He didn’t know how much she knew about minor league baseball, so he figured he’d better explain a bit. But how did one going about explaining it to a six-year-old? He took a bite as he thought about what to say. “What grade are you in again, Lindsey?” The pizza was surprisingly decent, considering this was a kids’ restaurant.
“First grade,” she said proudly. “My teacher’s name is Miss Abernathy.”
“So you’re probably really excited for second grade, right?”
She nodded. “I can’t wait. I hope I get Mrs. Bechtel. She wears really funny hats.”
“But in order to make it to second grade, you need to pass everything in first grade. That’s kind of how my rehab in the minor leagues goes. If my knee feels better, and I learn all my lessons on the Rapids, which is like first grade, I’ll make it back to the Stingrays, which is like second grade.”
Lindsey slapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. “You’re in first grade just like me.” Her giggle was contagious and pretty soon Jack and Beth were both grinning too.
“It’s not given that you’ll move back up again once your leg is completely healed?” Beth piped in, speaking for the first time in a few minutes. She picked a piece of pineapple off her plate and plopped it into her mouth, sucking the sauce from her thumb and forefinger.
Jack swallowed. Hard. Then cleared his throat. He took a long, cold swig of his Coke. He cleared his throat again. “Nothing is a given in baseball, especially since I’m in a contract year. I’ll be a free agent after this season. So I need to prove I’m healthy in the minors, then hopefully get my spot back on the Stingrays’ roster.” He couldn’t imagine much worse than that day not happening.
Lindsey’s expression was earnest. “I think your knee is going to be all better real fast and then you can play on TV again.” She still thought of him only as the player she watched on television. He was Jack-Mack. Not Jack McCauley, certainly not ‘Daddy’, and not even a friend at this point.
That’s how he wanted it. That’s how it needed to be. But the thought still tasted sour.
He cleared his throat. “Thanks, Lindsey. Let’s keep our fingers crossed, okay?”
She held up both hands to show her crossed fingers. Jack did the same. “Mommy!” Lindsey whined. “You have to cross your fingers, too.”
Beth dutifully raised her hands. She smiled, but her eyes shone with anxiety and apprehension, as they had on and off throughout the afternoon.
“Say, Lindsey?” He pulled a handful of tokens from the center of the table and motioned to the video arcade against the far wall. “I bet you have a favorite game you’d like to play while your mom and I talk about grown-up stuff.” He glanced at Beth, who was staring at him. “I mean, if that’s okay with your mom.”
Lots of little kids were over there; he just assumed it would be okay for Lindsey to go. Beth nodded her consent.
Lindsey jumped up from her chair. “Then will you come and play with me?”
“I, ah—” He scratched the area behind his ear. Play video games with a kid? Not just any kid but his biological kid? He looked to Beth for guidance. She sat with her arms crossed, watching him. No help there. He knew she was testing him. “I’m not really into arcade games.” Lindsey’s bottom lip trembled like she was about to cry. Beth’s mouth thinned and her eyes narrowed. Damn. “I mean, I’m not very good at them.” Lindsey’s lip stopped trembling but she still didn’t look happy. Beth continued to glare. Shit. What did she expect from him? He scratched at his itchy skin. “But if your mom says it’s okay, maybe you could teach me how to play?”
Lindsey jumped up and down as she looked to her mom for approval. At Beth’s slow-in-coming nod, Lindsey grabbed the tokens and skipped across the room.
He watched her dart between the crowded tables. She was so cute, her pigtails bobbing from beneath her Rapids baseball cap. He swiveled back toward Beth. There was that expression again. “Stop looking at me like that.”
Her eyes widened, startled. “Like what?”
Jack sighed. “Like you can’t make up your mind whether you’ve ruined my life or I’m about to ruin yours.” She visibly flinched at that. “Neither of us expected this to happen.” He gestured toward Lindsey. “But it has, and we need to make the best of it.”
Her jaw clenched and she sat up straighter. Damn. What did he say wrong now?
