Diamond in the Rough

by Marie Ferrarella

“Dad kept pushing on, doing the only thing he knew how, play baseball. And then that scandal erupted.” Around this time she began to think her family was cursed.

  “Does it make any sense for your father to jeopardize everything by getting involved with a known gambling ring?” Mike asked her suddenly.

  She wondered this herself, going over it in the dead of night when all things were at their bleakest.

  “Completely out of character,” she said. “But then, grief can make a person do strange things, I guess.” It was the only explanation she had. After all, her father never contested the charges. “And then the accident happened. A drunk driver crashed into him one night a few months after he was banned from baseball. I didn’t think things could get any worse.” Although they had, she added silently.

  He wondered if she was privy to the rumors, or if she’d heard and just chose to shut them out. “A lot of people thought SOS was trying to commit suicide that night.”

  “He wasn’t,” she retorted fiercely. “He wouldn’t have done that to Ariel’s memory—or to me.”

  At least, she added silently, not then.

  As a writer, he was acutely aware of the way words were used. “Shouldn’t that be worded the other way around?”

  “No.” She wished it could, but that would only be lying to herself. She had made peace with the truth. “I knew he liked Ariel better. Both my parents liked Ariel better,” she said simply. “So did I, really,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “Ariel was fun, and cool and just so full of life. Everyone loved being around her.”

  Miranda paused for a moment, staring out through the windshield at the neatly manicured trees passing by. Wishing things had turned out differently. But they hadn’t.

  She was acutely aware of Mike watching her.

  “My mother got annoyed over something I did not long after Ariel’s funeral—I can’t remember what it was, something dumb probably…” She waved her hand, dismissing whatever it had been. “And I heard her say under her breath, ‘You should have been the one who died, not my Ariel.’”

  Mike saw her bite her lower lip, as if trying to contain the sadness the memory had raised.

  Miranda felt self-conscious. If they weren’t in a moving vehicle, she would have probably turned on her heel and walked away.

  “I’ve never told anyone that before.” She let out a long, shaky breath fraught with tears she refused to ever shed and looked over at him. “You really are good at drawing things out of people.”

  Mike tried to put himself in her place, tried to imagine how it felt to know that someone she loved wished she had died in her sister’s place. He couldn’t even begin to fathom it. He’d felt alone when his mother died, but he’d always shared his grief with his brothers. His father had distanced himself from them. And the four of them, despite the fact that they were all very young, had taken solace in one another. He’d never truly been alone, the way Miranda must have felt.

  For the first time, he saw her as a whole person. Not just the extremely attractive daughter of a one-time major league icon. She was a woman whose life was layered.

  He felt himself reacting to what she’d said. Reacting to her.

  Taking a final right turn, he pulled up into a spot fortuitously located right next to his parents’ driveway. “I’m sorry, Miranda.”

  “For making me talk?” she guessed, a whimsical smile playing along her lips. Her eyes stung and she tried fervently to combat the emotions by grinning broadly.

  He glanced at her again and found himself struggling with the desire to take her in his arms and hold her. To comfort her even though he knew it was beyond his actual ability to do so.

  “No, for causing you to dig up memories that are obviously very painful.”

  She laughed shortly. “Just doing your job, right?” Before he could make any comment on her assessment, Miranda nodded toward an inviting blue-and-gray house. “Shouldn’t we be getting out of the car?” she asked. “Or does your family have curbside service?”

  Mike let the subject go for now. At the same time, he filed away the look he had seen on Miranda’s face. For a moment, Miranda’s vulnerability had been exposed and he’d felt both guilty for having brought it about and protective of her.

  Not that she would welcome the latter, he mused. From what he’d witnessed so far, Steven Orin Shaw’s daughter was a very independent, self-possessed young woman. Exposing her vulnerable side probably caused her no small amount of embarrassment.

  It wasn’t something he wanted to capitalize on, just soothe. Maybe it was his knight-in-shining-armor side rising to the surface.

  Getting out of the vehicle, Mike rounded the hood and came up to the passenger door. But Miranda had already opened her side and she was in the process of swinging out her legs. The black-and-white checkered skirt she wore climbed high on her thighs. A wave of warmth swept over him as he took in the sight. Damn, but she had one hell of a set of legs. They alone could bring a man to his knees.

  Mike offered her his hand and she politely ignored it. Standing up and clearing the vehicle, she clutched her bouquet, holding it in front of her like a good-luck talisman.

  The front door swung open as they made their way up the walk. Their path was buffered on both sides by fragrant rosebushes sporting yellow buds that had obviously gotten their seasons confused, a common malady for flowers in Southern California.

  A petite woman, her bouncy blond hair cut short, held the door wide-open. The smile on her flawless face was wide and welcoming.

