by Dana Mentink
That was one distraction he definitely couldn’t afford.
Time to go. Time to pitch. The feeling burned through his body. He didn’t know how Gina had become his friend, didn’t understand why his mother had invited his father back into her life. He couldn’t control the actions of stalker Tom Peterson. He could do precisely nothing except pack up the ranch and get back to the mound. Without Tippy and Gina.
Resolutely, he finished the packing.
Time to play ball.
Though Gina wouldn’t tell Cal, she followed the Tweet stream all afternoon while she packed Meg’s bedroom. To her mind the picture was adorable, a smiling Cal, an exuberant Tippy. Tom Peterson had also Tweeted pictures of Cal pitching to the kids and Gina surrounded by a gaggle of giggling children. Most of the commenters seemed to agree—except for the odd hateful one which she was coming to learn was the inevitable dark part of social media. She was certain Tom was making money off his ill-gotten gains somehow. He had already attracted hundreds more followers with his exclusive pictures of Cal Crawford.
At least it seemed to be helping Cal’s public image for a change, though she hoped the parents of the beep ball players weren’t too upset at the unsought publicity for their kids.
Gina finished folding the remaining scarves she’d found hanging in the back of the closet. She wondered if Cal’s father had packed up the other things, but she didn’t want to ask. Cal was upset by whoever had been on the phone, and the Twitter thing had exasperated him further. Best let sleeping dogs lie.
Her particular sleeping dog charge perked up when they heard the kitchen door bang. Hopping off the bed, Tippy scuttled down the hall, Gina following. They found Cal on the porch, sorting out some fishing supplies.
“Taking a break. Going to the creek,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound disappointed that he did not seem eager to include her anymore.
He snapped the tackle box closed and stood, shooting a sideways glance at her. “Want to come?”
“Really? I’d love to,” she said quickly before he had a chance to rethink the offer. “Let me get my bag.” She turned to dash into the house. “Oh, um, can Tippy come too? I’m afraid to leave her here alone.”
His eyes narrowed and he glared at Tippy. Tippy showed her best by turning in a perfect circle and offering an excited yip. He sighed. “Oh, all right, but you’re gonna have to take those socks off her.”
Gina complied and they headed along the wooded trail, toting fishing poles and a deliriously happy dog who applied her nose to every pine needle and rut along the way. The trail led down between clumps of oaks, leaves dappling the ground—which was dry thanks to an extended period of drought. Then it was a short, steep climb down to a hollow shelf of flat sandstone. It enclosed a pocket of water some fifteen feet across, fed by a burbling creek. Pines and fir trees shaded the spot in some places and along the far bank, scenting the air with the smell of the woods.
Gina breathed in the beauty of the glorious, sun-dappled fishing hole. “Wow,” she said. “So this is home.”
He smiled and baited his hook with a salmon egg and then reached for hers.
“Got some beautiful rainbow trout here,” he said. “I used to catch a mess of them and my mom would fry them up. They were my dad’s favorite.”
And how little boy Cal must have been splitting with pride to provide his father’s favorite meal. Gently, she took the salmon eggs from his hand. “I can do it. Salmon eggs are good but I prefer nightcrawlers. Of course, the dead bait has the scent and trout just can’t pass that up, can they?” She relished his open-mouth stare.
“Where’d you learn to fish?” he said as she expertly cast her line into the bubbling water.
“Mrs. Filipski.”
“The pierogi lady?”
Gina nodded. “And Butch. He’s the mailman on Mrs. Filipski’s route. He showed Mrs. Filipski the best fishing hole in all of California, so he says, and now she closes the store early every Wednesday and we all three go fishing.”
He grinned as he cast his own line. “You are a woman of many skills.”
“Don’t I know it,” she joked.
“How’s Mrs. Filipski getting along without your help?”
“Funny thing, but Butch seems to be helping out before work and on his off days.”
“Is there a romance blooming for Mrs. Filipski and Butch?”
