Stealing Second: Sam's Story: Book 4 in the Clarksonville Series (4 page)

“Thank you for playing for us this morning, Samantha Rose.” Her mother turned toward her seated guests. “Samantha has been playing the violin since she was three. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Sam smiled graciously and nodded. The puppet was designed to please.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Her mother sat down.

Sam lifted her head high in performance mode. She played the opening measures of
Spring
from Vivaldi’s
The Four Seasons
and heard murmurs of approval. She’d learned over the years to play music her mother’s guests would recognize, otherwise they got bored. She’d learned that lesson the hard way when she was in middle school. At one of her mother’s luncheons, she had played a particularly challenging piece and overheard one of the women later complaining how the piece went on and on and on.

Through many trials, she found familiar music and strung them together in medleys, not staying with one piece for too long, in case the music went “on and on and on.” She wanted to throw Turkey in the Straw into the mix, but her mother admonished her by saying redneck fiddle music would never be played under her roof. Sam laughed privately at her mother’s ignorance. She hoped one day to be as good as some of the “redneck” fiddle players she’d heard.

After the Vivaldi, she switched to Brahms and played a sampling from the
Hungarian Dance Numbers Six
and
Seven.
When she saw some of the women’s smiles fade, she turned it up a notch with Rossini’s
William Tell Overture
. Of course, most of the women probably knew it as The Theme from the
Lone Ranger
, but who cared? It was a fun piece to play.

Her hair came loose from its tight bun as she flung the bow frantically over the strings. She was working up a sweat, but that couldn’t be helped. She hoped her eye cover hadn’t run.
Mustn’t ruin Mother’s luncheon no matter what.

Sam pulled her bow across the strings one last frantic time and ended the piece abruptly. After a surprised silence, the women erupted with applause. Sam lowered her bow and violin and bowed politely.

Sam’s mother stood up. “I know I’m biased, but isn’t she wonderful?”

The group clapped again, Mrs. Worthington the loudest.

“Mother,” Sam said, “you should play something for us.” She gestured toward the piano as she put her violin back in its case as if she were done playing for the day. They both knew she was not.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Her mother put a hand to the pearls hanging from her neck.

“Yes, please do.” There was Mrs. Worthington right on cue. She didn’t even know she was part of the script. The other women added their voices and encouraged Sam’s mother to play for them.

“Well, all right,” Sam’s mother agreed and headed toward the piano, “but you should play with me, Samantha Rose.”

Sam had moved off to the side of the room out of the spotlight. “Very well, Mother. Shall we play
Forgotten Dreams
?”

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

Of course earlier that morning they had practiced the piece several times, but the guests didn’t need to know that. Sam pulled the violin back out of its case and took a moment to retune while her mother got settled behind the piano. Sam placed the violin under her chin and lifted her head indicating to her mother she was ready. Her mother played the first note, and Sam joined in softly behind the piano lead. Eventually Sam took over the piece as planned. Her mother continued to play underneath the violin for most of the song until the end when Sam pulled back and let her mother have the grand finale moment. When they finished, the guests leaped to their feet and clapped. Sam’s mother shot Sam a grateful smile, and Sam’s heart swelled because her mother’s genuine smiles were so very few and far between.

Sam reached for her mother’s hand. They bowed together to more clapping and cheering. Her mother gave her a stiff hug and then invited the women into the dining room for lunch.

Sam sighed, happy because that part in the puppet show was over. Now all she had to do was make it through the luncheon. She placed her violin and bow back in the case. She needed to hustle upstairs and lock it in her room for safekeeping.

Sam headed up the stairs as quickly as she could without running. Mustn’t keep the ladies waiting. Once in her room, she locked the violin in its cupboard and smoothed in her eye cover. Satisfied she wouldn’t embarrass her mother, she scurried down the hall and down the stairs. She slowed her pace as she neared the dining room, and did an invisible happy dance when she saw she had been placed at the last seat on the left side of the table with no one in front of her. Her mother sat at the head with the walking skeleton on one side and Mrs. Worthington on the other. Sam introduced herself to the woman she would be sitting next to throughout the luncheon. Mrs. Smyth was a relative newcomer to the committee, and her grin gave away the fact she was excited to be sitting next to the princess.
And the puppet show
continues
.

