by Dana Mentink
“There was just no way. I do cameras. That’s all I’ve ever done. I tried to show you, remember?”
And Cal had had no interest. None. Nothing about the tiny gears and lenses was anywhere near as enticing as running and catching or fishing in the creek. “Yeah, I remember, but I was a kid and you were a parent and your decision to leave doesn’t get laid at my doorstep. Or mom’s. You left us because you couldn’t rise above your failures and you never looked back. You’re right. That’s weak.” He hammered the last words home like ninety-mile-an-hour fastballs.
“I did look back, Cal. Followed every step of your career.”
“So you took an interest after I made it in the bigs, huh? Like everyone else?”
“No, I’ve checked in with your mother since you were a kid.”
He felt like he’d been slapped. “Well, why didn’t Mom tell me?”
He let out another sigh, heavy and resigned. “Because I became a drunk, Cal, an alcoholic.”
He’d known his father had begun to drink more and more before his departure, but he’d certainly not known that. So what? It didn’t change a thing.
“I’m sober now, going on five years, but I abandoned you, and your mother saw what it did to you, how much it cost you. She didn’t want that to happen again so we both decided it would be better for me not to be involved in your life while I was drinking.”
“People overcome their alcoholism. You couldn’t swallow your pride and get help? Not even for Mom? Or me?”
He cradled Tippy closer. “I told you, son. I was weak. Inadequacy is like Kryptonite to a man. I was ashamed for you to see your father as a failure.”
Disgust welled up in Cal’s gut. This man, too weak to parent, too insecure to stand by his wife’s side. He couldn’t speak.
Mitch’s gaze drifted to the calendar with all of Cal’s stats written there for each game. “You’ve certainly made the best of things. Starting pitcher for the Falcons. Best changeup in baseball.”
Something like pride shone in Mitch’s eyes and it tore at Cal, bittersweet, a pain-filled pleasure. How he’d longed for his father’s approval, and how little it meant after all these years.
“Whatever I’ve done is thanks to Mom. She took me to all those games, sold her mother’s antique jewelry to pay for my pitching coaches and equipment. She was the one who was behind me all the way, Mom and Uncle Oscar. You had no part in any of my success. You don’t have the right to feel anything about me, pride or disappointment or anything.” He knew his voice was rising in volume but he couldn’t stop it. “You’re not my father. You’re nothing to me.”
Mitch’s mouth tightened. “I suppose you’re right, but somehow I feel proud of you anyway.”
Cal and his father stared at each other in silence. “If you’re finished,” Cal said, “it’s time for you to go.”
Instead of leaving, Mitch walked to the calendar, picked up the pen, and wrote a series of stats in the box for Cal’s final game of the season. “Forgot to pencil that one in.” Then he walked past Cal and down the hall to the kitchen.
Cal inhaled the scent of his father’s aftershave and it shook him with a sense of mingled pain and nostalgia. His dad was leaving again, diminished, weak. It was what Cal wanted. He wanted his father to hurt like he had hurt, to feel shame, like Cal had felt all the times he had no father by his side like the other boys. He’d been the one to cut his father down this time, with well-deserved blows. But Cal did not feel triumph, only a cold ball in the pit of his stomach.
Cal followed him to the porch where Gina sat, hands clasped behind her, probably trying desperately to avoid hearing the family mess that had just taken place.
Mitch shifted the dog in his arms. “Anyway, thanks for taking care of her.” He headed down the walk.
“Where are you taking Mom’s dog?” he demanded.
Mitch turned, giving him a quizzical look. “Tippy is my dog,” he said. “I’m taking her home.”
Gina jerked, wondering if she had misheard. “Tippy is yours?”
He nodded. “Brought her with me when I was helping Meg. Meg got such a kick out of her that I let her stay, though it really steamed Sweets. Tippy gave Meg something to focus on besides her illness, so I gave Tippy to her with the understanding that I’d take her back after… ” He cleared his throat. “That she’d return to me. I’ve been meaning to come sooner and get her, but I was moving places so I figured she’d be okay here at the ranch with Oscar and Sweets for a while.”
