Chapter Fourteen
Dave returned to the dugout nearly two weeks later and Matt slapped his back.
“Life doesn’t get much better than this, buddy,” Matt said with a grin.
With the Condors up by two runs, Dave had just completed one of the sharpest double plays of his career. He’d also hit a double at his first at-bat, driving in the go-ahead run. And after they won the game, he was Texas-bound for quality time with Mel and Tara. He couldn’t wait to see his little girl in that purple dress.
He was on top of the world, all right. He grinned at Matt. “Practice makes perfect.”
His practice time with Matt helped. A lot. But his current success was due to more than practice. His confidence was back. With that, every ball he touched was golden.
He proved that to himself again at bat when a well-placed fly ball dropped between the center and left fielders. Another double—and this time, Matt brought him home.
“Nice job, Reynolds,” Jerry said when he trotted into the dugout.
“Thanks.”
Jerry put his hand on Dave’s shoulder to halt his progress to the bench. “Tilton tweaked his ankle last inning. I want you to take his spot in right field.”
“Sure.” He’d been expecting a position swap since Jerry mentioned the Tornadoes’ manager was asking about his versatility. He had no problem with proving he could play outfield.
When the Condors took the field at the top of the eighth, he assumed his new position and then squinted at home plate. Was it supposed to look so far away?
His eyes adjusted, and before long, he caught a fly for the first out. Another Vancouver batter connected with the ball, sending it to left field for a base hit. With Devils on first and third, a foul ball headed his way. It dropped before he could get to it, so he scooped it up and tossed it into the crowd. A kid in a Devils hat caught it.
The Condors retired the last Devils batter with no score. Dave headed back in to a few words of praise from Jerry, along with a “Stay in right field” directive. He nodded. He was rocking right field—especially throwing fouls to the crowd. Giving fans a piece of the game was the best part of an outfielder’s job.
The eighth ended without the Condors scoring any runs, either, leaving it 7-4 at the top of the ninth. Dave trotted back out to his new position, ready to close out the game so he could shower and hop a plane home to his girls.
Things stayed quiet in right field for the first few plays. Then a foul ball hurtled his way. This time, Dave reached it in time. The ball dropped neatly into his glove. He took it out, held it up for the ump and scanned the crowd to see who wanted it.
There, by the railing. A guy at the game with a child on either side. No doubt they were his kids, since all three wore matching Devils T-shirts. His glove was outstretched.
Dave smiled to himself as he lobbed the ball toward the man. It’d make a great souvenir for the family. Only after he released the ball did he notice the guy was standing on the railing.
Pleasure disintegrated into sickening dread as the man wobbled while reaching the ball. Farther and farther he stretched—until he tumbled over the rail and dropped into the outfield with a stomach-turning thud.
Dave rushed to the man’s side and tried not to throw up. The guy was breathing—barely, it seemed. He looked up into the stunned faces of the children he’d been trying to make happy and his gut pitched again. He managed to lurch a few steps away before his lunch came back up, so at least he didn’t puke on the fan he’d just maimed.
“Son, this is not your fault.” Jerry’s voice was in Dave’s ear and his hand was on his shoulder.
Yeah, right. No one else threw that ball. Dave shrugged the manager off. Instead, he watched the paramedics load the man onto a stretcher. Jerry had a few words with the paramedics and then returned to Dave’s side.
“They say his prognosis is good.”
“I don’t see how.”
“I like to think they know more about the human body than we do, Reynolds.” Jerry’s eyes softened. “If it’ll ease your mind, go to the hospital with him. They won’t let you ride in the ambulance, but they’re taking him to St. Catherine’s. The organization will cover your cab fare.”
“Really?” The organization hadn’t even bothered to spring for new bats this season. No doubt Jerry volunteered for them.
Jerry nodded. “Get outta here.”
****
“Tara, sweetheart, bath time.”
