Screwball

by Linda Morris

  “I have been known to annoy you from time to time. When that happens, you’ll wish you’d gotten the certainty when you had the chance.”

  “If that’s the way you feel.” As usual, his face gave nothing away.

  “It is.”

  He handed her the swizzle-stick-looking thing. “Use this to swab the inside of his cheek. It will collect a few cells, and then we’ll seal them in this envelope to be sent off to the lab. We’ll be able to get the results in a few days.”

  “Will it hurt Jack?”

  “Nah. Try it yourself first if you’re not sure.” He watched her swipe the inside of her mouth with the swab.

  “Doesn’t hurt a bit,” she reported with a twinge of relief.

  They repeated the process with new sticks for Jack and Paul, sealed and labeled all of the individual envelopes, and then put them in a larger return envelope.

  Paul stood for a moment, looking uncertain. “I guess I’d better get going. I’ll drop this off at the post office on the way to the stadium.”

  She nodded. “Fine. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

  “Good.” He lingered a bit. Did he want to say something else? If he did, he decided against it, giving Jack a quick kiss on the forehead. The gesture seemed so natural, so like any father bidding good-bye to his family that, for a moment, she expected him to kiss her too.

  Instead, he simply left, the manila envelope tucked under his arm.

  It was for the best, no doubt.

  Chapter 9

  As usual, Alex Moreno-Lopez had nothing good to say. No surprise there. Paul had known bad news was coming as soon as he’d seen the other man’s name on his cell. Alex never called unless something in the stadium had broken, fallen off or fallen apart.

  He’d stopped to take the call on his way down the hall to talk to his dad. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “I got players up to their knees in water down here, Dudley! We got some kinda water leak in the clubhouse or something, man,” Alex yelled. “Water is everywhere. We got a game in three hours!”

  “Has anybody turned the water off?”

  “What am I, a plumber? I don’t know.”

  Paul rolled his eyes but managed to bite back his retort. Alex had gotten his job because of his baseball smarts, not his everyday life skills. “Fine. I’ll be over in a minute.”

  He ended the call and stuck his head in his dad’s office. “I’ll be late for our meeting, Dad. We’ve got a situation in the clubhouse.” He described the call from Alex.

  Walter Dudley looked up briefly from his copy of the Plainview Herald and shook his head. “It’s a damn shame when a grown man doesn’t know how to turn off a water valve.”

  Funny, he’d thought the same thing a minute ago, but nothing could make him take an opposing view faster than hearing his father take a position. “It’s also a damn shame when a stadium is crumbling because someone’s too cheap to fix it.”

  His father’s attention had drifted back to his paper, but Paul’s words made his head jerk up. “What kind of a crack is that?”

  “I think you know, Dad. I’ve gotta go. Somebody’s got to turn the water off before the stadium floats away.”

  The sounds of his dad’s bluster followed him all the way to the elevator, but he ignored it. He wasn’t in the mood. That morning, four days after shipping the DNA test off to the lab, he’d gotten an email that the results of his paternity test were in and ready for him to check online.

  Ten minutes later, after typing in a log-in and an ID number on his office computer, he’d gotten the news.

  He was a father.

  He thought he’d already accepted, deep in his heart, that Jack was his. He’d insisted on a paternity test in a moment of shock and hurt, but when he examined his feelings, he’d realized everything fit: the timeline, and Jack’s stone-blue eyes. And down deep, he didn’t think Willow would lie about something like that. She’d had a reason, after a fashion, for not telling him about Jack. It wasn’t a good reason to Paul, but it made sense to her, and she’d been scared, after all. Fear made people do stupid things sometimes.

  Over the last few days, he’d spent a good amount of time thinking about what Willow had been through, alone with a baby, no job and no way to find the father, and he’d developed a certain amount of compassion, enough to maybe begin overlooking her deception. He’d come to think of the test as only a formality, a process that would tell him for certain what he already knew.

  He’d been wrong.

