League of Her Own

by Faith O'Shea

  “Very well. I am impressed with Leo’s methods. He’s the infield coach, and I’ll be working with him over the next two weeks. There will be two others joining me. Matteo Alvarez, he’s from Cuba and will play third base, and Sebastian Layden, who’s been with their farm system, will be in left field.”

  “What’s a farm system?”

  She’d taken a stool at the island and was suddenly interested in knowing about the game. She might find it hard keeping up in groups, but she loved to talk one-on-one. Especially with him.

  He leaned against the counter and explained, “It’s where young players get experience. Every team has a triple A team and double A team among others, and those drafted work their way up until the hit the big show.”

  She assumed the big show was slang for the big leagues.

  “Sort of a metaphor for home grown. That’s cute. Where did you farm?”

  He chuckled. “I played with the Gulf Coast League my first year. Then out of Trenton.”

  He rose and got a big pot out of one of the drawers, placed it on a burner and poured some oil into it. He squashed and peeled some garlic before adding it, then picked up a thing-a-ma-jig to scrape along the bottom. After opening a container, he lifted out chucks of beef and placed them in as well. He readjusted the heat and stood over the pot and watched the sizzle.

  “Did you play much while you were in New York?”

  “No. They have an all-star shortstop. I spent most of my time on the bench as back-up and pinch hitter. I filled in for him and the second baseman when they needed a day off.”

  “I bet you didn’t like that, being the best and all.”

  “Even I have to admit, the guy is better. But only to a few.”

  “Another one of those deep, dark secrets?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I am sharing many with you.”

  He glanced up from his pot and his eyes were questioning, as if he didn’t understand that himself.

  She shrugged in response. “I have that way about me.”

  Not exactly invisible, but insufficient enough that she offered no threat. Women in science had to do incredible, mind-provoking things to be noticed, and even then, they stood outside the circle of acceptance.

  He was looking at some point in the distance and then began talking as if to himself. Her invisibility cloak was doing its job.

  “I got inside my head, but not in a good way. I figured I’d never get the starting position, so I started slacking off. Then when I’d get into a game, I’d screw up. It didn’t endear me to my teammates.”

  She didn’t know whether he expected a response, but she gave him one just to prove she was here.

  “I guess I can understand that. It sucks when you have what it takes but something holds you back.”

  She didn’t have to guess. She knew but she wasn’t ready to share her own deep, dark secrets with him quite yet.

  His eyes found hers, as if remembering he wasn’t alone, and he shrugged, admitting, “I’m what’s holding me back.”

  He went back to his task without another word. Added the mushrooms and onions to the pan and stirred. The scent began to permeate the room. She inhaled, teasing her stomach. He brought her back from the sensory experience, his expression somber.

  “I let my thinking affect my attitude. Someone once said that your success doesn’t come from your talent, it comes from what’s in your head. The game’s ninety per cent mental. That’s what I meant when I said baseball was a more cerebral game. In soccer, you run, chase, steal the ball, run some more. There’s strategy but you don’t need the attention to detail that you do in baseball. You don’t have the seconds to think between pitches or a throw that should be automatic.”

  “What are you thinking now?”

  “That I have a chance at starting at a position I am good at, for a team that came close to winning the World Series last year. I’m in a good head space and I intend to stay there.”

  “New leaf?”

  “New attitude.”

  “It’s easy to have that now, isn’t it?”

  She’d have a new lease on life if she could get a job. It would make her feel useful, and it would signify her last eight years hadn’t been a waste of time. Was she going into her interviews with a preconceived notion she wouldn’t be hired? If she was, the members of the hiring committee would pick up on it… She’d have to go over a mental checklist, see where her answers were deficient in confidence.

  “It would be if there wasn’t a lot of…uncertainty attached to it.” He looked up, met here eyes. “What if I can’t get back to where I was?”

  Interesting question. She asked herself the same one daily and suggested to him what she’d been telling herself.

  “Then I guess you’ll have to work harder.”

  “That’s why I’m here early. I wanted to get a jump start on it. Figure out what the expectations are. If there’s a lot of pressure on me to win, I might… not—”

  “I thought you said it was a team sport. There’s no I in team, is there?”

  He laughed then, lessening the tension he’d been radiating.

  “There isn’t, no.”

  “Any expectation for you to carry the team would be your own. That leaves an I, with nowhere to fit.”

  “I like that. You have a way with words that hit the bull’s eye. Can I hire you to be my mental coach? Then you won’t have to walk dogs in the cold for a living.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him the truth, but she bit it off. There was no reason for him to know. Soon, she’d be gone and so would he, never to meet again. And it was almost fun keeping him in the dark. People looked at her differently once they knew she was smart. He thought she was a bit loopy with a slightly off-the-grid kind of job and she was enjoying it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After Enrique had dished out the meal, he took a seat across from Fifi at the kitchen table, quite pleased with the way it had come out. He felt a sense of pride in a job well done, and that he’d created it from the ingredients he’d purchased himself made it even more satisfying. He just hoped she liked it. He’d never done this before, cooked for someone other than himself, and he was surprised how much he’d enjoyed it.