Mel stood at the back door, calling to her daughter, who tooled around the yard on one of the smallest bikes Mel had ever seen. It arrived via FedEx the other day, along with a copy of Dave’s travel itinerary.
He planned to hop a plane as soon as the game ended, and the flight landed in Amarillo an hour and a half before the dance. A rental car would be waiting at the airport, and he’d drive to Brannen just in time to pick Tara up for the dance.
Mel worried he was cutting things too close, but he swore he’d be able to make it. That meant it was time for Tara to start getting ready. “Now, Tara Sue Cline.”
Tara hopped off the bike and came running. She stopped at the bottom step, her head cocked to the left. “Mamma, why is my name different from Daddy’s?”
“You have my name, sweetie.”
Her head straightened and her bottom lip edged out. “Why?”
Where was this coming from? Mel kept the answer simple. “’Cause your daddy and I aren’t married.”
“Why not?”
The question made Mel cringe. Why not, indeed? She’d promised herself she’d always answer Tara’s questions truthfully. Especially questions about her father. At the same time, she couldn’t very well admit to her daughter that neither of them had been ready to be parents. She never wanted Tara to suspect she’d been unplanned…wonder if she was unwanted. “No more time for questions, missy. Get in the tub so you’ll be ready for Daddy.”
Tara’s big sigh drowned out Mel’s amped-up heartbeat. “O-kay.” She stomped up the porch steps. The screen door thumped closed behind her.
Mel called out after her. “Don’t forget to scrub behind your knees and under your arms.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Mel knew that response, one filled with all the attitude of a child three times Tara’s age. It meant Mel’s request went in one ear and out the other, and the only hope of making sure it actually got done would be to watch Tara until she complied.
She gave her daughter a few minutes to herself first. While she waited, she checked her watch. Two hours until Dave arrived. That gave her just enough time to feed Tara dinner and get her gussied up for the dance.
Mel put a pot of water on to boil for the mac and cheese they’d have with organic hot dogs and frozen peas and then headed to the bathroom to check on her daughter.
Beneath mounds of bubbles, Tara was barely visible in the tub. Mel shook her head. Someday, her lesson on adding just a capful of bubble bath would stick.
Until then? The bubbles got under Tara’s arms, even if the washcloth wouldn’t.
“Ten more minutes in the tub, sweetheart. Then dinner.”
Tara’s head popped out of the bubbles. “Is Daddy here?”
“Not yet. We have another couple hours until he’ll arrive.”
When Tara dove back under the bubbles without another word, Mel rolled her eyes. Moody and mouthy wasn’t the greatest combination on a four-year-old.
When she returned to the kitchen, Lu stood at the stove with a wooden spoon in her hand. She pointed to the now-open blue box. “Figured this was dinner.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Heard from Muscles yet?”
She checked her watch again. “His plane should be landing in a few minutes.”
“Cutting it close, is he?”
“Thank you.” Lu’s skepticism made her own doubts feel less crazy. She continued talking while she rummaged in the refrigerator for the all-beef franks she preferred to put in Tara’s stomach—and her own. “I thou
ght so, too, but he swears he’ll make it.”
By the time Tara wandered into the kitchen, wrapped in her blue bathrobe, dinner was ready. After she gobbled down everything on her plate without complaining, Luanne ruffled her hair. “Ready to get ready for the dance, kid?”
“Yep.”
They spent forty-five minutes prepping Tara for her first dance. When they were finished, her daughter looked every inch a princess. From the fat banana curls in her hair to the shiny patent-leather shoes on her feet, she was all little girl—maybe for the first time in her young life. Certainly for the first time since Tara started expressing her own clothing preferences.
Mel couldn’t keep tears from springing to her eyes. “You look pretty as a picture, sweetheart.”
Tara’s answering smile lit the room.
“We have to capture this moment.” Lu pulled out her smartphone and started snapping away.