  The confirmation of his fatherhood had floored him. He ought to be out making the announcement, handing out cigars or something, but instead, he’d stared at the screen in shock and wondered what the hell to do now.

  He was still wondering, but he didn’t have time to get bogged down in that now. He hopped in his car and drove over to the stadium. If he hadn’t been in a hurry, he would have walked, but he wanted to get that water shut off as soon as possible. On the way in, he stopped by the maintenance room for a pipe wrench. He knew from experience how stubborn the old pipes were.

  In the clubhouse, he followed the sound of running water to find water spraying out of the back of a toilet. Thank God, it was clean incoming water. He wasn’t sure he could face raw sewage today. He’d dealt with enough shit already. He knelt in the inches of water that covered the ground—thank God, Alex had exaggerated that too—and turned the water shut-off valve.

  The sounds of splashing caught his attention. “I see you found it.” Alex stood over him, looking dapper in his Thrashers uniform and manager’s jacket. Somehow, Paul couldn’t picture him as the kind of guy who sloshed around in standing water, fixing broken toilets.

  He knew he ought to cool it where Alex was concerned. His jealousy toward the other man was unreasonable. Willow had said she wasn’t interested in the manager.

  Still, the two of them had an easy camaraderie he envied. The kind he wished they could duplicate. Paul and Willow seemed like magnets: either drawn irresistibly to each other or flipped to the wrong sides and pushing each other away.

  “Yeah, I found it.” The ancient pipe appeared to have come dislodged from its fitting. “I’ll get a plumber out here right away and a pump to dry this place out. It’ll be dry by tomorrow. Day after, tops.”

  “We got a game in a couple of hours. What are the guys going to use for a bathroom?”

  Paul shrugged. “They can go to the visitor’s side or use the public facilities.”

  “What?” Alex’s swarthy face grew red. “That’s bullshit!”

  As a solution, it sucked, and he knew it, but what else was he supposed to do? “You’re right. It’s bullshit. We’re in a rundown stadium in a small town with only one plumber and a game in a few hours.” He slammed the toilet lid down with a swing of the pipe wrench. “I don’t know why I made such a stupid suggestion when the better alternative is so obvious.”

  “What’s that?” Alex said, looking suspicious.

  “Why don’t you run to the IGA and buy a few boxes of Depends? It’s genius!” He hefted the pipe wrench high, warming up now. “The players won’t need to use the restroom, and it’ll be so convenient if anybody has to take a piss during the game! Hell, buy enough for all the fans too. That way, we won’t have to maintain the public restrooms anymore either.” He could hear himself babbling but couldn’t stop. “Maybe the Depends people will want to sponsor the stadium. We can change the name to Depends Undergarment Field. It’s a win-win!”

  Alex eyed him. “Have you gone completely loco, dude?”

  “Maybe.” Paul let the wrench drop, shoulders slumping. He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, where a tight knot of tension had been gathering. What did this fucker understand about anything? He’d been in the Show for years, having money, women, and privilege thrown his way, and he hadn’t had to do anything to earn it except be good at throwing and hitting a baseball. He knew jack about actual responsibility, especially about taking responsibility for things
you couldn’t control.

  Whereas Paul, well … that could go on his tombstone someday. He took responsibility for things he couldn’t control. This team. His family legacy. This crumbling stadium. Now he had another thing to be responsible for: Jack. The baby he hadn’t planned for and hadn’t even known about.

  Paul took a deep breath. He had to cling to his fragile grip on his temper before he truly lost it. “Look, I know it sucks. I’m out of ideas for anything else to do, okay? You got any better ideas? Don’t tell me the stadium needs a renovation,” he warned as Alex opened his mouth. “It ain’t happening, okay?” His grip on the pipe wrench tightened.

  Alex rolled his eyes. “Come on. If you’d explain to your father—”

  “I have explained to him! Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouted. To keep from clobbering Alex, he swung the wrench at the side of the stall with all of his strength. It made contact with a ferocious clang, denting the metal deeply.

  Alex jumped. “You’re crazy, man.” He leaned back, stretching out his arms as if he thought he might be next.