Cal’s eyes were wide. He folded his arms and looked at the ground.
“Well,” Gina said through a clog in her throat, “she’s a wonderful dog, Mr. Crawford. I sure have enjoyed taking care of her in San Francisco.”
Mitch looked surprised. “I didn’t know she’d left the ranch.”
“I guess you don’t go on Twitter.”
“What’s Twitter?”
Gina was not sure if it was proper in light of the angry words she’d heard spilling from the study, but she pulled the pictures of Tippy and Cal up on her phone and showed them to Mitch.
He chuckled. “Imagine that. Old dog has her moment to shine. Meg would have been delighted.”
“People love Tippy.”
“I know Meg did, and that dog loved her better than I ever could. All right, Tip. Let’s go home.” Mitch put Tippy down and said goodbye, walking along the road to where she saw a parked sedan. Tippy trotted after him, but after a few feet she stopped and turned around, scurrying back to Gina and Cal, zinging from person to person and pawing at their legs.
“I’m sorry, Tippy,” Gina said through the clog in her throat. “You’ve got to go with Mitch and we can’t come.”
Cal did not say a word, nor did he look at the dog.
Mitch called again and Tippy beamed those filmy eyes on Gina. She sank to her knees and kissed Tippy on the head, trying valiantly not to cry.
“I’ll miss you, sweetums.” She pulled two pairs of socks from her pocket and gave them to Mitch. “It’s easier for her on slippery floors if she wears these.”
With an amused look on his face, he took them and thanked her.
Tippy sat down and let out a howl.
Gina’s floodgates broke. With the hot tears threatening to spill over, she turned away and walked back to Cal. Gotta say goodbye. You knew it was just a temporary job. Man up. Tippy tried to run to her, but Mitch scooped her up.
When Gina drew even with Cal, he reached an arm around her shoulders. She ducked her head, allowing the hair to screen her emotions from him, biting on her knuckle. The last thing he needed was a hysterical dog sitter. Cal gripped her tight next to him as they watched. Did the rigidity in his fingers mean he too was sad to see Tippy go?
Mitch opened the door to his car and prepared to load Tippy aboard.
Gina forced out some cheer. “Bye, Tippy. Love you.” Too bad her voice broke over the last syllable.
Cal released her, took a step forward, and called to his father. “Wait.”
Mitch stopped.
“The team wants Tippy to come to spring training,” Cal said. “They want Gina to bring her and do some photo ops and such.”
Gina stared. Spring training? What was he talking about?
Mitch considered, looking from Tippy to Cal.
“Is that what you want, Cal?” he asked.
She heard Cal swallow hard and straighten. He looked his father in the eyes. “Yes. I would like Gina to bring Tippy. I’ll have Tippy returned to you in a few weeks.”
Mitch scratched the back of his neck. “All right, then. I guess Tippy could use a spring training vacation.” He stepped back and Tippy rushed toward Gina. Though she knew it was only a temporary reunion, she gathered up the dog and rubbed her cheek on Tippy’s head.
She felt Mitch gazing at her. “Thank you, Mr. Crawford.”
He gave her a smile and a nod. “There’s just something about Tippy,” he said. “Meg fell head over heels for her, too.”
Then he
got in his car and drove away, Cal watching.
“What is this about spring training?” she said, laughing as Tippy licked her ear.
“Gonna have to discuss that, but it’s true, they want Tippy at spring training for a week.”
They returned to the house and Cal held the door for her as she passed.
Tippy was wanted at spring training?
Gina snuggled the dog close, thrilled to be given a few more weeks with the zany animal. Mitch was right. There was just something about Tippy.
Thirteen
Gina was sorry to say goodbye to Sweets and Oscar after breakfast the next morning. They were sent off with cheerful waves and a big pancake breakfast. Cal explained more about Tippy’s upcoming adventure as they drove.
“I should have asked you first, before I told my father,” he said. “It just sort of came out.”
