The final year of their marriage they had stayed home for Christmas. Things were eroding by that time and Nick feared his parents’ reaction. Not that he could delay the inevitable forever. By the spring it was public knowledge.
Now that the union was dissolved, his mother actually had a greater acceptance of her former daughter-in-law. They would never be friends but there was a much greater understanding than had ever existed during the marriage. His mother had actually sent her a birthday gift last month. The fact that Alyssa adored the hand-painted piece of pottery was even more of a shock.
Tonight he had received an e-mail from his dad. Since his retirement last month Ray Valente had made it his mission to learn how to use a computer. It had taken his mother three days to teach him how to log on to the internet. From the looks of his message, typing was still a struggle. His mother had her heart set on a visit in September. She wanted to visit the ball park, tour the city of Boston, and spend a few days antiquing on the Cape. God bless his father. He wasn’t so sure that this would be the best time for them to head north. Nick knew enough to read between the lines. He was in a slump. A deep one. The last thing his dad wanted was to add to the pressure by sitting in the stands.
Nick was honest enough to admit that he had mixed feelings. Having his dad watch him swing at the breeze wasn’t exactly a dream come true. It wasn’t enough, however, to outweigh the pleasure of spending time with them. At least it was something other than Abby to look forward to.
Abby. He knew instinctively what his mother would think of her. She lived in a four-room cottage. Taught literature, a passion shared by his mother. Understood and enjoyed sports. Yeah, the black nail polish was the only thing that might raise his mother’s eyebrows. Of course, there was an equally good chance she would ask where Abby had purchased it.
His dad would no doubt pump Abby for predictions. Anyone that knew the game had to have a mental breakdown of what the post season would look like. As long as she stayed loyal to the Bisons, his dad would gain a new best friend.
Nick stopped. This was the problem with spending too much time alone. Your mind deteriorated without warning. The chances of Abby ever running into his parents were remote, unless he orchestrated an introduction. To what end? The urge to bring them together was strong. Show his mother that he had changed, matured in his understanding of what he wanted in life. The fact that she might never be more than a friend was beside the point. If nothing else she would be a symbol. He had moved on. This time in the right direction.
He reached for the remote. Flipping through the music-only options he finally settled on a country station. Hell, listening to a George Strait song celebrating a string of ex-wives living in Texas made Alyssa seem almost rosy.
Abby hated mistakes. In ten minutes her latest blunder would be at her door. Home turf wasn’t a smart option. A supermarket parking lot or school playground would have been a better choice. Nick at her picnic table was guaranteed torture. When she had made the decision she was trying to avoid the fast food restaurant that he suggested. Her hips were starting to spread too close to her neighbor’s fence for comfort.
Abby took a deep breath. The sound of water splashing next door raised another alarm bell. It was Wednesday. Members of Mrs. Lofton’s book club were beginning to gather in her backyard. Abby was afraid to look.
Oh, dear dog. Eight plastic swimming pools, depicting various aquatic animals, were arranged in a large circle. After two years the sight still made her slightly queasy. When the thermometer hit eighty the ladies all donned matching purple bathing suits and discussed the latest book selection while lounging in their individual pool. Mr. Lofton, who vigilantly monitored the meeting from the kitchen window, told Abby it was the group’s answer to the Red Hat Society.
Abby ignored the growing fear that she would one day join the group out of desperation. Although the youngest member was seventy-two, Abby had been assured by Ethel that the group frowned on age discrimination. She had already been officially invited into the exclusive circle. Heaven help her.
The sound of Nick’s truck had her circling back around to the front of her house. An enormous backpack hung on one shoulder. She had specifically told him he could leave his equipment at home. Her curiosity was peaked.
“Right on time,” Abby said, stopping at the end of her walkway. “What’s in the bag?”
Nick smiled at her. “Rumor has it you have issues with punctuality. Didn’t want to tick the teacher off on the first day of class.”
