by Gina Wilkins
“Savannah…come with me. We can be back Monday.”
“I can’t, Kit.”
“No, really. Think about it. We could leave now and…”
“Leave?” Ernestine spoke sharply from the doorway into the living room. Miranda stood behind her. “Where are you going?”
“Kit,” Savannah said, “has been called back to L.A. on business. I’m not going anywhere, except to Michael’s ball game this evening.”
Kit nodded in reluctant resignation.
“Kit,” Miranda wailed. “You have to leave?”
“I’ll be back,” he assured her, “as soon as I can.”
Miranda didn’t look visibly comforted. “Promise?” she asked, her tone intense enough to make Savannah look at her daughter in concern.
Kit smiled. “I promise, Miranda.”
Miranda rushed up to him and threw her arms around his waist. “We’ll miss you.”
Kit looked surprised for a moment, then warmly returned Miranda’s hug. “You won’t get rid of me easily,” he assured her. “I’ll be back. And maybe before the summer vacation is over, your mom will be able to get away from work for a few days to bring you and Michael to visit me in L.A.”
Miranda looked up at him with shining, hopeful eyes. “Really? That would be so cool.”
“I doubt that your mother is going to take you to L.A., Miranda,” Ernestine protested. “That’s hardly a fit place for children. Drugs and street gangs, that’s all you’ll find there.”
“But, Grandma…”
“Those things do exist in L.A.,” Kit acknowledged with more courtesy than Savannah thought her mother deserved. “But there are just as many places that are family-friendly.”
“Disneyland is there, Grandma,” Miranda reminded her. “At least, I think it’s in L.A.,” she added with an uncertain look at Kit.
He smiled and nodded. “It’s in Anaheim. Not very far at all from where I live.”
“Oh, wow.”
Ernestine turned and left the room.
Kit sighed. “Definitely a challenge,” he murmured. “I was just going to suggest that she would be welcome to come, too. I have a feeling she would have thrown the invitation back in my face.”
“Don’t worry about her now,” Savannah said. “I’ll work on her.”
Kit nodded. “I have to go.”
She bit her lip and nodded. This was the way it was going to be, she told herself a bit sadly. There would be a lot of goodbyes in her future with Kit, however long that would be. And probably quite a few disappointments. He was a man who was in great demand. A man who had a very busy life more than half a continent away from Campbellville.
It would be a miracle if she saw him once a month.
Could the feelings that had developed between them in such a short time survive long separations?
“Savannah.” Kit placed his hands on her shoulders and frowned at her. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” she asked, keeping her expression neutral.
“You’re pessimizing again. Don’t do that.”
She managed a small smile. “‘Pessimizing’? Is that a word?”
“If it’s not, it should be. It perfectly describes what you’re doing to us right now. And I won’t have it, is that clear?”
She could tell that he was only partly teasing. “I’ll try to optimize, instead,” she promised.
He grinned. “I like the sound of that much better.”
And then he kissed her.
“I’ll call you tonight, if I can,” he said when he finally drew away. “Tell Michael…”
“I’ll tell him. Now, go, before you miss your plane.”
Kit took one last long look at Savannah, sent a quick smile in Miranda’s direction, and then let himself out the door. It closed behind him with a thud that echoed in Savannah’s heart.
Her eyes focused on that closed door, Miranda leaned against her mother’s side, her expression somber.
Savannah wrapped her arm around her daughter’s waist. “He’ll be back.”
“Yeah. Sure he will,” Miranda answered, obviously trying to sound positive. “He promised.”
Savannah nodded and kissed her daughter’s cheek. She saw no need to point out that promises, like hearts, were sometimes broken.
12
THE PLAYERS were already in the dugout when Savannah, Ernestine and Miranda arrived. Miranda hadn’t wanted to come since Kit wouldn’t be there, but Savannah had talked her into it.
“Michael will be so disappointed that Kit couldn’t make it,” she’d said. “We should go to cheer him on.”
Miranda had reluctantly agreed. Savannah had gotten the feeling that it wasn’t just her distaste for baseball that made Miranda want to stay at home, but Miranda wouldn’t give her mother any other reason. Savannah had finally let it go.