“See, that’s where I have a problem. You make Lindsey sound like a disease, something you wish you didn’t have but now that you do, you need to deal with it.” Her voice shook, and she crossed her arms over her chest.
Is that really how he came across? Jeez, no wonder she was so antagonistic and protective. “Beth. I’m sorry.” He glanced across the crowded room at Lindsey, who ran back and forth down the line of games, trying to figure out which one to play. “Obviously, I don’t think of her in those terms. I’m just—” Just what? He had no clue. Confused. Conflicted. Overwhelmed. “I’m a selfish jerk, I guess, if that’s how I’m coming across.”
Beth stared at him a moment, then her chest rose and fell with a loud sigh, but she didn’t deny his description. Because it was true. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said, her voice soft. “What you’re feeling.”
Why did women always want to talk about feelings? He squirmed on the hard plastic seat. His gaze sought out Lindsey, where she played a whack-a-mole type of game. She put her whole body into swinging the mallet, trying to hit the little creature that randomly popped up through holes. “I wish I could tell you. As I’ve said before, it’s all very surreal. It’s hard to believe that little girl has my blood. I—”
Lindsey ran back to the table and grabbed his arm. “Climb in the tubes with me, Jack-Mack.”
“Lindsey! Your manners,” Beth said, a stern expression on her face. Damn, she was cute.
“Jack-Mack, will you pretty please come play in the tubes with me?”
“Tubes?” Jack glanced from Lindsey to Beth and back to Lindsey again. He just realized she had his eyes. The same gray-blue that was hard to describe on his driver’s license. The pizza gurgled in his stomach.
Lindsey pointed across the room, where a maze of tubing ran the length of the back wall, bending, turning, twisting. Kids of all ages and sizes crawled through the clear plastic tunnels.
She wanted him to go in there? With all those other little kids? And parents? His skin began to itch. Like a contagious rash. “Uh, I don’t think so.”
There was that wobbly bottom lip again.
Playing around in tubes with a bunch of kids just wasn’t his thing. “I mean, I don’t think I’d fit.”
“Yes, you would. Heather Tomlinson’s mommy fits and she’s really, really fat.”
Beth covered her mouth for a cough. Or was it a laugh? “Lindsey, that’s not a very nice thing to say.”
“But it’s true.” Lindsey’s bottom lip thrust out. Petulant little thing.
From the side of his mouth, Jack asked Beth, “Is it true?”
Beth bit her lip as if trying not to laugh. “Well… yeah. It is.”
“See?” Lindsey tugged on his forearm. “You won’t get stuck. If you do, Mommy will save you.”
Chapter Six
“Well, it’s nice of you to finally call me back.”
“Sorry, Mom. I’ve been really busy.” Jack resisted the urge to cross his fingers behind his back, even though it wasn’t really a lie. He propped his foot on the coffee table in front of him and leaned forward, trying to stretch out a tight hamstring. Man, he was inflexible.
He’d turned the TV to the ballgame. Stingrays were playing Seattle, so it was being broadcast on the local sports station. Seattle was currently up 3-0 in the bottom of the seventh. But his backup—his replacement—was having a great game. A homerun, two singles, and a couple of awesome plays at the plate. Dammit.
He muted the game.
“Too busy to call your mom?”
“Too busy to do much of anything but play ball.” And meet his biological ch
ild. He still could now think those words without feeling sick to his stomach, so that was progress.
“You’re just like your dad. Always too busy for anything else.” Her tone was light, but Jack heard the undercurrent of frustration. “I had a dream that you hurt your other leg.”
“God, Mom. Don’t even say that.”
She laughed. “You ball players are so superstitious. You still put a shiny new penny in your left pocket before every game?”
“It’s the right pocket. And of course.”
She tsk tsked through the phone. “How is your bad knee, by the way?”
“It’s not a ‘bad’ knee, it’s an injury. And it’s fine.”