She turned and retreated to the backyard, figuring he was smart enough to follow her lead. “So, my prize pupil, again I ask, what’s in the bag?”
This time he didn’t ignore the question. “Since you overruled me on the hamburger and fries, I thought I’d bring a peace offering.”
“If you have fudge or anything remotely resembling chocolate in there, you can turn your pretty butt around right now.”
His eyes went dark. “Honey, don’t take this the wrong way but you gotta learn to sin with a smile. You love food. I love watching you eat it. Why complicate things?”
“Okay,” Abby said. “There are so many things wrong with that, I don’t even know where to begin.”
He dropped his pack on a bench. Unzipping the middle compartment, he pulled out two insulated lunch bags. “Now, in deference to your rather freakish body image I offer variety.”
Before he unloaded the first bag he looked down at the table. He brushed his hand along the smooth white wood. “Did you paint this?”
Abby sat on the opposite bench. “Actually José and I sort of worked on it together.”
It wasn’t dramatic like the walls of her home. The effect was more cute than captivating. Instead of plain pine, the table had been covered in white. From that point they had each painted their images of a perfect picnic lunch. For Abby that had meant heaps of fried chicken, potato salad, and an ice cream watermelon roll. José had added the very necessary hamburgers and hot dogs. Together they painted an enormous chocolate cake.
In theory it had been an inspiring way to spice up her backyard. In practice it had become a personal torture. She could no longer count the number of times she stuffed her face while seated on the bench beneath her.
“Maybe after you revive my baseball career you can help me choose a real house up here. I never look for the right basics.”
It was hard to tell if he was serious. “I have no talent, Valente. I’m sure José could lend a hand. He has an eye for color and texture.”
Nick shook his head. “José is cool, but not exactly my taste. Besides you had to at least share his vision or it wouldn’t be in your home.”
Abby motioned to the still sealed bags. Hunger was beginning to dwarf manners.
He obliged her without complaint, laying out the items from the first bag. Fruit salad. Raw carrots. Cheddar Cheese. French bread. “Do I offend?”
Abby sighed. “Exactly what I should be eating, Valente. Although cheese is a fat trap.”
“Of course,” Nick said. “How silly of me.” He pulled the second bag open and began the process over. Peanut butter cookies. Barbeque potato chips. Roast beef sandwiches. Potato salad.
Abby’s stomach revolted. “You’re a monster.” Her right foot connected with his shin. “Torture is frowned upon in this country.”
Nick leaned over the table and placed a feather-soft kiss on her forehead. “I think you need to remember that the next time you wear that pink tank top. Now eat. It’s been a long day and I need the boost.”
She nodded. “Big series tomorrow. Toronto has quite a streak going.”
“Nice pep talk,” he said, reaching into his backpack. “Carlos is coming off the disabled list. That should even things up.”
She watched as he set plastic plates and utensils in front of her. “No paper?”
He lowered his eyes. “I have some class.”
“Minimal,” Abby said. “Oh, don’t tell me this is what you eat on every day.”
“Snob alert. They’re functional. The color is not bad either.”
She cringed. “They’re puce and they’re plastic. Has the team been holding your paycheck back?”
His head snapped up. “Nice. Your job is to inspire me not hit me when I’m down.”
His tone was light. Yet she detected a thin layer of hurt. “Do you at least have real silverware at home?”
“I’m flattered by your interest. And no, what you see here is what I have.”
“Well, don’t plan on inviting Martha Stewart over any time soon.”
Nick frowned. “You’re right. I’ll order up something off of the Internet.”
“Splurge and spend more than a dollar a plate.” Abby scooped potato salad onto her plate.
He pushed the fruit salad container in her direction. She ignored him. “My parents are thinking about a visit next month.” He touched the rim of his plate. “I can’t afford to give my mother that much ammunition.”
“Ah, I’m with you. My mother nearly flopped to the floor when I handed her a drink from a plastic fish cup. She looked like an overgrown trout.”
