Mustang he’d restored. He opened the door and tipped the seat forward to usher her into the back.
She twitched an eyebrow and made no move to hop in. He grabbed her around the belly, but all her limbs had turned to rubber, refusing to be moved. After a few moments of wrestling which just made his head ache more, he flipped the seat forward again, intending to ease it further and make more room in the back for the flabby dog. But before he’d had the chance, Tippy hurled herself into the passenger seat.
He gaped. “Seriously? You only want to ride in the front?”
Tippy settled down on the leather with a yip, ears flapping with excitement. “At least she’s wearing socks,” he grumbled, taking his place behind the wheel. Sliding sunglasses on to cover his bruised face, they made the drive to the pound and pulled up at the curb.
It didn’t look like a bad place, all sleek lines and stone dog and cat statues poised outside. Clean and friendly. Tippy poked her head up and looked eagerly out the window, tail wagging as if she expected to see a park to play in. Something prickled in his gut.
“So, it’s just gonna be for a while. Until someone adopts you. Some nice family with kids and stuff.”
Her tail whipped back and forth, thumping against the car door.
But what if they didn’t, like Gina predicted? His stomach knotted. Then she’d be well cared for at the shelter by people who knew what they were doing, he growled to himself. Experts, who actually liked dogs and chose to work with them. Tippy hopped out on her own when he opened the door, sniffing excitedly, nearly yanking the leash from his hand.
Tippy refused to be led up the steps, her nos
e firmly cemented to the smells she was snorking up. Stronger than she looked.
“Come on, Tippy,” he hissed. It was getting later now, close to ten o’clock, and he didn’t want to become a public spectacle. When Tippy steadfastly ignored him, he scooped her up and carried her to the top of the stairs. She waggled her short legs in the air, sending a yellow sock flying—which he was not about to stop and retrieve.
Faced with the door and a wildly squirming dog, he put Tippy down and yanked it open. The smell of antiseptic hit him, the hum of voices. He led her inside. Tail wagging, she yanked on the leash.
“You’re gonna stay here for a while.”
Another swish of the tail, eager gaze fastened on his face.
“I’ll go check you in,” he said, tying her leash to a chair. “Be right back.” He walked a few feet away before he shot her another look.
Tippy was sitting now, her sad brown eyes fixed on him as if she had suddenly figured things out.
“It’s not that you’re a bad dog or anything.”
Her head drooped, and now she would not look at him. He moved close again.
“I’m no good for you, Tippy.” He got on one knee and stroked her soft ears, the graying head, the delicate bones underneath. “I’ve got to be one hundred percent about my pitching. You get that, right? You can understand how important that is? You don’t get a second chance in this business. One shot, that’s it. One.”
Gina’s words rang in his memory.
… your mother loved her.
Mom, his heart whispered, the ache rising inside. His mother was gone, and all her love and comfort and undying support was gone too.
“You’re better off without me,” he whispered into Tippy’s ear as he left her there to take his place in line.
Gina paced the tiny bedroom that always smelled of onions. Mrs. Filipski, owner of the building and the pierogi store on the lower floor, had sent her to her room after she ruined two batches of dough which Mrs. Filipski described as “only fit for boot leather.” Even the half dozen mashed potato pierogis that she’d insisted Gina take for lunch during her banishment did not do the trick. Gina was too grieved to eat one of the pillowy pockets.