As soon as he saw them, Michael rushed to the chain-link fence that separated the field from the stands. Several of his teammates—Nick Whitley among them—accompanied him, looking eagerly beyond Michael’s family.
“Where’s Kit?”. Michael demanded. ‘Is he going to meet you here?”
Savannah wished vainly that she could break the bad news to him in a less public place. “Kit won’t be here, Michael,” she said quietly, knowing his friends could overhear. “He was called back to L.A. on business. Something about his new movie deal.”
Michael’s face fell in disappointment. “He said he would be here.”
“He wanted to come, Michael. But he had no choice.”
Nick Whitley snorted loudly and turned away, muttering something to one of the other boys as they headed back to the dugout. Michael scowled.
“Michael?” Savannah asked in concern. “You do understand, don’t you? Kit has a job in L.A. He can’t just ignore it when he’s needed there, even when he’d rather be here watching you play.”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, sure. I know his movie deal is more important than my stupid ball game. I was just hoping he could be here.”
“Michael—”
But the boy had already turned and dashed after his teammates.
Savannah turned and looked at her mother. “Don’t say it.”
Ernestine raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t say a word.”
She didn’t have to, of course. Savannah knew Ernestine was worried that Kit was well on his way to breaking not only Savannah’s heart, but the children’s, as well.
“Hey, Savannah,” Treva shouted out from across several people in the bleachers. “Where’s that pretty boyfriend of yours?”
“He had to go back to L.A.,” Savannah answered, embarrassed that Treva’s question had caused so many eyes to turn their way.
“He’ll be back,” Miranda added. “He promised.”
Savannah reflected wryly that the words “he promised” were rapidly becoming Miranda’s mantra. She thought she saw skepticism in several of the faces turned toward her, but told herself she was only being paranoid.
The ballpark was crowded that evening, leaving few seats available in the inadequately sized bleachers. Savannah wondered if so many spectators had shown up because it was an important game, or because there’d been a chance that Christopher Pace would be there. And then she scolded herself again for assuming that everyone was interested in her business.
Still, she had the uncomfortable sensation that many eyes were on her as she climbed the bleacher steps. It was something she was just going to have to get used to if she continued her affair with Kit, she told herself flatly. And then frowned as she recognized the term she’d used to describe their relationship. Affair. It sounded so tawdry.
She wondered if that was how everyone else saw it.
Spotting an empty stretch of metal bench, Savannah touched Miranda’s arm. “There’s a place.”
Miranda glanced that way, then quickly back at her mother, her eyes suddenly wide and distressed. “Not there, Mom. Let’s find another seat,” she whispered urgently.
Surprised, Savannah looked again at
the seat in question. Marie Butler and Lucy Bettencourt sat right behind the open space, and were watching Savannah openly. Savannah knew they must be there to watch Lucy’s grandson, the team’s star pitcher.
“Isn’t there someplace else we can sit?” Miranda asked.
Savannah abruptly remembered seeing Lucy and Marie at the restaurant the evening before. She was just about to ask her daughter if the town gossips had said something to her when someone behind her yelled, “Hey, are you going to stand there blocking the aisle all day?”
“Here’s a seat, Savannah,” Lucy called out cheerfully, pointing to the bench in front of her. “Hello, Ernestine. Nice evening, isn’t it?”
Short of an outright snub, Savannah could think of no way to avoid sitting in front of Lucy and Marie. She nodded in response to their cheery greetings and slid onto the bench after her mother. Miranda hesitated only a moment before sitting beside Savannah, though she kept her eyes firmly trained on the players warming up on the field, ignoring the women behind her.
“Your friend isn’t with you today?” Lucy asked as Savannah nodded a greeting. “We saw you at the restaurant last night. You all looked quite cozy.”
“Kit has gone back to L.A.,” Savannah repeated with forced patience. “He had business to attend to.”
Lucy and Marie exchanged meaningful looks.