It had, and she thought perhaps there was something else at play. “I thought you didn’t want any distractions at training camp.”
He shrugged. “It would be more of a distraction knowing that you and Tippy weren’t together.”
She did not know what to make of that. Had he agreed to the spring training thing so she would have more time with Tippy? Was he that concerned about her happiness? Surely not. Baseball was his life, and spring training, the starting line.
“Are you going to be sad when you have to return Tippy to your father?”
He squirmed on the seat. “I don’t want to have anything to do with my father, but if Tippy is his, then that’s the way it has to be. Funny, a week ago I would have been happy to hand her over to anyone.”
“I wonder how Tippy will react when she returns to him after such a long break.”
Cal’s face darkened. “Tippy isn’t too selective. She likes everyone. I’m sure it will work out. Dad’s life always does.”
She didn’t give voice to her disagreement. Mitch Crawford did not seem like the happiest of men. He’d obviously loved his wife and she knew deep down he must love his son. And now, he had neither in his life. She made a note to add Mitch to her prayer list. The man needed some comfort as much as his son, though she’d never tell Cal that.
They did not stop for lunch and after waiting patiently through massive traffic, they arrived back in San Francisco. He dropped her off at the curb next to the pierogi store. “Tell Mrs. Filipski I apologize about the trip,” he called through the window. “If it leaves her shorthanded maybe I can help find someone to fill in.”
“Do you know a lot of pierogi makers?”
He smiled. “I didn’t even know what a pierogi was until you told me, but I’m sure Luz could master it. She went to the Cordon Bleu. It’s the top-ranked culinary school in the world.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You had to look that up, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I never heard of it until I met Luz, but she’s pretty proud of it. It’s sort of like All Stars for cooks, I guess.”
Gina laughed. “Well, if Luz could whip up some pierogis, it would be a good change from egg whites and spinach.”
“I don’t think my nutritionist would agree.”
“Your nutritionist probably does not get asked to bring dishes to the potluck parties.”
The light began to fade and streetlights went on. The road was quiet except for the rumble of a city bus making its way along. “So I’ll arrange the flight for you and Tippy, okay? There’s a couple of events the first few days and then things quiet down and we’ll book your flight home.”
She shook her head. “We’re going to have to drive.”
“Flying’s a lot faster.”
“Yes, but there’s the plummeting to earth in a fiery ball of carnage factor.”
He quirked a smile. “You’re afraid to fly?”
“Not afraid, exactly. I just like having cup holders within easy reach. Besides, Tippy might need to stop and reconnoiter.”
He laughed, loud and heartily. “Right. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow, okay?”
She nodded, reaching through the window to give Tippy a scratch under her saggy chin. Cal caught Gina’s hand, fingers gentle on her wrist, pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles and sending a path of heat up her arm.
“I’m sorry about that scene with my father. It was wrong to unroll all that in front of you.”
“That’s okay. It caught you by surprise.”
“Took my eye off the ball.” He sighed. “I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Should have known my dad was sniffing around at the ranch.”
At your mother’s request. She thought perhaps it was more helping than sniffing, but she didn’t say so.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” he said.
He let go of her wrist and she waved as he and Tippy drove away. She turned to find Mrs. Filipski and Butch watching out the window. They both broke into frenzied dishwashing when they realized Gina was on to their spying. She stuck her head into the kitchen and offered to help with the dishes.
“No need,” Mrs. Filipski said. “Almost done.”
“I’ve got to talk to you about another trip I have to take,” Gina said, “but Cal said he can send a replacement to help while I’m gone.”
“You take your trip. I’ve got enough help around here.”
Indeed Mrs. Filipski looked very comfortable working next to Butch, who did not seem to mind wearing the floral-patterned apron she’d loaned him. Gina smiled inwardly. Who would think the mailman would be a match for the crusty Polish pierogi maker? The Lord had made stranger matches. Butch offered a soapy salute and continued to scrub.
“Thank you, Mrs. Filipski. You’re the best.”