She snapped pictures of Tara alone and others of her with Mel, until Tara wandered off to peer through the living room window. “Where’s Daddy?”
Mel checked her watch again. “He’ll be here in a few minutes. Why don’t you read until he arrives?”
“’Kay.” She boosted herself onto the couch with a Dr. Seuss book and started flipping through the pages. Mel took up a vigil at the window and watched for the headlights of Dave’s rental SUV.
Tension wound her tighter with each passing second. When the appointed minute passed with no sign of Dave, she pressed her fist into her stomach to break up the lump that had settled there. That second hot dog had been a bad choice.
Lu’s whisper was barely audible. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”
“He’ll be here,” Mel replied with a certainty she was beginning to worry might be misplaced. “He deserves a five-minute grace period. You know, in case there was traffic or a long line at the drive-thru.”
But five minutes ticked into ten, and Tara got antsy. She jumped off the couch and stamped her black patent leather-clad foot. “Where’s Daddy?”
Mel hugged her tight. She didn’t have the heart to tell Tara it seemed Dave wouldn’t make it. Even though that outcome looked increasingly likely.
“He’ll be here, sweetie. Just as soon as he can.”
Chapter Fifteen
Dave didn’t need a second invitation to follow the injured fan. He thanked Jerry for releasing him and rushed to catch up with the stretcher. Within minutes, he sat in the back of a cab, which kept pace behind the ambulance. He followed the paramedics into the ER and settled in a harvest gold-colored vinyl seat in the lobby.
Then he waited. And waited. After thirty minutes with no word on the fan’s condition, he couldn’t sit still anymore. He jumped out of the ugly chair and paced, his cleats clomping with every step. He toed off his shoes and resumed wearing a groove in the floor.
“Now I remember why they call it the ‘waiting room,’” he grumbled under his breath.
He was still at it an hour later when Matt strolled into the ER, carrying a duffel. Matt grinned as his eyes landed on Dave’s stocking-feet. He held out the bag. “Figured you might want to change.”
“Thanks.” He took his bag from Matt and rummaged inside for his street shoes. The rest could wait, but the over-air-conditioned floor was ice on his feet, even through thick socks.
Matt plopped down beside him. “Any word yet?”
“Nope.”
“After an hour an a half?”
Dave finished tying his Nikes and stood again. “Why do you think I’m pacing? Waiting’s driving me nuts.”
“You should sit. You’re driving everyone else nuts.”
Matt was probably right. He sat. The seats were filled with a dozen or more people who looked as miserable as he felt.
He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Why can’t they just let me know what’s going on?”
“Ever heard of something called patient privacy?”
Dave scowled. Those damn patient privacy laws had made it difficult for him to call the hospital for updates on his mother’s condition while he was on the road.
“Coach had us watch the replay after the game.” Matt elbowed him. “There was nothing you could have done differently.”
That line again? First from Jerry and now Matt. How could they both be so damn blind?
“Coulda thrown the ball to someone else.”
A woman in scrubs rushed up before Matt could reply.
“Are you the ballplayer?”
Dave refrained from snapping that no one else in the room was wearing a uniform. Instead, he gave her a curt nod. No doubt she was as stressed as he was.
“They’re taking Stan up to surgery. He asked if you’d wait for him.”
He nodded again.
“Surgery is on Five West. You’ll like it up there.” She smiled. “The waiting room has free coffee.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” As she sped away, Dave turned to Matt. “I’d rather have a beer.”
Matt jerked his thumb at the door. “There’s a bar across the street. We could go grab one.”
Dave was tempted. But his need to know what happened to the fan, Stan, was stronger than his desire to take the edge off. Besides, he didn’t deserve to ease his anxiety. Not until he knew Stan’s fate.
“Nah.” He headed for the elevator.
It took him a few seconds to realize Matt was behind him. Again, hauling his gear.
“Let me take that.”
Matt jerked the duffel out of Dave’s grasp. “I’ve got it. You have enough on your mind.”