  He held his breath as she took her first mouthful.

  When she licked her lips and smiled, he let it out.

  “It’s very good. Is it a family recipe?”

  “Yes. My mother gave me the recipe when I moved away from home. I have a box of family favorites packed away somewhere, although I haven’t used them all yet.”

  Fiona ripped off a piece of roll he’d heated for dipping, soaked it and popped it in her mouth. This cultural delicacy didn’t have noodles, so he’d supplemented the staple with another kind of carb.

  “What does she look like?”

  He flashed his eyes up at her. The question had come out of nowhere. “You want to know what my mother looks like?”

  “Yes. I see the similarities in you and Izabella, so I know you get those traits from your father, the common denominator. What did you inherit from your mother? Paint a picture.”

  He tilted his head in concentration, summoning up an image of Livia.

  “She has auburn hair, a light complexion, deep amber eyes—”

  “The shape?”

  He pinched his lips together. “Mm. I’ve never thought about it before. Give me some examples.”

  “Almond, wide-set, sunken, puppy-dog, round—”

  “Yes, round.”

  “Like yours.”

  “Yes, although I think mine would be like hers not the other way around.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re right. What else?”

  “Hands and feet. She has a lower arch than my father and she has longer fingers. My father’s are on the stubby side. Why the interest in my genetics?”

  She hesitated for the briefest of moments before stating, “Just curious is all.”

  He rose half way out of his seat and
extracted his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a worn photo from one of the compartments. “Here, not that you see her very clearly. It’s too small to get the full affect.”

  It was a picture of the whole family, Jaco and Izabella included, on one of their visits to Brazil. Paolo had hired a photographer and they’d sat together. From looking at it, you couldn’t tell it was a blended family.

  Instead of the smile he’d thought he’d see on her face, there was more an expression of analysis, as if she was measuring something quantitative. She proved it when she said, “She’s on the small side, as is your father.” The smile came when she looked up and joked, “Probably why you didn’t get the tall part of the threesome that wins hearts.”

  She had skipped that when she’d described his appeal to women, mentioning only dark and handsome.

  Almost indignantly, he scoffed, “I’m not that short.”

  “You don’t have to get defensive. It’s not a criticism. Just a fact. You’re not what most refer to as tall. You’re what five ten, five eleven?”

  “Somewhere between there.”

  “You’re dad the same?”

  “Yes. I always thought I got the best of both. You’re telling me I have a deficiency.”

  She chuckled. “I’m not telling you anything of the sort.”

  He knew he was sounding childish, but he couldn’t seem to control his next question, as if to prove she had one, too. “Who’d you get your hair from?”

  She never flinched, and with deprecating humor, she said, “The mailman?”

  “For real?”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “No, not for real. I’m the only one in my immediate family who has curly hair. I’d have to go back a couple of generations to find that unruly gene. Are you implying it’s a deficiency? I’ve got more than one and I’ve learned to live with them.”

  “I shouldn’t have asked. It was doing exactly what you’ve accused. It was mean.”

  “And calling me Fifi?”

  He certainly wasn’t going to tell her it was what had popped into his head when she told him her name. Maybe it was the dog-walking thing, maybe it was her hair that reminded him of his family’s poodle, maybe it just suited her. It wasn’t the nicest name he’d called a woman, but she was stuck with it now.

  “Your name is Fiona; some might call you Fi. I’ve doubled it.”

  She’d pushed the bowl away. It was wiped clean of sauce which made his chest swell with pride. It was gone in a flash when she cut him a sharp look.

  “No one calls me Fi.”

  Frustration spilled out along with another revelation.

  “Okay, to be honest, I remember faces, but I have a terrible memory for names. It helped me remember yours.”

  “Mnemonic association. Interesting. I hope your future wife has a name you can play with. It will make it easier to cry out her name…at the right time.”

  “I will know her name when the time comes.”

  “I’d refrain from giving her a dog’s name. It might hamper any attempt at getting her to agree to marry you.”

  “I didn’t give you a dog’s name.”

  She picked up her phone and her thumbs began to type. Then she waited. Then scrolled.

  What was she doing?

  “Okay, mea culpa. Fifi’s not even in the top fifty names.”

  “You just Googled that?”

  “I was curious, so yeah.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat.”

  “But wasn’t it an answer that brought her back?”

  “Perhaps. It could also be that that particular cat had nine lives and hadn’t used them all up yet.”

  He noticed a smile slip out before she got up and began to clear the table. “The meal was delicious, and I thank you for sharing it.”

  “That was the deal, was it not?”

  “It was but you went over and above. You also bought lots of things to pick on. I’ll be in seventh heaven tomorrow.”

  “No plans?”

  “Not really. I…I’ve decided to look at this as a break. I’ve worked non-stop since high school and I’m beginning to think I deserve one.”

