Caught by You (22 page)

“I still don't . . .”

“We need a new promotions girl. I remembered how well you handled the crowd that day Mike carried you onto the field. Most ­people would have been flustered, but you made a joke. Answered Angeline's questions just right. I remember thinking what a natural performer you are. Quick-­witted and very appealing. Do you have any actors or performers in your family tree?”

“My mother's a backup singer.”

“There you go. I think you inherited the performance gene. What do you think?”

“I think I've never done anything like that before and you could probably find a hundred girls who would do it better.”

“I don't think so. Someone who knows Kilby, knows the Catfish, has a killer sense of humor, and will drive the Wades crazy the second they see her on the field? I don't think so.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Oh. My. God.”

“Yah. The Machiavelli of baseball, that's me.” He gave her an unrepentant grin. “Just so you know, I didn't think of this idea. Your illustrious mayor did.”

“Mayor Trent?”

“The very one. Says she recommends you highly. Trustworthy, fierce, and funny. Her exact words.”

The thought of Crush Taylor and Mayor Trent discussing her gave her a strange sensation. Why would a lowly dental receptionist hold any interest for either of them? And since when did those two do anything other than battle with each other? Hmm. She reminded herself to ask Sadie about that, but turned her attention to Crush's offer. “What does the promotions girl do, exactly?”

“You'll work with our publicity team. Every game has some kind of gimmick going on, and your job will be to emcee it. For instance, tonight we're doing the . . . what is it . . .” He shuffled through the randomly scattered papers on his desk. “Right. We're doing an egg toss sponsored by McGee Poultry Farms. That ought to be a mess. I think they've requested a chicken dance contest too. You'll work with Catfish Bob, the team mascot, who, by the way, no one ever sees out of costume. Lastly, you'll have to wear embarrassingly short shorts and a T-­shirt three sizes too small.”

At her appalled look, he grinned again. “I'm joking. You'll have to wear Catfish gear, but beyond that it's up to you. Relaxed and fun, that's the goal. Funny is good. You're a hometown girl, and you're mildly famous thanks to your former fiancé, so I think you'll be a draw.”

It sounded . . . amazing. And terrifying. “What if I'm no good? Can I try it out before I quit my other job?”

“Sure. We can do that. But I think you're gonna be hooked. I think you've missed your calling, stuck in that dental office. I think as soon as you take the field and hear the cheers, see all those ­people watching you, your world is going to light up like you never imagined.” He gazed out of his window, which looked out on the baseball diamond, where a few players were hitting fungoes.

Wow. She knew the word “fungoes.” When had that happened?

Mike, that's when.

“There might be one more problem,” she said slowly. “If Mike Solo doesn't want me around the stadium, I wouldn't feel comfortable taking the job.”

“He's fine with it.”

A jolt of electricity shot from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. “How do you know?”

“I asked him. Wouldn't be right to offer a job to a player's ex-­fiancée without checking with him first.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he'll meet you after recess. I'm not a matchmaker, okay? He had other things on his mind, but he didn't demonstrate any strong opposition to the idea.”

Well, that didn't make her feel any better. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. This was an incredible opportunity to try something different. Something that might actually benefit from her personality, instead of getting sabotaged by it. If Mike had a problem with it, then he'd just have to tell her. When he came back. To Kilby. To Catfish Stadium.

But not to her.

 

Chapter 22

F
OR THE FIRST
few days after Joey's death, Mike could hardly bear anyone's company but Jean-­Luc's. The poor man barely seemed to notice Mike was there. He'd gone behind a thick shell of grief, which left Mike to answer the door when red-­eyed students came by with cards and stories of Joey's kindness. Those students, and the need to be there for Jean-­Luc, kept him from descending into the black hole that gaped at his feet.

As mourners gathered at the campus chapel for the university's memorial ser­vice, everyone from students to staffmembers wanted to hug him and shake his hand. Many of them commented on the PSA. “He played it in class,” one student told him. “He was really, really proud of it.”

“Is that right?” Mike hadn't realized that Joey felt that way. He should have made a PSA like that earlier, or maybe a public statement. Why hadn't he? With a sharp shock, it came to him—­Donna. Knowing Donna had changed him. And the PSA was essentially her idea. And then it had driven her away . . . or he'd driven himself away . . .

He shook himself back to the present moment, since the student was still talking. “He told everyone about his little brother the baseball player. He even gave us an assignment to research the effect of organized sports on the economy of a third world country. He said we'd get extra points if we picked baseball. Joking of course. He was the funniest professor I ever had.”

Mike's smile came out more as a grimace. “Can you believe he knew nothing about baseball before I took it up? He studied it the same way he studied national economic policies. I think he grew to love it almost as much as imports and exports.” Talking about his brother was difficult, but he tried, for Joey's sake. Joey would want his students to be able to share their memories. He would want his memorial ser­vice to be an uplifting occasion, not filled with tears and gloom.

And it was, it truly was, although it seemed to pass in a blur.

When it was Mike's turn to speak, he read from a letter Joey had written him from the Sudan, after he'd contracted E coli.