  Paul ignored him, rearing back and swinging the pipe wrench again, slamming it over and over, pockmarking the wall with dents and finally causing the whole stall wall to tear loose from the concrete and list to one side like a storm-struck double-wide trailer.

  He threw the pipe wrench down. It landed with a splash. “I’ll call the plumber, okay?” His breath was coming like he’d barely beaten the tag at home plate.

  “Okay, thanks.” Alex dropped his hands. “Um, you sure you’re okay? Is there anything you want to talk about?”

  He pushed past Alex, who gave him plenty of room. “No.” He didn’t elaborate. He couldn’t. It’d be a betrayal of his family’s trust.

  Besides, if he ever started talking about everything that ate at him, he’d never stop.

  *

  “I suppose you heard about the flood in the men’s room?”

  God. Willow really hoped Alex had a point to all of this. She was in no mood for his bellyaching about how cheap Paul was and how rundown the field was. Hadn’t he figured out yet that Paul was not his problem?

  Paul had called while she was feeding Jack before the game. She’d let the call roll to voice mail, and he’d left her a brief message to let her know the DNA tests were in and Jack was his. Surprise, surprise. She could have told him that, but it didn’t make sense for her to be bitter. After all, he’d offered to forego the test. Eventually.

  She was bitter anyway.

  Paul had gone on in his message for a while, something about his responsibilities and them getting together, but she’d scarcely listened and hadn’t called him back. She’d told herself she had too much stuff to do.

  The Thrashers won 3–2 when their third baseman hit a walk-off home run in the twelfth inning. She’d been up three times with Jack the night before, which was hard enough even when her workday didn’t extend past midnight. She’d groaned when Alex texted her in a late inning to let her know he wanted to talk after the game, but she duly hitched up her big-girl panties and reported to his cinder block office, wrinkling her nose at the aroma of Lysol and old, sweaty jerseys while she waited for him.

  Alex eyed her, and she shook herself out of her drowsy stupor. What had he said? Something about the men’s room flood. “Yeah, I heard about it. So?” Not the most journalistic response to a subject’s non sequitur, but dammit, she was tired, emotional and didn’t care about water on the men’s room floor.

  “So, this place is falling apart.”

  “I know that, but surely you must know Walter Dudley is to blame.”

  “Yeah, but why doesn’t Paul do something about it? Quit or something?”

  “Do you think Walter Dudley would renovate the stadium if Paul quit tomorrow?”

  Alex shrugged. “At least he’d know he meant business.”

  “Would Walter understanding Paul meant business put fans in the seats or replace the turf or renovate the stadium?”

  He frowned. “You like Paul, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Why bother denying it? The whole world would soon know he was the father of her child. It would look pretty funny if she’d been running around denying even caring about the guy. She’d had enough of this. “Are you finished yet?” Blunt, maybe, but her bed was calling. She couldn’t wait to fall into it.

  “Damn, you and he are both touchy today.”

  “Paul was touchy today?” He hadn’t sounded touchy in his voice mail. Just tired. Handling a bad situation by rote.

  Alex blew hard through his lips. “I’ll say he was. I called him about the flood in the men’s room. He about went apeshit when I told him he ought to ask his father for money to fix up this dump.”

  She raised a brow. Paul out of control? She couldn’t imagine. “Define ‘apeshit.’”

  “He swung the pipe wrench around like a madman, beating the hell out of the bathroom stall. Dented it all over the place. Eventually ripped the damn thing off the wall.” He put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “He’s such a damn tight-ass most of the time, I didn’t know he had emotions.”

  Her eyes widened. “Paul did that?” He had emotions, no matter how tightly he normally kept a rein on them. She’d seen them that night on the beach, and even when he bathed Jack. But she’d never seen anything like the scene Alex described. Even when he kissed her after the mud run—a memory that made her toes curl tight in her flip-flops—he’d retained some semblance of self-mastery. The scene in the men’s room had clearly been a total meltdown. It could only mean one thing.