He smiled. “Nice visual. Can’t wait to meet her.”
Abby didn’t even want to go there. “Look away.”
“Should I compliment your brown lawn?”
“Geez, it’s August and there’s a town water ban.”
His eyes turned toward the party next door. “Doesn’t seem to be slowing your neighbors down.”
“Well, they’re eighty. They don’t listen to anyone but Regis Philbin.”
“So, why must I look anywhere but in your direction?”
She blushed. “I’m getting ready to hit the roast beef and I don’t need the smug staring.”
He nudged a sandwich across the table. “Your relationship with food is intense. Can I offer you a little insight?”
“Please,” Abby said. “I wouldn’t want to stifle your Dear Abby ambitions.”
A smooth grin and flash of dark eyes had her nibbling on her lower lip. He was lethal. “As cliché as this sounds, men like women a little on the soft side. If I wanted someone with rock hard abs I’d proposition Kevin.”
“Gross. If you want to encourage me to eat, Einstein, I’d suggest you don’t turn my stomach first.”
Nick scooped half a container of fruit salad onto his plate. “Yeah, I should have picked a single guy like Lopez. His gum snapping drives me nuts though.”
She watched him take a couple of cheese slices. “Hey, don’t forget the carrot sticks. I don’t want to be the only one scarfing down food.”
“Just pacing myself, McCabe. I like to save the best for last.”
When she had finally put away as much food as her stomach could tolerate, she slid off of the bench. “Okay, our play date is officially over. Time to find our focus.”
He rolled his eyes. “I have a sinking suspicion that the cure is going to be worse than what ails me.”
“Spoken like a true athlete. Follow me, Valente.”
She walked to the back corner of her yard, sitting down under a large red oak tree. Abby waited until he picked a spot just inches away.
“I have only one hard and fast rule.”
He leaned back, putting all of his weight on the palms of his hands. “Sounds serious.”
“Regardless of what I tell you, you have to promise to listen to the coaching staff. If you blow them off, it’s going to reflect badly on me.”
Nick frowned. “Hold up. No one knows about this, right?”
“Well,” Abby began, “I don’t ever advertise, but most people know I’ve stepped in a time or two in the past. They don’t ask and I don’t tell.”
He grunted. “Perfect. Maybe I should drop by the psychic fair on the Commons. Cover all my bases.”
Abby belted out an undignified laugh. “Nice play on words. Now if we could only get you to play ball as well.”
She hadn’t seen the shove coming. Landing on her back, with her eyes to the sky, she grinned like a fool. Her heart lurched. The nightmare was coming true.
His hand reached over and tugged her upright. “Can we call a short-term truce? Otherwise I might never hit another baseball.”
She nodded. “Okay. My philosophy on hitting slumps is not rocket science. You’ve hit a mental block. Obviously this is impacting your grip, your stance, everything. Those are all mechanical issues.”
Nick sighed. “I’ve been working on all of those things on the field and in my sleep.”
“Yeah,” Abby said, tapping her finger along her temple. “But you have to start at square one. Fix the mental piece first.”
She pulled a blade of grass, winding it through her fingers. “Let me give you a personal example. When I first began writing for the Chronicle I was able to whip off an article in under an hour. After about a year my brain kind of took a vacation. Every time I sat at the computer I went blank.”
“I imagine you had pretty tight deadlines.”
She nodded. “Yes. And my editor is neither patient nor kind. Anyway, it got to the point where I thought maybe writing wasn’t the right fit for me anymore.” She shredded the thin brown strand and grabbed another blade of grass. “It took a while but I finally found a solution that worked for me. Whenever I sat down to write a column, I indulged my creative side first. Fifteen minutes of free-flowing ideas.”
Nick drew his finger around a blade of grass. “Did it work?”
“Duh, would I be telling you this story if it didn’t?”
“Hard to say. You’re kind of a kook sometimes.”