“ ‘Getting sick has made me realize how quickly life can change. It's made me determined to live honestly and completely. When I get home, I'm going to come out to the world. Things might be tough for a while, little brother. When I pass on, I want to know I did my best, with as much grace and compassion as possible. If you want to help, hang in there with Dad and Mama, because they won't understand. Keep a big heart and all will be well.' ”

Mike couldn't lift his head from the faded piece of foreign stationery, which he'd kept all these years. “That was Joey. He had no hate in him, only kindness. And I think he lived up to his wish. Grace and compassion—­that was my brother.”

Accompanied by sniffles and nodding heads, he left the lectern and returned to his seat in the front row between his sobbing sisters and Jean-­Luc. The rest of the ser­vice was a blur of teachers and favorite students.

Had he fulfilled his brother's desire that he “hang in there” with Dad and Mama? He'd tried. Earlier, at the private burial ser­vice, he and his father had exchanged an awkward, stiff-­armed hug. Jean-­Luc hadn't been invited, but he'd begged Mike to be civil. When Mike had seen Mama's tear-­swollen eyes, it hadn't been difficult after all. All the questions burning in his mind had faded away, though they came back now, full force.
Why did you shut him out? Why didn't you visit him in the hospital? Why are you so rigid, so sure you're right?

That familiar helpless fury made his knuckles go white. He flexed his fingers, spreading his hands out wide on his knees.
Let it go
. You can't change them. Let it go. As if Joey was whispering to him. He stared at his hands, big and wide, the knuckles protruding like little mountains of bone. Catcher's hands, used to blocking wild pitches and capturing throws in the dirt. Used to the force of a 95-­mile-­an-­hour fastball slamming into his glove. Used to tracking a knuckleball on its bumblebee path to the plate. Hard blows were part of his job, but none could be harder than this.

He needed to get back on the field, that's what he needed. Baseball had saved him from the feud with his family after Joey came out. Baseball had saved him when he'd ended his naval career. He always felt right when he was on the diamond. That's where he did his best thinking.

Maybe when he went back to Kilby, he'd figure out how to “hang in there” with his parents.

Besides, Donna was in Kilby. And he needed to thank her for inspiring him to do the PSA. The thought of seeing her again gave him the first glimpse of light in days.

Jean-­Luc insisted on driving him to the airport. “You should come to Kilby with me,” Mike said as they hurtled down the Loop in his silver Porsche. “Get out of Chicago for a while. Relax with the tumbleweeds and the wacky Catfish.”

“You know I never understand baseball. I'm French. I barely understand the purpose of sports. The only reason to visit Keelby is to meet your friend Donna. Joey was very curious about her.”

“Well, we had sort of an . . . issue.”

“Issue?”

“The kind where she threw pillows at my head and I stormed out half naked. There's a chance I was in the wrong.” He told the whole story of their falling out, and when he was done, Jean-­Luc was laughing so hard tears shone in his eyes.

“Freaky little bunnies?” He gasped.

“She has a way with words. And pillows.”

“I don't think you should be angry with her. All she wanted was to keep seeing you.”

“Yes, but sneaking around and lying? Not my style.”

“Of course not. Hiding is never easy, but you have to look at her motivation. She loves you. She also loves her son, so things were”—­he shrugged—­“
compliqué
.”

“Loves me? She never said anything like that.”

“She was going to marry you,
oui
?”

“Yes, but that was to gain legitimacy in the eyes of the judge. And I had to work hard to talk her into it. I had to try to make her fall—­” He snapped his mouth shut. “Oh hell. She said she would only marry someone she was in love with. Then she dropped that requirement, because we decided to make the wedding into a big deal for the sake of the Catfish, to help Crush Taylor out, so I didn't think about that part again.”

“I'm finding these events extremely confusing.”

“Me too.” Mike frowned, watching the high-­rises on Lakeshore whip past. It had made sense at the time . . . hadn't it? “We never talked about the ‘love' thing after we decided on the Catfish Wedding of the Decade. We just went for it.”

“Did you meet her family?”

Mike snorted in disgust. “If you can call them that. They don't appreciate her at all. Her father ignores her and her stepmother treats her like a criminal. I haven't met her mother, because she's always on the road. Donna's so . . . exuberant and fun. But kind too. And very loyal. And she's not afraid to speak up, even though sometimes it gets her into trouble. She's really a great person, in every way. She just needs someone to watch out for her. And someone to . . .”

Oh my God. Of course. Why had it taken so long to see it?

“To what?”

“She needs someone to love her. Almost everyone in her life has abandoned her. Her father, her mother, her old boyfriend.” Had he abandoned her too, so stuck on doing things the “right” way that he'd rejected her?

He glowered at the dashboard. Something else had been bothering him, and he might not get another chance to ask.

“Got a question for you. Why did Joey set me up to run into Angela? Did he want us to get back together?”

Jean-­Luc, the wind ruffling his hair, shot him an amused sideways look. “He wanted you to either move on
completely
or pursue her again.”

“Really? He thought I might pursue her again?”

“That wasn't his first choice, no.” He hesitated. “He thought you and Donna were in love.”