“Don’t I know it. There was a note left under the mat for you. I stuck the paper on your bed. You want something to eat? I got leftover cheese pierogis in the fridge.”
“No thanks. I’m just tired out and ready for bed.”
“Yeah? What did you do at the ranch? Milk the cows? Feed the chickens?” She laughed at her joke.
What had she done at the ranch? Learned to play baseball for the blind. Caught a fish and let it go free. Met the people who made Cal the compassionate man he was deep inside and the father who’d let him down more profoundly than he’d ever admit. She’d packed up a beloved mother’s belongings while Cal had stowed away his memories and made plans to sell the ranch. And they’d both seen Tippy try to make canine sense of the present and the past, to decide between strange humans who must possess a thing to love it.
What had Gina done at the ranch? Too much for her to make sense of at the moment. “I’ll tell you all about it later,” she promised.
Heaving herself up the stairs, she made it to her tiny bedroom. Turning on the bedside lamp, she flopped backward onto the mattress, letting the past few days wash over her again. She remembered the feeling of Cal’s fingers trailing through her hair, the admiration on his face when she’d caught the fish, the way he’d held her when she’d almost been run down by Tom Peterson. There had been such deep emotion in his face, in his hands. Fear? Compassion? Something more?
Her heart thunked at the memories and the cascade of feelings they awakened inside her. It had been easier when she’d believed Cal to be a coldhearted egotist who would consign a dog to the pound without a backward glance. Now she had the distinct impression he’d been relieved to keep Tippy around for another week, and not just because she was requested by the Falcons organization.
Another week. A matter of days and it would be all over. After spring training Tippy would go back to Mitch and both Cal and Tippy would disappear. She threw a hand over her eyes and her forearm brushed a piece of paper. She sat up and held the paper to the light.
Gina, I stopped by to see you since I didn’t hear back. Did you lose your phone again? You have to get a locator app on that thing. Got a lead on a job for you at Mt. Olive. Matthew has been asking to go get ice cream with you, like old times. Call me. Bill
A job. At Mt. Olive. She read it twice and tried to figure out al
l the angles. Bill felt guilty, no doubt, about how things had gone between them. He was being kind, offering to help her find a new position. Getting a shot at a potential classroom assignment made her prickle all over. But calling Bill? Hearing about Matthew straight from his father’s mouth? Enduring the pleasantries as if they were only friends and she hadn’t come to love his son? Sharing an ice cream and watching him walk away again? It didn’t feel right, though the desire to see Matthew nearly swamped her.
And reopening the connection to Matthew would shred what was left of her heart.
Find your own job, Gina. You don’t need someone to make it happen for you. Don’t let anyone take care of you.
Resolutely, she pulled up the school district employment page and made sure her applications were all up to date. Free to interview immediately?
Absolutely. Almost. Right after she and Tippy took a little spring training road trip.
Mind settled, at least for the moment, Gina headed toward sleep, thinking she had better be careful not to leave the car keys within snatching range during their adventure.
Cal relished the sights and smells of spring training. The intimate field where they did batting practice and would play their games reminded him of the hundreds of fields his mother had carted him to over the years. No matter how far away, how dismal or inhospitable the temperature, his mother endured it all with a smile on her face and a book of crossword puzzles to keep her busy during the inevitable wait times. Beside her was always a bag packed with extra water and snacks “in case anyone forgot to pack some.” She’d come to as many of his major league starts as she could. The thought awakened an ache inside him, but he found it was a tolerable ache. Somehow it felt better than the numbing void he’d fallen into.
The Scottsdale Stadium field was a dazzling green, precisely manicured and immaculately tended. As a ranch kid, Cal appreciated the skill and backbreaking effort the groundskeepers put in to keeping the turf perfect. Lon, the head groundskeeper, waited in a discreet corner of the stadium, talking into his radio and fussing over every detail of the immaculate turf. He was invisible to most of the players and all of the fans, but not to Cal. Cal trotted over to see him.