Helene and their part-time cook, Mrs. Tardelli, brought out bowls of cold dill soup for the first course. Mrs. Tardelli wore cooking whites, and Helene had put on a full-sized apron over her usual dark skirt and white blouse. Sam felt bad that Helene had to play so many different roles at the luncheon. Just once it would be nice if Helene could sit down and eat with them, instead of serving them.

Sam bit down her irritation and took a hefty spoonful of the soup. She was absolutely starving. Playing the violin always did that to her. Well, that and not eating breakfast. She dug in for another spoonful, but caught her mother’s disapproving glare. Sam nodded once and put her spoon down. “One must eat like a bird,” her mother had drilled into her, “especially around guests.” Helene would, hopefully, bring her a sandwich later like she usually did.

Sam made it through the luncheon, eating enough chicken Caesar salad to curb her hunger, but not enough for her mother to shoot her another disapproving glare. Sam was envious of the women, like Mrs. Smyth, who didn’t realize they were supposed to demurely pick at their food instead of actually eat it. After forever, her mother announced that coffee and dessert were to be served in the music room with the committee meeting after that. Sam held her breath hoping she wouldn’t hear the words, “Join us, Samantha Rose.”

Sam’s mother finally nodded; it was their private signal for Sam to excuse herself. Sam almost sighed out loud in relief. She said her goodbyes and walked out of the dining room calmly instead of fleeing the way she wanted to. She didn’t even care that she had to hide out in her room for a couple of hours until it was time to leave for her game against the Black Widows. The ladies who lunch would be long gone by then, which was good because it would have been a big no-no to be seen in her softball uniform. Such a tomboy activity was most definitely not befitting Samantha Rose the debutante. Her mother hated the fact that she played softball, but Dr. Boyle had convinced Sam’s mother it was okay for Sam to participate in the “rough-andtumble” sport as her mother called it. He’d said it would be a good way for Sam to make friends, since she’d had none three years before when she first started ninth grade. They hoped it would relieve Sam’s stress and reduce the frequency of migraines. It had helped, not completely, but some.

Sam was about to bolt up the stairs to her room, when the front door opened. Rolando, her father’s driver, stepped into the foyer. His black suit and white shirt were neatly pressed as always. He was an older Italian man with graying dark hair and a pencil-thin mustache that made him look distinctly European. He had been her father’s driver ever since she could remember.

Sam practically skipped back to the foyer to greet him. Even though she was trying to convince everyone that she was a mature young woman, she always felt nine years old around Rolando.

“How are you today, Miss Samantha Rose?” Rolando gave her a quick hug.

“Fine.” She looked up at him expectantly.

His eyes twinkled as he deliberately avoided her gaze by looking up at the chandelier.

Sam cleared her throat.

“Was there something you needed, Miss?” His face broke into a grin.

She pushed out her lower lip in a boo-boo face.

“Don’t cry,
mia bella ragazza
.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a butterscotch candy.

Her boo-boo face shot into a smile as she took the candy from his hand. “Thanks, Rolando.”

He bowed slightly and chuckled.

“I’ll tell Daddy you’re here.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

She coughed as she neared her father’s study, so he would know she was approaching. She knocked, waited for him to say, “Come,” and then opened the door.

“Rolando’s here, Daddy.”

“Thank you, Kitten.” He didn’t look up.

She turned to go, but hesitated, hoping he’d changed his mind about the lake house. She glanced back at him, but he was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t even notice her. With a sigh, she walked out and headed to the stairs. Maybe she’d go back to bed and dream about Lisa until it was time to pick up Susie for the game.

Never Let Them See You Cry

SAM PULLED THE convertible into Susie’s driveway and popped the trunk. Susie leaped off the hood of her rusty Toyota and tossed her softball bag in the open trunk.

“Top down,” Susie said as she hopped into the passenger seat. “Nice. Hey, guess what?”

“What?” Sam backed the car out of the driveway and headed toward Sandstoner Fields. And toward Lisa. She grinned; she couldn’t help it.

“
Aay
, wait a second. You’re grinning like
un gato
. Are there new developments in the, uh,
amor
department?”