  “Last one here, as always,” Kate informed her oldest son—she’d always hated the term stepson, maintaining that it made the boys seem like a step below the real thing. “But you brought company with you, so you’re forgiven.” Rising up on her toes, she brushed her lips against his cheek, then turned toward Miranda. If possible, her smile widened even more as she extended her hand to her unknown guest. “Hello, I’m Kate Marlowe.”

  “Miranda Shaw,” Miranda responded, enveloping the offered hand.

  The young woman’s handshake was firm, Kate noted. She liked that. Her eyes shifted toward the bouquet Miranda held in her other hand.

  “Those are lovely roses.”

  Miranda had almost forgotten she was holding them. Coming to, she thrust them at Kate. “They’re for you,” she said belatedly. “I didn’t know what to bring,” she confessed.

  There was an endless fount of kindness in Kate’s eyes. Miranda caught herself thinking that rarely had she ever seen a more sympathetic-looking woman. She liked her instantly.

  Kate accepted the flowers with great pleasure. “Thank you very much, but you really didn’t need to bring anything but yourself.” She looked at Mike. “You didn’t tell her it was our anniversary, did you?”

  Mike gave her a quick, one-armed hug and kissed the top of her head. The affection between the two was obvious. “I didn’t know it was a secret.”

  “Women feel obligated to bring something if they think it’s an occasion,” Kate informed him. Her tone indicated that she knew it was hopeless to think he might remember that the next time around. Kate looked back to Miranda. “You’ll have to excuse Mike, he hasn’t had all that much experience with women.”

  Mike feigned annoyance, as if his biggest secret had just been exposed. “Why don’t you just post that on the Internet?”

  “She might not, but I can,” Trent volunteered, coming forward. His broad smile was for his brother’s guest’s benefit. “Hi, I’m—”

  “One third of an annoying trio,” Mike interrupted, taking her arm. “Why don’t I take you to meet my father?” he suggested.

  “—Trent,” Trent called after her.

  She laughed and waved at him as Mike ushered her through the sliding-glass door in the family room. “Hi, I’m Miranda.”

  Guiding her around several guests, Mike directed her toward the large silver barbecue grill. Clustered around it she saw two more people who looked exactly like the man who’d introduced himself as T
rent.

  Miranda’s mouth dropped open. She’d seen the family photograph in Mike’s wallet, but looking at his brothers in person had that much more of an impact on her. She would have never been able to tell them apart. And even Mike resembled them enough to be mistaken as a fraternal twin.

  “They really are triplets,” she murmured. She didn’t realize Kate was directly behind her until she heard the woman laugh.

  “The first time I met them, I asked their father if he worked for Xerox,” Kate confessed. With the ease of an old friend, Kate slipped her arm through Miranda’s.

  The moment she did that, Miranda felt instantly at ease. And at home.

  Chapter Nine

  Miranda wasn’t accustomed to fitting in easily anymore, certainly not without any effort on her part. Having learned early to treat overtures of friendship with caution, she was used to being on the outside looking in. And when people were overly friendly toward her, she had the uncomfortable feeling that they weren’t interested in friendship, but in getting an inside track to her father.

  To his credit, when she was young and asked her father for the autographs, photos or tickets, he would always come through. But even then, there’d be this enigmatic expression on his face. She realized later that it masked pity, for her having to trade on his name to get friends. Until she grew older she was in the dark about the way people operated. Oh, she had her suspicions, but she never actually acted on them. And so things continued the way they were. Even Ariel’s death didn’t really change things that much.

  But then the scandal happened.

  From then on, she became highly suspicious of anyone who even asked her about her family. It became ingrained in her. So ingrained she couldn’t change her ways, couldn’t just shed her wariness like some burdensome cocoon. After the scandal, instead of fans, she was periodically beset by reporters and by writers who wanted to do a biography on her father, or, occasionally, by baseball historians who wanted to ask SOS face-to-face, “What were you thinking?”

  So, in a nutshell, Miranda was forever on her guard against exactly what Mike Marlowe represented—the prying media.

  However, the Marlowes and their handful of friends didn’t seem to care that much about baseball or her father’s place in its history. After a while, she began to think that perhaps no one knew who her father was. They were being friendly to her because she was with Mike.

  With Mike.

  Miranda slanted a covert glance in his direction. He stood by the barbecue grill, talking rather animatedly to his father. He caught her looking and grinned before continuing his conversation.

  With Mike.

  God, that almost sounded as if they were a couple, and they weren’t. Not even dating, she thought, ignoring the tinge of regret that accompanied that acknowledgment.

  She’d come to the party to see him interact with his family and he’d brought her here to what…? Get her to let down her guard and trust him? She already did on some level because, if she didn’t, no way would she have allowed him to meet her father.

  Maybe Mike had seen the uneasiness reflected in her eyes, the uneasiness she felt because she thought maybe she’d made a mistake after all and that was why he’d decided to ask her to come with him to this family gathering. It didn’t take an Einstein to see that she was very big on families.