Gina shrugged. “I hope so. They get along like peas in a pod, as my Nana used to say.” She eyed the bubbles and Tippy, who sniffed, careful to keep her paws far from the water.
They fished until the sun began to sink behind the pine trees. Sitting on the sandstone, Gina rooted through her bag and pulled out a bowl and kibble, plus two apples, bottled water, and two sprinkle doughnuts. “Thought we might get hungry. Mrs. Filipski never leaves the shop without iced tea and a container full of cheese pierogis, but this will have to do.”
Cal sank down next to her. Tippy wagged and gobbled, happy to have Cal resting nearby. Cal accepted the apple and water and declined the doughnut.
“I see you found The Doughnut Wheel in town?” he said.
“Your aunt took me while you were packing.”
He smiled. “Not surprised.” The smile faded away as he looked out across the pond, the sparkling water reflected in his eyes. “Gonna be leaving for Arizona in a few days.”
She nodded. “What’s it like, spring training?”
“Amazing. Great to be back pitching.”
“Is there any time for fun?”
“Fun?” He considered. “It’s fun to see the guys again. The stadium is small, more intimate, so the fans can get up closer. Kids get autographs and they have events for them and such. Is that what you mean by fun?”
“I think that would qualify.”
“Make yourself at home at the house while I’m gone. I’ll leave money for whatever you need for Tippy.”
“We’ll be fine. How long is spring training?”
“Seven weeks give or take, and then the traveling starts.”
She was not sure why the thought of his leaving made her heart sink. Hadn’t she known it was coming all along? “I’ve got my teaching application in all over the place, but if I get a job, I’ll still take care of Tippy for sure or make sure Lexi finds someone else.”
“Appreciate that.”
Tippy flopped down on her side, ears trailing along the sandstone.
Gina let the breeze ruffle her hair. “This is an amazing place. If it were mine, I would have a hard time letting it go.”
Cal wanted to deny it but he found he couldn’t. “Yeah, I had some good times here, plenty of them, but some really bad ones, too. It was all before my pitching took off. When I’m here, I almost forget that I’m a pitcher and then when I’m pitching, I lose touch with who I was before.”
“But maybe the ranch is where you’re meant to remember who you are.”
“I’m just a pitcher. I throw a ball. My uncle taught me how when I was eight. That’s all I am and I’m the best in the world, or I will be again when I get my head on straight.”
“You are more than that.”
“Not to my dad,” Cal blurted out. Gina saw his cheeks darken and she knew he regretted letting those words loose.
“To the Lord, and to the people who love you. They don’t love you because you can throw a changeup.”
He quirked a smile. “You’ve been studying.”
She nodded. “God made you Cal Crawford. The world made you a pitcher.”
Cal closed his eyes. “I’m mixed up,” he said in a small voice.
“It’s okay.” She took his hand and they sat, listening to the rattle of dried pine needles skittering across the ground. The minutes ticked by and he stayed so silent, eyes closed, that she wondered if he had fallen asleep.
Her phone buzzed and she checked it. Another text from Bill. Heard about something you might be interested in.
She shoved the phone back in her pocket
and felt Cal looking hard at her. “Who was that?”
“Bill, my former boyfriend. Part of me wishes he wouldn’t contact me anymore, now that he’s remarrying his ex-wife.”
“Part of you?”
“Oh it’s not what you think. I don’t love Bill anymore.” She picked up a pebble and tossed it in the pond near where they had left their fishing lines trailing in the water. It made a satisfying plop. “I… I love his son. His name is Matthew. He’s five.”
“Ah,” Cal said. “And when you and Bill broke up, you lost contact with the boy?”
She nodded miserably, swallowing a sudden thickening in her throat. “Except Bill texts me pictures—of Matthew in his baseball uniform, or eating ice cream. I want to look, but I don’t want to feel what comes with the pictures.”
He took her hand. “That hurts.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s hard to just stop loving someone when they’re gone, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” he said, squeezing.