  “Walking dogs?”

  “That…among other things.”

  His phone rang and he swiped to answer, leaving the room as soon as he heard the voice.

  “Oi, meu amor.”

  Giovanna was one of the women who’d struck his fancy last trip home. Long honey-colored hair, exotic eyes which always attracted him. She was a bit taller than he was, but he didn’t think that would be a problem. The thing that was hanging him up was her lack of curiosity about the world. He was afraid life could get boring with someone less intelligent than he was, someone who yessed him to death.

  “When are you coming back Enrique? I am missing you.”

  Her accent was thick, but she was making the attempt to speak in English, something he required of all the women he was considering a match. If they were going to live in Boston, she’d have to be able to communicate with his friends.

  “I’ve got a couple of weeks here, then a few days there before the season officially begins. It won’t be long now.”

  “You can’t come sooner?”

  He was sure she’d meant to coo but it had come out as a whine. It was turning him off.

  “I can’t. I have an obligation to the team. That will come before everything and everyone.”

  “You will put me last? For a game?”

  “Not last, Vanni, but during the season my focus must be on my job.”

  “I will be bored while you are away, no?”

  Probably. Without anything to occupy her mind…

  He’d been wrong in thinking she would fit the mold. He mentally crossed her off the list.

  “I think it best you stay in Brazil. Your playmates are there.”

  “Let me know when you get in. Maybe I can convince you otherwise.”

  “Probably not a good idea. Goodbye.”

  He swiped off, studied his phone.

  What had seemed a sure thing had crumbled to dust. Fortunately, there were several other women he could woo who weren’t so self-absorbed.

  He was pulled back when he heard the slider opening to the back yard. Fifi must be taking Hoover out, and he backtracked into the kitchen, the spotlights casting a glow across the snow-covered lawn. Woman and dog were chasing each other, slip-sliding on the crusted ice. When Fifi fell on her rear, she laughed, and he felt a smile of pure masculine pleasure spread across his face.

  After grabbing his coat, he joined them, Hoover racing over to butt against his side in a happy dance.

  It threw him off-balance, and he found himself sitting on the hard, cold ground after losing his footing.

  A laugh erupted, his self-deprecation surprising him.

  “It’s a bit slippery out here.”

  He did his best to get up, but his shoes had no traction. Fifi had come out prepared, her boots better able to handle the ice and imitating a penguin, she walked over to where he sat and extended a hand.

  By the time she helped him to his feet, Hoover was ready for another romp around the yard. Fiona found a stick that was half-buried in the snow and threw it, Hoover immediately setting off to retrieve it. The dog brought it back but was unwilling to let it go so the game could continue. Fiona tussled with her for it, but she wasn’t willing to let her fingers get too close to the teeth that gripped it. She raised her arms in the air and said, “Fine, be like that.”

  She jumped back when Hoover was hit with a flying snowball, wet slush exploding all over her coat. The canine yelped, dropped the stick and went charging after him as if she knew he’d thrown it. He could hear FiFi’s laughter as Hoover chased him in circles until the dog took him down, her paws resting on his chest as if proving she was winner of their game.

  He rubbed her head, she licked his face, then trotted off to pee. Once she was done, she returned to the door and barked, wanting in. Fifi ran over, gave her some loving be
fore sliding the door open and bounded in after her. He carefully trailed behind.

  Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her smile infectious.

  “I have got to get a dog when I finally have a bigger place.”

  He shrugged out of his coat and was ready to dump it on the stair rail but stopped just in time. He took hers, and while he was hanging them side by side, he asked, “Where do you live?”

  “A four-room condo in the next town over.”

  “Rent, own?”

  “Rent. I don’t know where I’ll end up, so I don’t want to buy until I do.”

  He scratched at his temple, trying to understand.

  “You would relocate for walking dogs?”

  A small frown appeared on her face, her expression one of uneasiness. Then it was gone, and she said, matter-of-factly, “You relocated.”

  “I’m making a bit more money than you are. I go where they pay me.”

  “And you would have gone to…” She looked up and met his eyes. “Who’s the worst team in the league?”

  He didn’t even have to think about it. “Cincinnati.”

  “You would have gone there?”

  “I have no choice at this point in my career. I’ll need to play a few more years before I get the right to decline a trade.”

  “That’s kind of like slavery, isn’t it?”

  She was glad her days of slave labor were behind her. That was one of the downsides to being a doctoral student. Very little pay for lots of hours.

  “It’s the way it’s done.”

  “I’m not sure I’d like it.”

  “I got lucky, so I can’t complain. What do you want to do tonight?”

  Taking a slight step back she asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been told I have to live clean and healthy, which means I can’t go out. I’m hoping you’ll take pity on me…again…and help me find something to do.”

  She seemed to relax at that, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “It’s a good thing I did a summer as camp counselor, although I think arts and crafts is all that’s left. We’ve already tried to run around outside, and we can’t swim or canoe.”