by Claire Adams
“Death,” I shot back.
“Mom!” Ainsley said, in horror. “Don’t say that!”
I rolled my eyes and shoved more food into my mouth.
“I’m stuffed,” Dad proclaimed. “I want to save some room for pie.”
I nodded, knowing what he was really up to.
“Go check the score, Dad. I’ll clean up and get the pies out.”
He grinned and bolted out of his chair, making a beeline for the living room. Ainsley and Bart were on his heels.
I sighed and looked around the kitchen I’d destroyed. Hours of cooking to be consumed in minutes with nothing but a huge mess and indigestion to show for it. As usual, there was more food than we could eat. Some of the dishes hadn’t even been touched. I always bought a new case of Rubbermaid storage containers to use for the leftovers. We would keep some, and the rest would be given to shelters in the area.
It took me less time than I had thought to get things cleaned up. Dad came in to help during commercial breaks.
“I’m going outside for a bit,” I told him. “Enjoy your peace and quiet.”
He smiled. “I love the commotion. You know that.”
“I know you do. I just need to go work off some of that dinner I stuffed into my face,” I said, rubbing my full stomach.
I had worn leggings with a long flowing top today, knowing skinny jeans or anything with an actual waistband could be deadly if buttons started flying.
“Let’s go play, Ainsley,” I said, grabbing her hand and leading her outside.
I left the sliding door open into the backyard. The kitchen could use some fresh air after all that cooking. It smelled great, but it had gotten awful stuffy in there.
It was enjoyable to push Ainsley on the swing that had been in the backyard since I was her age. Bart laid in the shade and lazily watched. I heard the doorbell ring inside the house and knew right away it was one of Dad’s players. Someone missed their flight or decided to take him up on his offer, even if they were nearly two hours late.
“I need to go inside and get out some dinner, Ainsley. Be good and don’t scare Bart with that stick anymore.”
“I thought we were going to have pie?”
“We are. You can come in and get pie, but one of Papa’s players is here, and I suspect he would like some turkey dinner before dessert,” I explained.
“I want chocolate pie. And pumpkin.”
She made me laugh. Definitely the daughter of a football player, she could pack away the food like no other four-year-old little girl I knew of. Lucky for her, she had an excellent metabolism and managed to stay fairly lanky. That part came from me I thought, with a great deal of pride.
Ainsley plopped herself on one of the barstools.
“Which one?” I asked her again, knowing she would change her mind when she saw the selection of pies to choose from.
Once again, I had bought too many. I think I made the quarterly sales for Marie Callender with my pie purchases. I had one of everything. I never knew who liked what and if there were allergies, so I always bought it all. The pies were left in the box. If no one touched them, off to the food bank they went.
Ainsley stared at the pies. “That one,” she pointed to a chocolate pie drizzled with caramel and topped with heavy whip cream and chocolate shavings.
I smiled. “I think I want that one, too. It looks really yummy!”
My dad cleared his throat, and I spun around with a smile to greet our guest.
I nearly choked when I saw Milo standing there. He stared at me for several long seconds before holding up a pie in the same kind of box that was littering the countertop. Marie was going to have a very nice Christmas, I mused.
“I didn’t know what to bring,” he said, sheepishly holding the pie out. “I figured I couldn’t go wrong with a pie.”
I nodded my head but couldn’t quite find the words to respond.
“Oh, you didn’t have to bring anything, you know,” Dad said, taking the pie and setting it on the counter with the rest. “You boys know this is a standing invitation. We always have plenty of food.”
Milo and I were still staring at each other, and I wanted to crawl into a hole or run out the door.
“Mom, you said you were going to get me some pie,” Ainsley whined.
I blinked and quickly spun around, breaking eye contact. My heart was racing, and my hands were shaking as I reached for the pie. I managed to cut a piece and put it on a plate for my daughter. Thank God, she was sitting at the bar. I don’t think I could have carried it to the table without dropping it.
“Are you going to have some pie?” Ainsley asked, looking beyond me.
I knew she was talking to the man who had just entered the kitchen. I felt as if I were standing in the center of the train tracks with two speeding trains heading right for each other on either side of me. Worlds were about to collide, and I had a feeling it was going to be very ugly. There was no way for me to avoid being caught up in the wreckage.
Chapter 8
Milo
I had sat alone in the hotel room for hours in complete silence. I didn’t have anyone to call, and I’d never felt more alone in my entire life. Coach’s invitation kept popping into my head, but I didn’t want to be a charity case. I was sick of being a charity case. I didn’t want to be the poor foster kid who had no parents or family to spend time with him or give him gifts.
After pacing the hotel room for what seemed like forever, I hit the gym for several hours. It didn’t help. I finally decided to swallow my pride and head to coach’s house. Hopefully, some of the other players would be there so it wouldn’t be just me.
I passed a grocery store with a huge sign posted in front that they were open. I whipped into the parking lot and roamed the aisles, trying to think of what I could take. I felt like a dumbass showing up at all. I for damn sure wasn’t going to show up empty-handed.
Figuring they’d already have a pumpkin for sure, I picked out a chocolate pie.