“I suppose our little Campbellville doesn’t have much to offer a man who’s used to all those wild Hollywood parties and all,” Marie murmured. “Didn’t I read somewhere that he once dated Julia Roberts?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Savannah replied a bit stiffly. “I don’t read the gossip rags, myself.”
She turned to face the field. She heard Lucy and Marie whispering avidly behind her back, though she couldn’t hear what they were saying.
Miranda shot a look of disgust over her shoulder, then leaned toward her mother. “Don’t listen to them,” she murmured. “They don’t even know Kit.”
Savannah nodded and forced herself to concentrate on the game that was just starting.
“Hey, Mom, look.” Miranda pointed to the outfield. “Isn’t that Michael going in at shortstop?”
“Why, yes, it is.” Savannah was pleasantly surprised that the coach had allowed Michael to start. Michael must be delighted, she thought proudly.
“I bet Nick’s mad,” Miranda commented. “He usually starts as shortstop. But Michael said coach is still pretty mad at Nick for acting up so bad at the last game.”
Savannah winced and glanced automatically toward Ernie Whitley, who was sitting close to the fence, obviously mouthing his displeasure that his son had been left on the bench.
This wouldn’t help Michael’s already rocky friendship with Nick, Savannah realized. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned.
It was quickly apparent that a few extra lessons and a little personal attention hadn’t turned Michael into a star baseball player. The first grounder that came his way went right between his feet And when he did manage to scramble for it, he overthrew second base by several yards, allowing the opposing player to take an extra base.
Miranda groaned and hid her face in her hands.
Savannah heard Lucy whisper something to Marie about Michael getting “special treatment” because he was a friend of “that Hollywood writer.” She wanted very badly to turn around and give Lucy a piece of her mind. For one thing, Lucy’s son was the coach. If he was giving Michael special treatment, then Lucy should be criticizing her own son, not Michael.
It was so unfair, Savannah fumed, for anyone to be unpleasant to her children because they didn’t approve of her relationship with Kit—whether from jealousy or moral judgment, or whatever the reason. Why should her children have to suffer because of her actions? And wasn’t this exactly the reason she’d left Serendipity Island the way she had—to keep her own indiscretions from affecting her family?
And then Michael caught a fly ball for the first out. Michael looked almost as surprised as his teammates to find the ball in his mitt
Savannah and Miranda and even Ernestine cheered heartily. Savannah resisted sending a smug look over her shoulder. And she couldn’t help noticing that Nick Whitley was scowling as he watched from the dugout.
Michael’s team won the game by one run. Savannah didn’t give her son credit for the win—he’d certainly made his share of errors during the three innings he played—but she was proud of his performance nevertheless. And she could tell from his smile when he looked at her through the wire that he was, too.
She knew he was thinking that he wished Kit could have been there to see him. It was a sentiment Savannah shared.
There was a rush to exit the park by spectators hoping to avoid getting caught in traffic. Savannah, Miranda and Ernestine waited a few minutes until some of the pandemonium had subsided before walking down the bleacher steps toward the field where Michael waited for them. Family and friends of Michael’s teammates had also gathered around the gate, congratulating the team on its win, talking brightly among themselves.
Savannah noted that Michael stood to one side of the crowd, surrounded by several other boys, Nick Whitley among them. Looking more closely at her son, Savannah tensed. She could see that her son’s adolescent temper was about to blow. She sent mental warnings to Michael not to let the other boys’ teasing get to him.
Apparently, his ESP wasn’t working that afternoon. Before Savannah could move to intercede, Michael flew at Nick with flailing fists. They tumbled to the dirt, wildly throwing punches while their teammates gathered around to shout encouragement. Ernie Whitley turned from a heated discussion with the coach and ran toward the brawling boys. Savannah groaned and hurried after him, aware that her mother and daughter were right on her heels.
A couple of fathers had jumped in to break up the fray. Michael wasn’t cooperating. He continued to yell at Nick, doing his best to break away from the restraining hands. Savannah and Ernie Whitley reached their boys at the same time.
“Michael!” Savannah scolded. “What in the world has gotten into you? You know better than to behave this way.”