“No.” Sam felt her face flush. “Just shuddup, okay? I’m working on it.”

“
Aay
, touchy, touchy.” Susie grabbed Sam by the arm. “Guess who got a job in the Science Center at the college?”

“Hmm,” Sam teased. “Marlee?”

Susie shook Sam’s arm. “No.”

“Your angel of a brother, Miguel?”

“No!”

Sam couldn’t keep a straight face and laughed. “That’s awesome Sus. When do you start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“On a Friday?”

Susie nodded. “Yep. Orientation. They’re going to show me around, and I’ll meet the professors and some of the students and stuff. It’s gonna be so cool.”

“You’re such a science geek.” Sam smiled at her friend, hoping that Susie’s new job would work out better than the last one had. “No more babysitting?”

“
Dios,
never again.” Susie rolled her eyes. “Anyway, let me tell you what I’ll be doing.” Susie rambled on excitedly about setting up labs and helping the professors. She rambled on so long it took up the entire drive to the field. Sam had contributed three, maybe four, words to the entire conversation.

Sam pulled the car into the Sandstoner Fields parking lot. Her heart quickened when she spotted Lisa and Marlee waiting for them near Marlee’s van. A delicious tingling overtook her at the sight of Lisa.

Sam put the convertible’s top up and popped the trunk. She checked her eyeliner in the rear view mirror one last time. Lisa once said Sam looked sexy wearing eyeliner, so Sam made sure she wore it all the time. Satisfied it hadn’t smudged, she bolted out of the car and grabbed her gear from the trunk. She shouldered her bag and ran toward Lisa and Marlee, not waiting for Susie.

Lisa put her arms out, and Sam flew into them. After a moment, she reluctantly let go.

Susie walked up calmly and coolly and gave her own girlfriend a quick hug.

Marlee turned to Sam. “Any news about the lake house?”

“Sus,” Sam glared at Susie, “you weren’t supposed to say anything yet.”

“
Aay
,
lo siento, muchacha
. You know I can’t keep anything from her.” Susie made puppy dog eyes at Marlee.

“Gag me.” Sam rolled her eyes. “It’s not looking good for the lake house, you guys. I have an idea, though.” She’d have to run the idea past her parents first, but it shouldn’t be a problem.

“What’s that, baby?” Lisa asked.

“I thought Daddy might change his mind if he actually got to know you guys, so I thought maybe if you wanted to, uh...” Sam couldn’t help the vulnerability she felt as she tried to invite her friends to the mansion. She hadn’t invited friends over since her eighth birthday party. Her parents had started a tradition of giving out lavish and expensive party favors every year, and after a while, it became clear to Sam that her friends weren’t there to celebrate her birthday. They were there for the expensive stuff they would go home with— Barbie Dream Houses or iPods. Sam refused to have any friends at the house after that. Things changed when she met Susie in ninth grade, though, and Sam took a chance and invited her over. Susie had been the only one since then. And Lisa. Once.

“Do you guys want to come back to the house after the playoff games on Saturday and go swimming and have lunch and meet my parents?”

“Absolutely yes.” Lisa gave Sam a tight hug.

“That sounds like fun,” Marlee said. “I’ve never been to your house.”

“Marlee,” Susie said, “Sam’s house isn’t exactly a house.”

“It’s not?”

“Nope.” Susie chuckled. “It’s a tent.” Sam’s mouth flew open at the lie. Susie put up a defensive hand as Sam tried to smack her on the arm. “It’s a cardboard box actually. They live under the highway.”

“You lie like a rug.” Sam pushed Susie playfully. At Marlee’s confused expression, Sam said, “It’s a big house.”

“It’s a mansion,” Lisa clarified.

“Cool,” Marlee said. “I’ve never been in a mansion before, either.”

Abby, the Nor’Easters’ lanky shortstop, strode by. “Hey, it’s the

Clarksonville clique.” She patted Sam on the back. “You guys better get it in gear. Coach already has the pitching machine fired up.”

“Crap,” Sam said. “We’re right behind you.”

Marlee shut the back door to the van, and they followed the trail Abby blazed through the parking lot.