I pulled into the circular driveway of the coach’s house. It wasn’t quite as extravagant as I expected, but it was a nice place. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was walking into. I saw only two cars in the driveway and secretly hoped one of those cars belonged to Liza. I wanted to get a better look at her. I wondered if she remembered me and our one night together.
I knew she had been pretty drunk.
“Hey! I’m glad you’re here!” Coach greeted me with a huge smile.
I instantly felt better with his warm welcome.
“Thank you for inviting me, Coach. I really do appreciate it.”
“Come on in! I know you haven’t eaten yet, right?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Good. I was about ready to go back for seconds. Come on into the kitchen and let’s get you dished up. I hope you’re hungry,” he was saying as he crossed the large foyer. “Liza made a huge feast.”
My ears perked up at the mention of her name. So, she was here. This could be a little awkward.
“Sounds great,” I muttered.
“You remember, Liza, my daughter? You two would have graduated the same year.”
“Yes, I think I do,” I lied.
We stepped into the kitchen and there she was. She spun around and looked at me. I knew I probably had the same look of shock on my face as we stared at each other.
“I’ll take that pie,” Coach said, setting it on the counter with the others.
“You already ate,” I said, realizing the table was cleared.
Liza had turned back around and was busy cutting pie for the little girl.
“Here, help me with these,” Coach said as he pulled out container after container of what I assumed was leftovers. “Just set everything on the table and we can dish up from there,” he directed.
I did as he asked, trying to ignore the woman in the kitchen who was trying her hardest to ignore me as well.
“Let’s go outside and eat your pie,” Liza said
to the little girl.
The redheaded kid slid off the stool and headed outside. A big golden retriever trailed along behind her. I stared at Liza’s back, waiting for her to look at me, but she never did.
“Grab a plate,” Coach ordered.
I did and started to heap food on my plate before popping it in the microwave. As I waited for my food to heat, I stared at the window, watching Liza and her daughter play on the swing. She was much prettier than I remembered.
“Bart!” Coach yelled out, startling me.
The dog’s ears perked up, and he quickly jogged for the door. Coach leaned down and handed the dog some turkey.
I took a seat across the table and began to eat, watching Coach feed the dog. I had been in plenty of households during my youth, and I knew that was a cardinal rule one was never supposed to break. It was kind of funny to see Coach Summers so blatantly going against the grain.
“Dad!” Liza said coming into the kitchen. “Stop feeding the dog from the table!” she scolded.
He grinned at me. “It’s my table and my dog. I don’t see any difference in feeding it to him here or over there,” he said, pointing to the dog’s food dish in the corner.
She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “It just is.”
The little girl came in behind her mother and headed for her grandpa. She pulled up the chair next to him and plopped down. She was intently studying me. I smiled.
“I’ll be right back,” Coach said, standing and heading into the living room.
“Dad,” Liza warned. “The game will be there.”
I could tell she was nervous. Her dad must have sensed her nervousness as well.
“He is a house guest, Liza. You’ll mind your matters, right Milo?”
“Yes, sir. I’m just going to sit here and eat this delicious food,” I mumbled around a mouthful of my favorite dish: sweet potatoes.
The little girl was still watching me. It was a little unnerving, but I did my best to ignore her. Liza was wiping down the counter and obviously busying herself so she didn’t have to talk to me. I was okay with that.
“You have my same hair!” the little girl blurted out, nearly making me choke on the food in my mouth.
I heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up in time to see Liza turn several shades of red. I grinned at the little girl.
“I do. I like your hair,” I said, not sure what else to say. “Red hair makes us special,” I winked.
She grinned.
“Ainsley, we need to go get you cleaned up,” Liza said, grabbing her daughter’s hand and yanking her out of the chair. “You shouldn’t stare at people, strangers, I mean, especially our guests,” she mumbled under her breath.
“I wasn’t staring; I was looking at his hair. It’s the same as mine, Mom.”
I stood up and walked around the table. “Hi, my name is Milo Pastek. What’s your name?”
“My name is Ainsley,” she said, extending her hand.
Reaching out my own, I shook her tiny one. “There, now we aren’t strangers. And I’m not a guest. I’m a player on your grandpa’s team.”
Ainsley defiantly looked up at her mother. “See, Mom. He’s my friend, so I can look at his hair.”
“How old are you, Ainsley?”
She held up her fingers. “Four.”
“Wow, you’re a big girl, aren’t you? Are you in school?”
She eagerly nodded her head. “Yep. I’m in preschool.”
“Very cool,” I said, getting ready to ask her what she liked best about school, but I never got the chance. Liza was pulling the little girl away.
“Now, young lady,” Liza said, pulling the little girl out of the room and refusing to meet my eyes.
I returned to my seat at the table and ate a few more bites before Coach came back in, thinking about the little girl who’d just been pulled away. I wasn’t all that familiar with kids. I signed a few autographs for young fans, but I didn’t typically spend a lot of time hanging out with them. Ainsley was cute, and she seemed really smart.