His buddy was right. He did have a lot running through his head. They rode up to Five West in silence while Dave tried not to worry about Stan’s surgery.
The waiting room on Five West gave Dave a distinct sense of déjà vu. It had the same black leather benches, the same blocky black lacquer coffee tables—even the same damn ugly fake palm trees as the room he’d spent weeks in waiting for his mother to die.
“Do all hospitals hire the same friggin’ decorator?”
Matt laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sure you wouldn’t rather get a beer?”
Hell no. He’d rather be anywhere but in this room that reminded him so much of his mother’s last days. But he didn’t deserve the relaxation that would come with sweet, golden salvation.
Dave shook his head. “I’d kill for a cup of coffee, though.”
Matt deposited the duffel in front of a bench and went in search of the free coffee. While he was gone, Dave sank onto the bench to wait. Unlike the ER waiting room, this one was empty, meaning it was silent. Too silent. There wasn’t even any Muzak to distract him.
It took all Dave’s concentration not to go catatonic under a flood of memories before Matt got back with two cups. He took a gulp of strong, black brew, not caring it scalded his tongue.
Dave downed the entire cup and then crumpled the paper in his fist.
Matt’s eyebrows shot up, and he held out the cup he’d fixed for himself. “You’re not okay, are you?”
Dave eyed the caramel-colored coffee. Focusing on its shortcomings was easier than facing his feelings…from then or now. “What’s that?”
“Coffee, a little sugar and cream.”
He snorted and took the cup from Matt. He sipped, and just managed to not spit out the godawful concoction. “Half a cup full, more like.”
Matt flashed him a grin. “What can I say? I like my coffee the same way I like my women—sweet.”
“There’s such a thing as too sweet,” Dave grumbled as he plunked the swill Matt called coffee back onto the end table. He shook his head. Someday, Matt would learn women were better with a little sass. Like Mel.
Dave checked his watch and his stomach did a flip. He should be in Texas by now. Shit.
He scrambled in his bag for his phone. It was on vibrate, the required setting in the Condors’ locker room. Sure enough, he had several missed calls—all from Mel.
He groaned. “Aw, hell. I was supposed to catch a flight right after t
he game so I could make it to Tara’s Daddy-Daughter dance tonight. Mel’s going to kill me.”
“You’ve been preoccupied. Surely she’ll understand.”
“She shouldn’t have to.” Dave jumped off the bench and started pacing again. “I promised I’d be there. And I’m not.”
“With good reason.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “No reason is good enough to disappoint my little girl.”
“An injured fan has to count for something.”
Dave sank to the floor and buried his face in his hands. How could he have forgotten, even for a second, that some guy’s life was hanging in the balance? And it was his fault. “I’m a worthless sack of shit.”
“You are not.” Matt kicked his ankle. “You just have a lot on your mind right now: The fan, hospital memories, ready-made family. Something’s gotta give.”
“It shouldn’t.”
His buddy rolled his eyes. “So call Mel. Explain.”
Dave nodded and swiped his phone’s screen. But before he had a chance to make the call, the hospital’s PA crackled. “Code blue.”
White-coated doctors raced past, on a mission. With them came another onslaught of memories. They’d rushed around exactly like that when his mother…
The phone slipped from his hand, forgotten. He closed his eyes, jammed his palms into the sockets to stop the flood.
Matt came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “It could be anyone, man.”
****
Twenty minutes after Dave’s scheduled arrival, when it became clear he wasn’t coming, or even bothering to answer her calls, Mel ducked onto the back porch and called her father. Lu stayed in the living room, distracting Tara.
“Daddy, what are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing.”
“Can you come take Tara to the dance?”
Her father’s frown was evident in his voice. “The Daddy-Daughter dance she’s been chattering nonstop about for a month?”
Diva In The Dugout (All Is Fair In Love And Baseball) Page 13