A Path Less Traveled (17 page)

“Water for the
kids.” She flashed a brilliant smile.

Of course. Why
hadn’t he thought of it? As the summer heat and humidity escalated, he’d need
to bring drinks to practice as well. “Have any cups?”

“No, but I’ll
head to the concession stand to see if they have some we can borrow.”

Andy reached for
his wallet and handed her a five. “If not, maybe they’ll let us buy some.”

She took the
money and pivoted, looking back over her shoulder with a grin. “Yeah, leave me
to do all the grunt work.”

He laughed, his
heart suddenly light.

Bo perched on the
bench away from Brody. “Hey, buddy, how was school today?”

Bo glanced at
Brody with wary eyes. “Fine.”

Yeah, right.
Knowing Brody, he was probably still causing playground problems. “Sorry we
didn’t get to go horse-back riding earlier this week.”

“It’s okay. You
can’t help it when it rains.”

Andy grinned and
pushed the bill of Bo’s hat down to his nose. “True. How ‘bout tomorrow?”

Bo giggled.
“You’ll have to ask Mom. If I ask, she’ll say no.” He craned his head way back
to view Andy from underneath his cap.

“Mmm, good
point.” Andy scratched his chin. “She’ll probably tell me no, too, come to
think of it. We’ll have to put our heads together to figure that one out.”

“Figure what
out?” Trish tapped him on the shoulder.

He rotated, and
she deposited the change in his hands, a sleeve of cups under one arm. “I . . .
I mean we, well, uh . . . Bo and I want to go horseback riding tomorrow. Wanna
come?”

Her eyes lost a
bit of spark. She pressed her lips together, and her shoulders rose as she
inhaled a deep breath. “Okay, but only . . .” Trish stared at Bo with mock
sternness. “. . . only if he finishes his homework.”

“Aw, Mom.”

“Hey, bud, she’s
right. Homework comes first.”

“Yeah, but it’s
hard. It’s gonna take me fifty one-hundred million years.”

Laughter exploded
from him. “Sounds like we need to work on your numbers.” Andy squatted in front
of him. “Tell you what. In the morning I’ll bring donuts. We’ll do your
homework, then go for a ride. How’s that sound?”

Bo brightened.
His whole body shook like a puppy with his tail a-wag. “All right! Homework
help, donuts, and horseback riding!”

Trish sent Andy a
smile that warmed him from the inside out. Did she have any idea how gorgeous
she was? Stop it, Andy. He repositioned his cap. She still loved her husband.
The sketch she’d drawn at Dr. Wyse’s office—a man with an arm wrapped
protectively around her and Bo—proved it. He had no right to intrude on the
memories of her dead husband. She needed time. Time to grieve. Time to heal.

He rubbed a hand
across his mouth. Why did it always come down to more waiting?

The kids’
excitement was contagious, and Andy soon forgot his earlier bad mood. He
sauntered to the field, hands on hips, and took it all in. Nothing like a
baseball game, especially opening night—a pleasant spring night, the
tantalizing aroma of buttered popcorn, happy laughter.

Families.

The ache in his
heart intensified. How long before he had a family? He heaved a heavy sigh.
Better just face facts. It might never happen.

Finally the game
got underway, with the Legal Eagles up to bat. Joey sent a line drive up the
middle, right to the pitcher, who ducked. Somehow the kid managed to knock the
ball down with his glove, then bobbled it a couple of times. That gave Joey the
chance he needed to make it to first.

Little Bo, second
in the lineup, hit a grounder to third. He raced to first base as fast as his
little legs would carry him, his face a picture of unswerving determination.
Trish cheered him on from the dugout.

As Bo’s foot hit
the base, pride swelled in Andy’s heart. “Atta boy, Bo!”

Bo punched a fist
into the air, his face plastered with a giant grin.

The Pirate’s
third baseman overthrew the ball and it rolled to the fence near the dugout.
Joey had stopped on second, but instead of watching the game, now waved and
chatted to his friends in the outfield. Bo stepped off first, but waited for
Andy to tell him what to do.

“Joey, take
third!” Andy cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. Joey raised both
arms in question. “Take it to third base!”

The boy peered
down at the rubber mat base, scratched his head, then yanked up the base and
sprinted toward third.

Heat climbed up
Andy’s chest and onto his neck and face, the crowd roaring with laughter.