“That game isn’t worth watching. Those Colts are really struggling this year,” Coach mumbled as he came back into the kitchen.
“That’s a good thing isn’t it?”
“No. I don’t want to play your old team in the playoffs,” he said with a heavy sigh.
I had to bite back the laugh that threatened to erupt.
“Coach, you think we’re going to make the playoffs?”
He glared at me. “Damn straight we are. Have a little faith.”
I didn’t say it, but I knew that even if I were a praying man, we didn’t have a chance in hell. I wasn’t going to burst his bubble or have a negative attitude though. Not today.
“Ready for some pie?” he asked, heading towards the counter where the assortment of pies was spread out.
“That’s a lot of pie,” I commented.
He shrugged. “Liza gets a little of everything. We never really know who’s going to show. She wants to make sure she has something for everyone.”
“Am I the only one who came today?” I asked, hoping he would tell me everyone else had just left.
“You are. Don’t you feel special?”
I felt special alright. Especially ridiculous.
“I’ll be ready for pie as soon as I finish this plate. This is really, really good,” I said, meaning every word. “Your daughter made all this?”
He nodded with pride. “She sure did. All by herself.”
“It’s amazing.”
He was still beaming when Liza strolled back into the kitchen, not making eye contact with me.
“Dad, we’re gonna head out. I’ll be by tomorrow to pick up the rest of the leftovers for the shelter.”
“You’re leaving already?” he asked in surprise.
“Yes, I’m tired and could really use a glass of wine and a little peace and quiet. I still have papers to grade, too. It’s been a very busy week,” she explained, carefully ignoring me.
Papers to grade. That meant she was a teacher. Good to see somebody was using that degree we all worked so hard to get in college. Well, that wasn’t right. I didn’t work hard at all. I skated by with the help of professors, tutors and a lot of very willing ladies who wanted me to succeed.
The little girl came running into the kitchen. “Bye, Papa!” she said, throwing her arms around Coach’s waist.
“Bye, sweetie. I’ll see you soon. Be good for your mom.”
“I will Grandpa. I always am,” she said, petulantly.
He laughed, and I heard Liza scoff. I smiled at the little spitfire. She waved to me. “Bye, Milo.”
“Bye, Ainsley,” I said, lifting a hand to wave back.
She smiled and bounced out of the kitchen. I went back to my plate of food and shoveled a large bite of mashed potatoes and gravy into my mouth when the world tilted.
I nearly choked. I looked up to see Liza walking out of the kitchen. I gulped the mouthful of food down my throat, making my eyes water. I stood up so fast my chair went sliding, causing the dog to bark.
“Everything okay?” Coach asked with concern.
I didn’t stop to answer him. I raced outside to see Liza pulling out of the driveway. I knew she saw me, but she didn’t stop.
Holy shit.
I stood in the driveway, staring at her car fading into the distance. That little niggle of an idea that started germinating yesterday had sprouted in my head. That little girl was four. Her red hair reminded me of myself when I was her age. The way Liza was avoiding me like the plague confirmed my suspicions. My mind rewound to that day five years ago when she had come to my dorm room. She had said she wanted to talk.
I had been a complete asshole, and she left. Had she wanted to tell me then that I was going to be a father?
“Everything okay, Pastek?” Coach called from the front door.
No, everything was not okay, but I certainly couldn’t tell him that. I turned around and looked at him. Did he know?<
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“It’s all good. I thought I was parked behind her. I didn’t want to block her in. She got out okay, though,” I said, hoping my excuse sounded legitimate.
“Let’s get some pie,” he said, turning and walking back into the house.
Looked like I would have to fake an appetite. My desire for pie had walked right out the front door with that little redheaded girl and her mother.
“Sounds good to me,” I mumbled with fake enthusiasm as I followed him into the kitchen.
My entire world had just been turned upside down and inside out. I knew better than to jump to conclusions, but something told me this wasn’t a jump at all. Now, I just had to get her to tell me the truth.
Chapter 9
Liza
“Thank you so much for watching her, Vanessa. Thankfully, we only have to do this one year. I didn’t realize there would be such a difference in the calendars between preschool and regular school,” I said, hastily thrusting Ainsley’s backpack at her.
“It’s fine. You know I love having Ainsley over. She’ll keep me entertained. I like having her around,” she said with a smile.
“I still can’t believe they don’t start back until Wednesday. What kind of crap is that?” I muttered.
She laughed, “Don’t worry about it, really.”
“As a teacher, I think it is just stupid for school to start mid-week. You can’t really get anything done in three days.”
“I agree, but your daughter is in a very fancy preschool. The parents had vacations to Denver and the like. They needed a full week, not just a few days like us peasants,” she joked.
“Thank you, again. I’ve got to run or I’m going to be late. Never good when the teacher is late,” I joked.
I rushed out the door and jumped in my car to drive across town. The school I taught at was not exactly in the best area, but I liked knowing I was really making a difference. Ainsley had all the perks and benefits of having a wealthy grandpa who insisted she went to one of the best private preschools in the city. It was the first step toward getting into the exclusive elementary schoolhe had planned for her to attend.