Mike drummed his fingers on the window, impatiently watching the skyline slide past. Why all this talk of love? He couldn't think about that kind of thing right now. “I just need to get back in uniform. Maybe everything will make sense then.”

“If it works, you must tell me. Perhaps I will try baseball. What part should I try to play? Joey always said your part, catcher, was the most difficult.”

“First of all, they're called positions, not parts. Second of all, I'd recommend starting with the position of fan in the stands.”

“
Oof-­ah
.”

“I'm serious. You should try it. When I play, I always feel Joey with me. He loved following baseball, once he saw the beauty of it.”

Jean-­Luc was quiet the rest of the way to O'Hare. Just before Mike jumped out at the curb, he said softly, “I know very well how lucky I was with Joey. To love, to be loved, it isn't a snap.” He demonstrated with a very French-­looking flip of his fingers. “You have Joey's big heart. You are meant to love. A woman, in your case. A very fortunate woman. May you choose well,
mon frère
. Joey always wanted you to be happy. It was his dearest wish.”

Mike's dearest wish had been that his brother live. So much for wishes. “Take care of yourself, Jean-­Luc.”

Catfish Stadium's curving outer walls seemed to greet him with open arms, blue team banners waving brightly. A brisk wind toyed with the gigantic Texas flag at the entrance, ripping it this way and that, occasionally wresting sounds like gunshots from it. Mike dropped his shades over his eyes. He wanted no sympathetic looks, no handshakes, no slaps on the back, no murmurs about the time someone's grandmother died, or their cousin. He wanted to get back on that field, squat behind home plate, and play ball. Get in the zone and stay there until his thighs were screaming and his right hand was numb.

Duke intercepted him at the head of the tunnel that led to the clubhouse and dragged him into the manager's office. Mike crossed his arms over his chest and glared at him. Duke gripped an unlit cigar between his teeth and stared back like a bulldog.

“What?” Mike finally asked.

“You ready to play?”

“Of course,” Mike growled. “You don't have to ask that.”

“Farrio's pitching today.”

“Fine.” He didn't care who was pitching. Just let him get out there.

“He's been shaky lately. Lost five miles off his fastball, and his curve looks more like high school batting practice.”

“Fine.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay.”

“Also . . .” The manager hesitated, chewed on the end of his cigar, then shrugged. “Eh, don't matter. Go. Stop wasting my time.”

Mike scooted out of that office before Duke could slide in some kind of condolence comment. Whatever he was about to say, Mike didn't care. Just give him the ball and . . . rounding the corner, he nearly knocked over a girl in a Catfish cap. He grabbed her before she hit the floor. The familiar feel of sexy, warm curves sent a flash of pleasure through him.

“Hey!” Donna objected in that throaty voice that seemed to have a direct line to his privates. “Oh. Solo, I didn't see you.”

“That's because I was around the corner. Law of physics.”

“That's not physics. That's geography.”

“How is that geography? That's not geography.” Smiling—­actually smiling—­he made a quick visual trip down the landscape of her body, which was clothed in micro-­shorts over leggings with swirls of blue and green, a ridiculously tight Catfish T-­shirt that didn't quite make it to her belly button, and sneakers. Her red hair flowed in a ponytail through the back of the cap. She looked . . . freaking great. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Why, do you miss the blue blazer?” She twinkled at him.

“No,” he said with automatic revulsion. “I'm just surprised . . . I mean, what are you doing here?”

“I just started working here.” She watched him carefully. “I'm the new Angeline. She ran off with a pitcher from Sacramento. Crush is giving me a shot. He said . . . that you didn't mind.”

A vague memory returned, Crush yammering on the phone about Donna and some job. “Of course I don't mind,” he said gruffly. “You'll be great. What's on tap today?”

“It's . . . uh . . . Seventies Tribute Day. Psychedelic leggings seemed like the way to go.”

“Can't disagree with that.”

“Mike . . .” Her voice went soft. “I'm so sorry.”

He nodded. As he'd expected, her words of sympathy made his throat clog up. But it wasn't the worst feeling, and when she reached out to take his hand, the tight ball in his chest loosened. “I got the card you sent. Thanks.” It had been his favorite of all the cards he'd received. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing . . . after? After the game?” he asked her. “Can we talk?”

Her vivid little face shifted, wariness taking the place of warmth. “Sure, Solo, but I have to pick up Zack later.”

“You have him back? That's great news.” For the second time since he'd seen her, a smile spread across his face.

“Yes. The final hearing is tomorrow. Caleb and Sadie helped me get a new lawyer, and she says we have a good chance, as long as I behave myself.”

“No crazy engagements to ballplayers?”

She smiled gently. “I'm doing it all on my own this time.”

“Got it. Hey, break a leg out there today. I bet you'll be amazing.”

She flashed him a smile as bright as a bunch of spring daffodils. Dimples appeared in both cheeks, her face transforming into a vivid piece of sunshine right before his eyes. Then she skipped down the corridor toward the promotions department, leaving him somewhere between dazed and dazzled. Had Angela ever smiled like that, with her whole being bared to him? Would Angela ever wear psychedelic leggings for a seventies tribute? Had Angela ever thrown herself wholeheartedly into anything?