Then, as if
things weren’t bad enough, the Pirate’s first baseman trotted back with the
ball and tagged Bo, whose foot was still off the base.
Off the base!

“You’re out!”
hollered the ump. He yanked a thumb over his shoulder. The crowd hooted even
louder.

The Pirate’s
first baseman taunted Bo, then laughed about it with the right fielder.

Bo’s little face
grew red with anger. He stomped a foot and pushed the kid to the ground.

The crowd
“ooh”-ed, then immediately grew quiet.

The umpire
stomped down the first base line, his lips clamped. Andy fell in line behind
him, his frustration mounting. The ump stopped short of Little Bo. “We won’t
put up with that kind of behavior!” He pivoted and lumbered back to home plate.

Andy crossed his
arms and glared at Bo. “We’re not gonna have that on this team! You’re on the
bench for two innings.”

Bo gaped at him,
tears flooding his eyes. “But . . .”

His heart
crumpled, but he had no choice. “Sorry, Bo. We’ll talk about this later. Take
the bench.”

Crying, Bo
stumbled past him to the dugout, where Trish met him with open arms. “It’s
okay, honey, don’t cry.” She fired Andy a mother-bear glare.

Brody started in
on Bo. “Quit ‘cher cryin’, you little baby.”

“Brody!” Andy’s
voice sounded sharper than he intended. “You’re up.”

The beefiest kid
on the team, Brody grabbed a long bat and sauntered to the tee. He made solid
contact on the first swing, the air splitting with the crack. The ball sailed
into the outfield.

Much to the
crowd’s delight and amusement, the center fielder for the Pirates bent to scoop
up the ball and lost his cap. Instead of throwing in the ball, he removed his
glove, picked up the cap and dusted it off, then put it on his head, his coach
about to bust a gut near third base.

Brody easily made
it around the bases, and Carla’s hoots and hollers sounded from beyond the
chain link fence.

Andy gave him a
high five as he passed. “Way to go, Brody! That’s how to do it.” As he turned
to pat Brody on the back, a searing ache pierced his heart. Little Bo hunched
over at the end of the bench, tears dripping from his chin. Trish was nowhere
to be seen.

* *
* * *

Two seconds
earlier Trish had been happy. Happy that her life—that Little Bo’s life—had
made a turn for the better.

Now this.

Trish stood under
the rickety bleachers, empty popcorn boxes and drink cups at her feet, and
swiped at angry tears. The sounds of the game—of people having fun—boomed
above. Why had Andy yanked Bo from the game? Yes, Bo had shoved the kid and
shouldn’t have, but Andy had come down on him way too hard. Crushed him.

Carla’s immediate
hurtful words, now on auto-rewind, replayed in her mind. “If you’d quit babying
him, maybe he’d stop sucking his thumb.”

A fresh round of
pain sliced through her.
Enough.
Trish wiped tear-dampened hands on her
blue jean shorts and marched to the bathroom to wash her face. She’d sit out
the rest of the game in the stands.

When she returned
to the bleachers ten minutes later, the scoreboard revealed a three-run lead
for the Eagles, with the Pirates now at bat. Little Bo hunkered down in the
dugout, arms across his chest, his bottom lip poked out in a pout. Andy knelt
in front of him, his voice so low she couldn’t make out the words. She resisted
the urge to scramble down the bleachers and give him a piece of her mind.
Instead, she gulped in a deep breath and released it through her nose.

The Eagles kept
the Pirates from scoring during the first two innings, further proof that Andy
knew how to coach. Bo’s next turn at bat rolled around and her stomach lurched.
Two outs and the bases loaded.

Bo trotted to the
batter’s box. He carefully lined up the bat with the ball the way Andy had
showed him and swung as hard as he could. The bat hit rubber and sent the ball
spiraling to the dirt.

“That’s okay,
sweetie!” Trish clapped her hands. “You’ll get it next time!”

On the second
swing, the bat sliced through nothing but air.

“C’mon! My
grandpa can swing better than that!” Carla’s voice sounded from near the
dugout.

Trish’s blood
boiled as Bo’s shoulders slumped. People seated nearby craned their necks
toward her, but she kept her mask in place, retreating behind the safety of her
sunshades.

“Take your time,
Bo!” Andy called from the dugout. “You can do it, buddy!”

