Waiting On You
Page 33

Mom was also here, cheerful as the Angel of Death at a wedding. She stood directly in Dad’s line of vision and had on one of her familiar expressions—Hello, my name is Rejected First Wife.
“Hey, Mom, what are you doing here?” Colleen asked, going over to the bleachers, Rufus at her heels.
“I’m here, Colleen,” Mom began in that slightly defensive and regal voice she always used when lying, “to support you and your brother. And that sweet little girl from church. She happens to adore me.”
“Really? What’s her name?”
Mom gave her an irritable look. “Sherry.”
“There’s no Sherry here, Mom.”
“Yes, there is.”
“No. There’s not.”
“The Irish one. You know.”
“Shannon? Shannon Murphy?”
“Yes, that’s the one. Adorable girl.”
“She’s eighteen.”
“Fine, Colleen. Mock me. We’ll see how your memory is when you’re fifty-four.” Mom paused. “There’s that child. Is she really qualified to be here?”
“Savannah? My sister? Is that the child in question? And yes. She’s really good.”
“When does this get started? And how long does each round last?”
“Inning, Mom. Baseball has innings.” She muttered a prayer for patience to St. Gehrig of Lou. How could one live in the Empire State and not be a baseball fan? Colleen herself had a photo in her bedroom of the mighty Jeter going into the stands (July 1, 2004, Red Sox/Yankees, greatest game ever, and one she watched repeatedly whenever the YES Network reran it).
A man approached, and Colleen did a double take.
“Hello, there, Jeanette. So great to see you again.”
“So good to see you again,” Mom said as he kissed her cheek, and Mom gave Colleen a smug look. “You remember Stan, don’t you, Colleen?”
“Uh...yes. You look...different with clothes on.” It was Stan, Stan the Hairy Man. So those singles things did work, after all, and holy shitake, Mom had a date. So that’s why she was here. She wanted Dad to see.
Colleen couldn’t help feeling a little bit proud.
“Sweetheart,” Mom said loudly, “not only is Stan artistic, he’s a doctor.” An arch look of triumph accompanied the statement. “We met again last week when he did my colonoscopy.”
“That’s...beautiful.”
Stan smiled. “Your mother’s preparation was perfect. Utterly clean. I haven’t seen such a gorgeous colon in years.”
“She gets that a lot,” Colleen murmured. Stan was wearing a white dress shirt, and she could see his Neanderthal-style chest hair all too clearly. “Connor! Over here, buddy!” This was far too good not to share.
Her brother gave her a look. What fresh hell are you luring me into now?
She smiled. You don’t want to miss this.
“Nice meeting you, Stan,” Colleen said. “I have to run. I’m playing for Stoakes tonight, Mom. Cheer for me!” She kissed her mother’s cheek and loped off with Rufus. “Ask how they met,” she told her brother in passing.
There was Savannah, standing with Dad and the Tail. Colleen sighed.
Being an attractive female was nice, granted, and Coll had no problem enjoying it. She knew she was pretty, and appreciated her good genes. But Gail...Gail advertised sex. Tonight she was wearing a dress that barely cleared her ass. The dress was so low cut her lacy white bra showed, not to mention half her boobage. Two years ago, she’d gotten implants, and the new boobs stuck out at an angle that defied God and nature.
Maybe Gail, who was no longer as young as she’d been when she was the Hot Young Thing, was afraid of losing Dad.
Not that he was such a prize.
At the moment, he was goofing around with Savannah’s hair, pulling a strand, then pretending he wasn’t when she turned around to see. Both of them were smiling and laughing, and Gail would occasionally look at them and smile, her red-painted lips a bit ghoulish in the natural light.
“Hey, Yogi!” Colleen said, using the nickname her sister loved. “Ready to kick some patootie? Hi, Dad. Gail.”
“Why are you in a candy store shirt?” Savannah asked.
“Oh, they’re short a player, so I’m on their team today. It’s okay. I’m still rooting for us.” She winked at her sister.
“How are you, Colleen?” her dad said, glancing over her shoulder. “Marian! Good to see you!” Yes. Schmooze the mayor.
Gail tossed her shiny red hair. “Listen, Colleen,” she said, her voice already tight. “About Savvi playing...” Gail was the only one who used Savannah’s sappy nickname, and insisted that it end in an i, preferably topped with a heart. “This is her last game. We’ll be focusing on cheerleading from here on out.”
Savannah looked at the ground.
“Oh, yeah?” Colleen said. “Do you like cheerleading, hon?”
“I guess,” Savannah muttered.
Colleen gave her father a sharp look. He returned it blankly.
“Cheering will be a better sport for you, sweetie pie!” Gail said. “You look really pretty in that little outfit, too. Stand up straight, Savvi. It makes you look perky.”
“Well, you look great in catcher’s gear, too, Savannah,” Colleen said. “Very kick-ass.”
Gail narrowed her eyes, then looked away in distaste, as if Colleen were a shmooshed porcupine rotting on the side of the road. Colleen narrowed back. But now wasn’t the time to argue, not in front of Savannah, not in front of the crowd, which was thick tonight with tourists and townies alike.
Motherhood obviously hadn’t given Gail the type of daughter she’d thought she’d preordered. She’d wanted a gorgeous little doll, a girly-girl who loved clothes and nail polish and long hair...ironically, a little girl like Colleen had been. Not a sturdy tomboy who’d asked for a poster of Jorge Posada for her last birthday.