She tossed a pile of shredded grass in the direction of his face. “Anyway, it took some of the pressure off mentally. If I still had a block after the first fifteen minutes, I knew enough to walk away from the computer for a little bit.”
“Back to me. What’s the plan, smarty pants?”
“You and I are going to figure out how to clear your brain at the plate. In theory, especially with you, that might sound easy. Usually it’s not.”
The next hour passed in a blur. Without his knowledge, Nick had provided Abby with insight into his world. Mentally she logged all of his favorite things. Music. Food. Colors. Movies. Books. Everything. It was her first step in pinpointing the proper antidote for his slump.
When the first stars became visible, Abby stretched then stood. “You have now successfully completed session one. Congratulations.”
His look was pure skeptic. “That’s it. We’re done.”
“For tonight. It’s time for my favorite student to go home and get a good night’s sleep.” She reached out and patted him on the head.
His hand shot out, capturing her wrist. “Do I get a reward for all my hard work?”
Abby ignored the tingle along her spine. “Sure. Because you’ve been such a good boy I’m willing to suffer through another session with you.”
He stood, dwarfing her in the process. “So generous. I think since you’ve been such a patient instructor, you deserve a reward as well.”
Abby’s mouth went dry. She prayed he couldn’t read her thoughts at that moment. “Not necessary.”
Nick lowered his head, lifted her chin, and gently nipped her lower lip. This time the arms wrapped around her neck spoke of quiet possession not raw passion. Warm and tender lips traced a path along her mouth, sending shivers down her spine. She slipped her fingers into his hair, caressing the smooth, thick texture beneath her palms. Her limbs felt loose, intoxicated with the taste and smell of Nick’s skin.
It was a lazy summer evening kiss. Slow. Sweet. Seductive.
When a desperate moan slipped past her lips, she forced herself to pull back. It took three deep breaths before she found the courage to meet his gaze.
“Probably a good thing that my other students don’t believe in rewarding their professor. At least in this fashion.”
He lowered his hands to her waist, rubbing underneath the hem of her shirt. “Keep it that way.”
Her heart flipped. H
is words washed over her. They had broken their own rule tonight, but right now she didn’t care. The kiss was worth it. She’d be damned if she’d regret it already.
“Tomorrow is a game day. You planning on being in the stands to cheer me on?”
She lowered her eyes. “Cheering the TEAM on. And yeah I’ll be there.”
He walked back to the table and reclaimed his back pack. “Sleep well. I’m betting we’ll both have some damn good dreams.”
Chapter Six
In ten minutes they would officially be late. The only way to get Bridget to show up on time for anything was to lie. If a party started at eight, you told her seven-thirty. Bridget took it in stride, actually preferring a white lie over a social gaffe. Ball games were different.
Abby wished she took her own car. Sitting on her front stoop she pretended to ignore her watch. The sight of her cousin’s Tahoe at the top of the street was met with relief. She walked to the bottom of her driveway, figuring it saved about thirty seconds.
“Sorry, Gracie had friends over and we lost track of the time,” Bridget said, pulling into reverse. “What gives? I thought for sure you’d blow this game off.”
Abby frowned. “Why? This is one of the few weeks where my work schedule is feather light.”
Bridget turned. “Honey, they’re playing Toronto tonight. You know that, right?”
“Oh, damn dog,” Abby groaned. “Never crossed my mind. I mean, yes I knew that but didn’t really…”
Bridget grabbed her hand. “Well, you still have time to bail. I can turn around right now.”
Abby refused. It had to happen at some point. For the rest of the drive, Abby tried to imagine the worst-case scenario. Expecting the worst always made the reality more palatable.
When the seventh inning stretch arrived without incident, Abby relaxed. After striking out twice, Nick had hit a double in the sixth. It was progress and the look on his face was pure relief. Bridget was beaming. Kevin was three for three. As Toronto faced their final out of the game, a familiar figure emerged from the nearby press box.
The Catcher and the Lie Page 8