“You and your father could have your legs cut off and be bleeding to death, and you’d both say you’re fine.” She sighed under her breath. “Did you win your game today?”
“Nope. Lost again. Third in a row.”
“I’m sure you played well.”
“I’m sure you’d be wrong.” His playing had been less than stellar these past few outings. He knew it was because his head wasn’t in the game. It was on something—someone, two someones actually—else. “I don’t suppose Dad’s around?” He couldn’t believe he was thinking this, but he really needed his dad to kick some sense into him. Ed McCauley had always been a bit more like a strict coach than a father. His dad now was an analyst for ESPN’s baseball show.
“During baseball season? Are you kidding? I never see him this time of year, you know that.”
“It’s his job, Mom.”
“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that excuse.”
He knew his mom was lonely. Her kids lived in different states—Jack in Washington for the time being, and Paula in Colorado. Neither child was within driving distance to her home in Chicago. And, of course, her husband was never home. And even when he was home, he was focused on something other than her. She’d told Jack once that until he could separate his passion for the game from his personal life, he shouldn’t get married. It wouldn’t be fair to his wife or any children he might have. At the time, he’d thought she was just being a bit melodramatic. But now, he got it. And he agreed.
“What game is Dad covering?” The next best thing to playing the game, was talking about the game, his dad always said.
Jack didn’t agree. There was no next best thing to playing the game.
“He’s in New York. I don’t know who’s playing.”
“Yankees, Red Sox. Should be a great game.” He grabbed the remote and scrolled through the guide to find that game as his mom filled him in about what was going on in her life and his dad’s. He couldn’t find the Yankees game—which was just wrong—so he turned it back to San Diego-Seattle.
He was happy for the team that his replacement was doing well. But the immature, egotistical side of himself wished the guy would totally suck.
He returned his focus to his conversation with his mom. She’d said something about his sister.
“Did you say Paula broke up with her boyfriend?”
“Yes. Apparently, Tom was devastated.” She paused, and Jack knew she was probably shaking her head and feeling sorry for the guy. “Why would either of my children want to have a long-term relationship that might lead to marriage and—God forbid—a grandchild or two for me?” He pictured his mom’s amused but sad at the same time smile.
Lindsey’s image flashed into his mind. God, his mom would flip out if she knew about her.
Speaking of... He cleared his throat and hoped his voice sounded casual as he asked, “Hey, do you still keep my fan letters?” Early in his career, his mom had been mortified to learn that he tossed out his fan mail after he’d read it. So he’d started sending his mom some of the letters that were particularly nice or interesting.
“Of course. Well, most of them anyway. I threw away all the ones from women wanting to have your baby and men in prison wanting to be your baby.” She laughed. Jack did too, but it sounded forced even to his ears.
If she only knew. About that first scenario. Not the second.
“Could you do me a favor and see if you can find one from a little girl named Lindsey? She would have sent it right after I got hurt.”
“Sure, honey. Keep talking to me and I’ll see if I can find it...” Her voice trailed off and he heard a drawer opening, then rifling of papers. Knowing his mom, she’d organized all the letters by date or something. He’d have just shoved them all into a box, haphazardly.
“You must be in your office.”
“I was just sitting down to write when you called.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Don’t be silly. A mother never minds being interrupted by her children. Now your father on the other hand...”
His mom had recently taken up writing romance novels and self-publishing them under her maiden name. As she’d told him, she needed something to occupy her time, since her husband was never around and her kids lived in different states. She needed some way to fulfill her romantic side, since her husband wasn’t doing his part, she’d said more than once.
Exactly why Jack would be a crappy husband, too.
“Oh, here it is. And, oh look. Lindsey Faye Darrow—she has my middle name. How sweet is that?”
Jack’s gut twisted at her words. Beth must’ve done that on purpose. It couldn’t be a coincidence. He’d have to ask her.
His mom started to read the letter. “Dear Jack-Mack, you’re my—”
“Wait. Mom.”
She stopped reading.
“Do you mind, um, scanning it and sending it to me?”