“Okay, Dad, Mother Gail,” Colleen said, earning another glare. “See you later! Come on, Savannah, let’s go.”
“Go get ’em, tiger,” Dad said, and Savannah grinned over her shoulder. “I’ll be watching!”
Colleen felt the familiar pang. She should be more like Connor, who’d given up on Dad long ago.
“Collie, I don’t know if I should be a cheerleader,” Savannah said mournfully. “Some of the girls are mean.”
“How are they mean?”
Her sister swallowed. “They just are. The way they look at me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Someone said I was fat, and no one talked to me at tryouts.”
Colleen’s jaw clamped tight. “You’re not fat, sweetheart. You’re strong.”
“I’m chubby.”
“Honey, people come in all shapes and sizes.”
“I wish I looked like you.”
The words were stated with such hopelessness that Colleen stopped and dropped to her knees. “Savannah, you’re wonderful. Do you know that? You’re so funny and smart and I love being with you. I always have. You also happen to be absolutely adorable. You’re my favorite person in the whole world.” She smiled. “Don’t tell Connor, he’ll get jealous.”
Savannah smiled, but her eyes stayed sad.
“And Dad’s crazy about you. No one wants you to be anything but exactly who you are.”
Except Gail-the-Tail-Chianese-Rhymes-with-Easy-Hyphen-O’Rourke. Savannah’s mother.
“I wish I could keep playing baseball,” Savannah whispered.
“I’ll talk to them,” Colleen promised. “We’ll see what we can do, okay?”
Paulie Petrosinsky was coming onto the field. Perfect. A role model of physical strength in an unconventional package. “Over here, Paulie!” Colleen called. “Do you know my sister? Savannah O’Rourke, meet Paulie Petrosinsky, my friend.”
“What’s up, kid?” Paulie said, fist-bumping Savannah. “Word on the street is you’re the best player in town.”
Savannah’s face lit up. “Thanks,” she said.
Well, well, well. Colleen owed Paulie a drink on the house.
The three of them went into the dugout, where the rest of the team was assembled, pulling on gloves and cleats. “Coll, wrong shirt,” said Kelly Murphy, Shannon’s sister and part of the Murderer’s Row of the O’Rourke offense.
“I know, I know,” she said. “I have to play for Stoakes tonight.”
“You gonna throw the game?” Bryce asked, coming down the steps to the dugout. Paulie’s face began its burn.
“I won’t have to, because we’re so superior. Gang, today we have a new player. Paulie, welcome!”
“Hi, Paulie,” everyone said. Connor cocked an eyebrow, all too aware of the matchmaking in progress.
“Bryce, would you help Paulie with her glove? She’s never played baseball before.” A lie, but hey.
“Seriously, dude? This is gonna be fun,” Bryce said. “I bet you’re a natural.”
The goal had been secured: a physically close moment. Paulie had been instructed to ask for help as much as possible.
Bryce gave the glove a tug, his hand on Paulie’s wrist. “Looks good!” He slapped her shoulder and trotted out to the mound.
“He touched me,” Paulie whispered, her breathing fast and shallow.
“Okay, don’t faint. I have to go. Keep an eye on Savannah for me? She’s a little blue.” Plus, if Paulie was good with kids, as she seemed to be, Bryce could see her as the potential mother of his children.
It was hard to be in charge of the world, Colleen mused as she trotted out to the shortstop position. Savannah was clearly dejected. Gail kept gesturing from the bleachers...probably some horrid advice like “suck in your stomach.” It was throwing off Savannah’s game.
And if Gail had her way—which she usually did—it would be Savannah’s last.
Dad watched his youngest intently, cheering every time she came to the plate. The poor kid struck out twice. “Good try, baby!” Dad called both times. “You’ll get ’em next time!”
Colleen looked away. Paulie had been instructed to high-five Bryce every time he got a hit (he was really good), so Colleen had to keep an eye on that. She was also watching Connor to see if he was giving any significant looks to anyone, because he just wouldn’t crack and tell her who his mystery girlfriend was. He was clever, too; he’d erased his texting history on his phone, which she had stolen that very morning. Damn that twin telepathy thing.
Mom kept braying with laughter at whatever Stan, Stan the Hairy Man said, then looking over at Dad, who wasn’t watching, which caused Mom to laugh more and more loudly until she sounded like a laboring mule. Brahahaha! Brahahaha! In between innings, Coll texted her. Quiet down, you’re trying too hard.
Her phone chimed with the answer. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Another donkey bray.
Sigh.
In the second inning, Colleen led off with a double, then watched as the next three runners struck out. In the fifth, she walked and again didn’t score, since Stoakes’s offense would’ve had trouble hitting a beach ball.
Then, in the eighth inning as Colleen was walking back onto the field, Lucas appeared with Joe and Didi.
As usual, Didi Campbell looked pissed off about something. Bryce loped over and said hello, then returned to the dugout, as O’Rourke’s was up.
Lucas helped Joe sit; he’d brought a camp chair, which was good, because the bleachers were uncomfortable. Joe didn’t look so good; his skin was dark and he was moving slowly. The evening was cool; Lucas had brought a blanket, too, and tucked it around his uncle, then sat next to him on the bleachers and said something, making Joe laugh.