His hand on Nick’s shoulder, Ernie Whitley snorted. “You’re the one who’s always acting like your boy is too good to hang out with mine. Like mine’s going to be a bad influence on him or somethin’. Well, it wasn’t my boy who just threw the first punch, and there are plenty of witnesses to that.”
“I’m sorry,” Savannah said, mortified at the very public scene and painfully aware of all the eyes upon them. “I don’t know what got into him.”
“Don’t apologize to him, Mom,” Michael said angrily. “You didn’t hear what Nick was saying about you. And his father’s been saying it, too.”
“I don’t care what he was saying,” Savannah retorted. “There is no excuse for this fighting.”
“He called you a tramp!” Michael’s infuriated shout carried clearly through the crowd that had gathered around them. Several people gasped.
Savannah looked involuntarily at Ernie, her eyebrows rising. “I—er—”
“Well, she’s carrying on with that Hollywood guy and everyone knows what they’re like, huh, Dad?” Nick said smugly. “Dad said any woman who’d have kids without getting married will probably sleep with anybody. Didn’t you, Dad?”
Ernie Whitley looked chagrined that his son had repeated his unkind remarks. “Shut up, Nick,” he growled, shaking the boy’s shoulder a bit too roughly.
“Well, it’s true,” Nick said, ignoring his father to glare at Michael. “You’ve been bragging like you’re such hot stuff ‘cause your mom’s been hanging out with Christopher Pace. You’ve been acting like he’s going to be your dad or something. Well, where is he now, huh? You said he was going to be here, but I don’t see him. He got what he wanted and then he went back to those Hollywood babes, just like my dad said he would.”
A ripple of murmurs went through the avidly eavesdropping crowd.
Coach Bettencourt stood between the boys, g
ravely shaking his head. “You boys know the team rules about fighting. Michael, you’re going to have to sit out the next game on the bench.”
“That’s not fair,” Miranda said with a gasp, stepping up from behind Savannah, shrugging off her grandmother’s restraining hand. “Why would you punish Michael and not Nick? Nick’s the one who started the fight.”
“Michael threw the first punch,” Bettencourt insisted. “He knows fighting is against team rules.”
“I bet you wouldn’t let someone talk about your mother like that,” Miranda snapped, throwing a disdainful look at Lucy Bettencourt. “’And she’s the worst gossip in town. She’s been talking about my mother, too, but it isn’t true. My mom’s the best, and Kit will be back. He promised.”
Savannah was trying to think of something to say that would effectively put an end to this humiliating debacle when she heard a familiar voice from close behind her.
“Yes, I did promise, didn’t I? And it looks like I got back just in time.”
Miranda whirled, her face lighting up. “Kit!”
Michael dropped his fists, his eyes going wide in his dirt-streaked face. “Kit.”
Savannah turned more slowly.
Kit was there, standing only a few feet away from her, his dark hair tousled by the summer breeze, his feet planted firmly on the packed dirt of the ball field, his hands resting on his hips in a true pirate’s stance. He didn’t look like a man to be trifled with as he glanced from Savannah to Ernie Whitley.
“Is there a problem here?” he asked softly.
THE SPECTATORS fell back, silently clearing a path between Kit and Ernie Whitley.
Whitley glanced around him, then cleared his throat. “The McBride boy jumped mine for no reason at all,” he told Kit. “But it’s over now.”
Kit lifted an eyebrow and looked at Michael. “There’s rarely a really good reason for fighting, Michael,” he said. “It’s such an unimaginative way to settle minor differences.”
“That’s right,” the coach said, nodding in relief and looking impatiently at his watch. “Just what I was telling ‘em.”
Kit didn’t take his eyes from Ernie Whitley’s florid face. “I suppose the only incentive for me to get involved in a fight would be if someone were to say anything unpleasant about my fiancée or her children. I’m afraid I would take great exception to that. Savannah and her kids are a true asset to this community. If anyone has anything to say to the contrary, I assume he would be willing to say it to her face. Or mine,” he added, his voice quietly dangerous.