“What? Oh, sure. Hold on a sec, honey, and I’ll do it right now.” He heard some more rustling, some electronic beeps. “Okay, it’s scanning.”
Jack picked up his iPad and opened up his email account.
“Why the interest in this letter?”
He knew she’d asked that. It was an obvious question. “I um, met Lindsey and her mom at a ball signing here in town. She mentioned sending it to me, so...” His email pinged. “Got it.” He expanded the letter to full size on the tablet screen.
Dear Jack Mack,
I’m sorry you hurt your leg bad. Your my faverit baseball player in the hole wide werld. I play baseball too. I play kacher sumtimes. When I’m older I will play picher. Your a really good kacher. I have a cat named Jack. I use to call her Molly because my dad told me girl cats ca’nt be named Jack. But my dad died so now I call her Jack again. I hope you get better really fast so you can play kacher again.
Love, Lindsey Faye Darrow
Jack’s gut clenched and he suddenly found it hard to swallow.
“Did you read it?” his mom asked. “Is that the cutest thing ever, or what? Other than the poor girl losing her father.”
Jack didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just mumbled an “Uh huh” into the phone. Of all the fan letters he’d received over the years, why had he kept this particular one and sent it on to his mom? It wasn’t because it was from a child—he got lots of those. And it wasn’t because she’d named a cat after him, because he’d had babies named after him, pets, and one particularly crazy female fan had named her boyfriend’s penis “Jack-Mack” so she would think about him every time she had sex. Yuck.
What was it about this letter that prompted him to keep it?
“So you met her and her mom, eh? Is the mom by any chance single?”
“Mom.”
“Because a step-grandchild would be almost as good as a biological grandchild.”
***
“Renata, the meal is fantastic as usual. Thank you.” Beth smiled at her former mother-in-law and took another bite of dumpling.
Renata made the same thing almost every time they came over here—Knedlíky, a food from her childhood, because the Czech dumplings were Lindsey’s favorite. Tonight, they were served with meatloaf, another favorite.
“I sure appreciate you feeding us again,” Beth said. Thunder shook the house and the lights flickered. Lindsey cla
pped her hands. She loved storms.
Renata smiled and reached across the small table to pat Beth’s hand. “Why should any of us ever eat alone, eh?” she asked, her voice still retaining the accent from her home country even though she’d lived in the United States since marrying David’s dad thirty years ago. “You work yourself to the bone with those two jobs.” She mumbled something in Czech under her breath. “If you moved in with me, you wouldn’t have to work at the call center. Just one job. It is enough.”
“Do-Overs is fun for the most part. It doesn’t really feel like work.” The plan was to grow the store enough to allow her and her sisters to work there full time if they wanted to. She wanted to, because her job at the call center... now that felt like work. She spent her entire shift, every shift, dealing with ticked off cable customers. The job had erratic hours, was stressful, unrewarding, and often overwhelming. But it paid most of the bills and gave her and Lindsey health insurance.
But she and her sisters needed to figure out how to drum up more business in the store. This month had been especially slow. It didn’t help that it had been raining more than usual. No one wanted to go shopping downtown when it was raining buckets outside.
Renata didn’t let it drop. “This house is much bigger than yours. You could save on rent money.” They’d had this conversation several times since David’s death. But living next door to Renata was hard enough. She loved her former mother-in-law, and appreciated Renata letting her rent the house next door for way below the going rate, but she drew the line at living with her. Sharing a fence was enough.
Thankfully, Lindsey changed the subject. “Guess what, Grandma?” she stuffed a big piece of meatloaf into her mouth.
“What, sweetums?” Renata reached over the table and used her fork to cut Lindsey’s portion into smaller bites.
Beth bit back her comment that Lindsey was old enough to do that herself.
“Guess who took me and Mommy to Charlie Cheesie yesterday?” As if to punctuate that question, lightning flashed outside.
Oh, crap. Beth’s stomach clenched.
Summer on Main Street Page 88