The words spilled out of her and she felt powerless to stop them. “We weren’t meant to be, Bill and me. He’s really smart, a lawyer, super business oriented, and he has spreadsheets for everything. His wife is smart too, more of that corporate type. She has matching shoes and handbags and she has someone make perfume for her signature scent. Not exactly a hands-on mom. They divorced. I think Bill wanted me around more for Matthew than because he loved me, but I didn’t see that. I never see that kind of thing.”
“Do you miss Bill?”
“Sometimes, but mostly I miss Matthew. I understand, though. His mother doesn’t want the former girlfriend around. I wouldn’t either, and I don’t want to stay in Bill’s life, but I just can’t seem to get Matthew out of my heart. Do you understand?” She looked deep into those brown eyes, and she thought perhaps he did.
His brown eyes caught the light as he nodded.
“I learned a lot from the whole experience.”
“Like what?”
She sighed. “That I’ve got to take care of myself, stand on my own two feet, and that I’m stronger than the pain.”
“That’s a good lesson to learn.”
She nodded. “Shipwrecks are going to happen, my Nana used to say, and that was one of them. It just made me more determined to go after what I need out of life, you know?”
“I know.” He reached his other hand free and trailed his fingers through her hair. Tingles exploded through her body. What was this feeling? It must be nerves, because it couldn’t be love. She wouldn’t let it be, not until she was over Bill and his son, which might take several decades of concerted effort.
A tug on her pole made her scramble to her feet. She grabbed the rod just as it came unwedged from the rocks and skittered toward the water. Cal joined her as she reeled in the line. A trout some ten inches long and beautifully speckled wriggled and bucked on the hook.
Cal let out a whoop and Tippy pranced around the dangling trout. He took a picture with his iPhone of Gina and the fish.
She grabbed the wiggling thing and carefully disentangled the hook from its mouth the way Mrs. Filipski had shown her. “Off you go,” she said, tossing the animal back into the pond.
“Why did you do that?” Cal said. “We could have had trout for dinner.”
“I didn’t want to kill it.”
“What? I thought you were a champion fisherman!”
“Fisherwoman, and just because I catch them doesn’t mean I have to kill them.” She watched with satisfaction, imagining the fish swimming along through the cold, crisp waters of Slip Rock Creek.
“You’re a very complicated person, Gina.”
“Nope. Simple as can be. I like dogs and fish and doughnuts. That’s about all there is to Gina Elizabeth Palmer.”
He looked at her for such a long moment that it sent something skittering through her insides. Shaking his head, Cal gathered up the fishing gear. “Not hardly. You’re going to be a great teacher someday.”
“Yes, I am.”
They headed back to the house, watching the scrub jays hopping about catching the insects that flittered with the coming dusk. Tippy had a go at a moth, which fluttered teasingly, inches from her nose.
“Figure we’ll leave early tomorrow,” Cal said, “after breakfast. I’ve got a flight Monday morning.”
“Sounds good,” Gina said. She wondered how it would feel to putter around the enormous San Francisco home without Cal there. A week ago she hadn’t even known him, and now she found he was in her thoughts and prayers almost constantly. How had she let that happen? Walking quicker, she took the final turn to the house.
Tippy stopped, stiffened, and took off, barking madly.
“Wait, Tippy,” Gina shouted. Hurrying as best she could with her bag and jacket, she scurried after the dog. Tippy raced on ahead, careening up to the porch steps. Gina finally caught sight of a man standing there, a very thin, very gaunt man with brown eyes.
Tippy jumped at his knees, pawing at his legs until he bent to pet her.
“Hello, dog,” he said.
“Hi,” Gina said, coming to a panting stop. “I’m Gina. That’s Tippy.”
“I know,” he said, a quirk of a smile tugging at his thin lips.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you a neighbor?”
Cal came up behind her with strong, angry strides. “He’s not a neighbor.”
Gina looked at Cal, his face blazing as he stared down the man on the porch.
“He’s my father,” Cal said.