On the third
swing, Bo made contact, and the ball tumbled down the first base line, Bo right
behind it. The pitcher for the other team scooped up the ball and tagged Bo.
With
a little too much force!

“Yeah, he got
‘em. That’s three!” The ump yanked a thumb over his shoulder.

Bo fell to the
ground, and the other boy towered over him, his curled lips in an inaudible
taunt.

She jumped to her
feet and held her breath.
Don’t do it, Bo.

To her relief, he
stood, dusted himself off, and hurried to pick up the bat.

Trish plopped to
the wooden seat, brought her hands to her face, and released a grateful sigh as
Bo’s teammates scattered from the dugout to their various positions. Well, all
of them except Bo.

Like a weary
hunter returning empty-handed, he drug the bat in the dirt as he trudged to the
dugout. Andy rushed to him. Whatever he said lit a spark in her son, and he
disappeared into the dugout. A few seconds later he appeared, cap slightly
askew, and hustled to first base. He slapped his glove as the first batter for
the other team approached the tee, and began to chant: “Hey, batter, batter,
batter, batter.”

Carla Clark’s
grating voice floated to her ears from nearby, where she stood with a group of
her friends. “The only reason Bo is playing first base is ‘cause Trish is
Coach’s girlfriend. He’s only using her son to get to her.”

Rage crawled from
the pit of her stomach, clawing its way to the surface. Was it true? Did Andy
have ulterior motives?           

After the
comment, focusing on the game proved impossible, her gaze continually
vacillating between Andy and her son. In spite of the earlier incident, Bo
still thought the world of Andy, evidenced by the way he jumped through hoops
to please him. Dr. Wyse had mentioned that a father figure would be good for
him, but couldn’t Dad or Steve fill that role instead?

Trish shook her
head. Her father’s health prevented him from doing many things little boys
needed to do, and Steve was a newlywed. His responsibility was to Dani, not
her. For whatever reason, Bo had chosen Andy. But how was she supposed to deal
with the fact?

Familiar voices
sounded from the bottom of the bleachers. Steve and Dani, with Dad and Mama
Beth in tow, ascended the steps. They took up the empty seats beside her, Steve
scooted close, his long legs folded at an odd angle to fit in the cramped
space. “Sorry we’re late, Sis. We went out to eat and got held up at the
restaurant.”

Out to eat? Why
hadn’t they invited her and Bo? Her mood morphed from sour to surly. Funny how
her family always had time for Mama Beth, but not her. And it was happening
more and more often. Almost as if the woman had taken her place. “Mama Beth
went?”

Steve nodded, his
eyes shaded by his cowboy hat. “Yeah. Something wrong?”

She bit back a
retort and looked back to the field.

“So how’s Bo
doing?” Her brother glanced to first base, where Bo stood, hands on knees.

A snort escaped
before she could contain it. “All right, if you don’t count Andy yanking him
out of the game.”

Steve’s dark
brows shot up his forehead. “What happened?”

“Bo barely
touched the Pirate’s first baseman earlier and Andy sat him on the bench.”

“Good.”

Trish whirled her
head around. “What?”

“Sis, Andy had no
choice. If he let Bo get by with it, the other boys would follow suit. Not to
mention what everyone would be saying about you and Andy.”

She let the words
sink in and heaved a sigh. He was right. Andy did have to correct Bo, but he
didn’t have to do it in anger. There would still be an after-game discussion.

Trish tried to
force the incident from her mind, but thoughts and images kept wiggling their
way in and sucked the enjoyment from the rest of the game. The other four, on
the other hand, enjoyed themselves immensely with continued conversation and
laughter. So much so, that by the time the game ended, Trish was relieved she
didn’t have to be around them anymore.

She descended the
steps with them and said goodbye, then watched as they ambled to the
overflowing parking lot. A frown puckered her eyebrows. Was something going on
between Dad and Mama Beth? Surely not. Mom had only been gone nine months. A
sour taste deposited itself on her tongue.

Trish swallowed
against it and made her way to the dugout to get Little Bo. He met her at the
gate. “We won our first game!” Tendrils of sweaty hair framed his
lit-from-within face.

“I know. Good for
you!” She gave him a hug, his smell worse than a wet puppy. “Don’t forget you
get a free snow cone.”

“First I have to
help Andy clean the dugout.”