  Finding out he was Jack’s dad had made him lose it. The rage explosion made it clear how he felt about the DNA test results. Tears pooled, and she was simply too tired to hold them back in. They slid down her face, and before she knew it, she was hiccupping and sobbing in a useless effort to hold them back.

  “Holy Mary, I didn’t mean …” Eyes wide, Alex straightened and came around his desk. He leaned in and put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? Man, it was just a little fit. What’s the matter?”

  He hovered with a concerned look, but she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t get enough control over herself to calmly explain the situation.

  He handed her a tissue from a box on the desk, and she gratefully wiped her eyes. “You want a bottle of water or something?”

  She nodded, and he disappeared for a minute and then came back with one.

  “Cheap-ass won’t spring for a water cooler, so I’ve gotta buy bottled water and keep it in the fridge down the hall.”

  She gave him a look and he bit his lip.

  “Sorry. I forgot you’re in love with the cheap-ass.” He resumed his spot behind his desk.

  “I’m not in love with him.” The denial was reflexive.

  Alex’s brows rose, but he said nothing.

  “He’s not a cheap-ass,” she added.

  Still nothing from Alex.

  She bit her lip. “I don’t think I’m in love with him, anyway.”

  “It’s a big coincidence that sparks fly between you guys like crazy, huh? And that he’s as jealous as hell and gives me the look of death every time I talk to you. And then as soon as you find out he’s upset, you burst into tears. You’re in love, cariña.”

  “It’s not love,” she insisted. “It’s just history.”

  “Yeah? A history of what?”

  She swallowed and looked at the open office door. Alex read her gaze, went to the door and shut it. He turned the latch to lock it. “Want to tell me what’s going on? I’d appreciate it if somebody did. It’s like I’m in a crazy ward around here. Even more than usual.”

  “I might as well tell you. It won’t be long before everyone knows what I’ve done anyway.”

  “That sounds serious. Let me guess, you robbed a bank. Mugged an old lady down on Walnut Street. No, I know. You’re the meth dealer who set the motel on fire.” His eyes sparked.

  She smiled weakly. “No, nothing like that. But I’ve told som
e lies that are going to hurt a lot of people.” She sighed. “This isn’t the first time Paul and I have met. We got together last year during spring training.” She might as well tell him everything. “Actually, we have a son together, whom Paul just found out about.” God, it sounded like such a mess when she described it aloud. “It’s complicated.”

  “Mierda!” He leaned back and blinked. “No wonder he’s all over me every time I smile at you. You should have told me you guys were together.”

  “We aren’t.” She explained the situation, right up until today’s DNA results. “I’m sure he was upset because he’d just found out he was a father.” The tears rose again, so she took a preemptive swallow of water.

  Alex put his hands on the desk and exhaled slowly. “That’s more of a soap opera than I was expecting. No wonder he went ballistic.”

  “I’m sure it can’t come as a surprise to you there’s a serious power struggle going on between Paul and his dad.”

  “I’d say his father has won.”

  “He owns the team. There’s not a lot Paul can do about that. If he walked out and his father had no one to counterbalance him, do you think things would be better?”

  Alex shrugged. “He should quit.”

  “It’s his legacy. The legacy of generations of Dudleys here in Plainview. He’s not the kind of guy to let that go, to walk away from a situation because it’s difficult. He’s a good soldier.” The enormity of that struck her. “This team is his heritage. It’ll be Jack’s heritage too.”

  Alex let out a low whistle. “You told old man Dudley that yet?”

  “No.”

  He shook his head. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall when that conversation takes place, cariña.”

  “Yeah,” she said weakly. “So would I.” Being a fly on the wall sounded much safer than actually telling Walter Dudley she’d borne his grandchild.

  *

  “I think you should move into my house. Wait, hear me out.” Paul stretched his hands out to block her from closing the door in his face. “It’s not like it sounds.”

  “It sounds like a cheap excuse to get me to sleep with you,” Willow said, standing in the doorway like a roadblock. She made no effort to invite him inside. “Is that what it is?”