Twelve
Cal’s feet were rooted in place, a hot flame roaring through his body as he faced the man he hadn’t seen in two decades. His dad was thin, the skin around his eyes saggy along with the jowls under his chin. His scruff of dark hair had receded, leaving a wide expanse of creased forehead. He looked old and shrunken from the strong, tall man he had been in the twenty years since he had driven away from his family. It did not soften Cal’s ire.
“What do you want?”
Mitch bent again to caress Tippy. “Thought we could talk.”
“You thought wrong. You don’t have permission to be here.”
Mitch did not react, merely picked up Tippy and rubbed her head. “Your mother said I could come. I was helping her get the place in order.”
“Mom’s dead,” Cal snapped, both pleased and ashamed to see his father flinch. “This is my ranch now and I’m telling you to leave. You’re good at that, remember?”
Mitch glanced at Gina. “I’m sorry you’re having to listen to this, miss.”
Cal noticed for the first time the stricken look on Gina’s face. Her eyes were wide, lips parted, a look of near horror on her face. Nice, Cal, way to suck her into this nasty scene. He tried for a deep breath. “What do you want?”
“I left some things here,” Mitch said. “I came to collect them. I would have come sooner but I’ve been away.”
“All right,” Cal said, throwing open the front door. “Go ahead and get your stuff and then get out.” Just like you did when I was eight years old.
He nodded and went into the house, making his way to the study, still holding Tippy.
Cal passed Gina. He wanted to apologize, ashamed that she had seen him so close to losing it. It angered him further that his father, a stranger, could undo all Cal’s carefully maintained control. Gina offered a solemn nod and remained outside.
Following his father to the study, Cal watched as he took a set of photography books and a Thermos from the bookshelves Cal had not yet cleared. The way he made himself at home in the study infuriated Cal. As if he belonged there… as if he hadn’t thrown it all away years ago. Had he come back for a share of his mom’s estate? Cal knew from the lawyers that his mother had left a small amount to Mitch. Was the man greedy for more?
“Why did you come, anyway?” he blurted out.
“I told you. To pick up these things.”
“I mean why were you here all these months? You walked out on Mom and then you come back w
hen she’s dying? What gave you the right to do that?”
He turned and looked at Cal. “I loved your mother… and you, believe it or not.”
Love? Cal almost choked on the word. It was unreal, like a scene from the sappy movies he abhorred. “You know what? I don’t believe it. A man who loves his family doesn’t get into his car and drive away.”
“A weak man does,” he said quietly.
Cal waited. “That’s it?” he said after a moment. “You’re weak? That’s the big excuse? Not a revelation to me, Dad. I already knew that.”
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Smart of you, because I don’t.”
Mitch pursed his lips and let out a sigh. “It’s important for a man to support his family. If he can’t do that, he begins to feel like less of a man. My businesses were failing, first one store and then the other. I’d spent my whole life building them up, pouring my heart and soul into them, but who wants a photo shop when you can print anything you want at home or to an online company? Who cares about how a camera works, a real quality camera, when you can use a phone without any skill whatsoever?” Bitterness etched the words.
“You became obsolete,” said Cal. “It happens. Same scenario for video store owners and people who sell eight track tapes.”
Mitch’s gaze flicked out the window to the overgrown garden. “We came to live on this ranch because your mom inherited the place from her father. Kind of like charity. Your grandfather never thought I was good enough for Meg in the first place.”
Grandpa was right about that. “Ranching was honest work, a way to support us while you tried to keep your precious photo store alive. At least it kept us fed and clothed.”
“I’m not a ranching man, Cal. Your mother knew that.”
For some reason his father’s use of his name struck at him. How many nights had he lain awake, longing for his father’s return, imagining what he’d say that would glue their family together again? I’m back, Cal. We’re going to be a family again. Leaving you was a mistake. Words that never came and never would. He blinked back to reality. “Mom didn’t expect you to be an expert rancher and neither did I.”