  But, whatever his reason for bringing her—and hers for coming—she couldn’t deny one thing. His family made her feel as if she’d always been coming here. They’d absorbed her as if she was a part of them. No one regarded her as the “new kid on the block” or “odd woman out.” They pulled her into conversations and sprinkled in just enough questions to get her to talk about herself. She became entrenched within their gathering—and loved it.

  There was an easy camaraderie among them, Miranda quickly noted. At the center of it all was Kate. Maybe if Kate had been her mother, her father wouldn’t have remained an island unto himself when Ariel died. If Kate had been her mother, her parents wouldn’t have turned from each other and withdrawn into themselves, leaving her emotionally stranded.

  But life was what it was. There was no point in wishing that things had been otherwise. For now she was just going to enjoy this family. Enjoy the fact that people like this actually existed. She’d begun to think that they didn’t, that nothing but sadness littered the world.

  She did a lot of laughing during the course of the afternoon and evening. The Marlowes were an entertaining lot and she quickly forgot to be on her guard.

  It felt wonderful.

  Time went by all too quickly. Soon it was dark and the people attending the barbecue adjourned to the family room, driven in by the cool evening air.

  Conversations continued, overlapping one another, weaving themselves into a greater whole. Her opinion was asked on a dozen different matters, compared and contrasted, evaluated and approved.

  Several times her head felt as if it was spinning as she tried to listen to several conversations at once, take in everything and add her two cents, as well.

  “Had enough yet?” Mike asked, whispering the question close to her ear as he presented her with the piña colada his father had made just for her.

  Miranda was perched on the arm of a cream-colored suede sofa. Taking the drink, she tried not to react, but the feel of Mike’s warm breath along her neck evoked a deep-seated shiver down her spine. It raised her heart rate by a good twenty points.

  She pretended to be focused on the drink, wrapping her fingers around the stem of the glass slowly. She wished with all her heart that she was more like her father. Emotion rarely registered on his face.

  “I’m stuffed,” she answered in reply.

  “No, I meant have you had enough of them?” He nodded about the room, taking in the scattered members of his family. He noted that Miranda had eased herself out of the circles of conversation for a moment and he thought she wanted to leave.

  She smiled and shook her head. She doubted if she could ever have enough of people like the Marlowes. She was content just to sit and listen.

  “No, I haven’t,” she told him honestly. “I like them.”

  That, to him, was a given. Everyone liked his family.

  “Thought you might,” he responded. Taking a seat on the sofa, he tugged on her skirt, indicating that she join him.

  She slid off the arm of the couch and found herself nestled in between the thick upholstered arm…and Mike’s hard body. Something crackled through her like closely packed firecrackers. From experience she knew only disappointment lay ahead of her, but that didn’t dampen the electrical charge racing through her veins.

  Mike was acutely aware of the presence of his family. As much as he loved them, he wished they weren’t here right now. Or, at the very least, that they were back out on the patio, or in the yard or even in the garage.

  Anywhere but in this room.

  Because he sensed that if he acted on his impulses, he’d never hear the end of it from his sister, Kelsey—and probably his brothers, as well. Not to mention Miranda was definitely not the type to kiss someone with an audience looking on.

  Mike smiled. “They have a habit of growing on you,” he said in response. He glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven. “But it is getting late and you’ve got work tomorrow.”

  If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he sounded almost parental. A father shooing his daughter off to bed because “tomorrow was a school day.” She looked at him, amused. “Don’t you also have work?”

  “My profession’s a little more lax than yours,” he told her. “I don’t have to turn up at a specific time. As long as I e-mail my column to the sports editor before the day’s deadline, I’m all right.”

  She scanned the room. Everyone was still here. “We’ll be the first to leave,” she pointed out.

  “Someone has to be or this’ll go on forever.” With that, he stood up and took her hand. “C’mon,” he coaxed, “just follow my lead.”

  She’d
stayed a great deal longer than she’d originally intended—and wanted to stay even longer, but Mike was right. It was getting late and although she felt even more wide-awake now than she had when she’d first arrived, she’d regret it tomorrow. She wasn’t a morning person. Not getting enough sleep would automatically turn her into a semifunctioning zombie on Monday morning.

  “I had a wonderful time,” she told Kate and Bryan as she and Mike said their goodbyes. “Thank you for having me.”

  “Anyone who can put up with Mike is more than welcome here,” Bryan assured her, taking her hand between both of his and shaking it. He smiled warmly at her. Miranda saw the family resemblance immediately. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  “What he said,” Kate echoed her husband’s sentiments. She stepped forward and rather than just shaking her hand, she embraced Miranda, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Thanks for coming,” she added, stepping back. Bryan draped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. Kate looked up into his eyes and laughed softly with pleasure. It was obvious that over the years they had developed their own form of communication.

  They completed each other, Miranda thought. She couldn’t help envying them, as well as Mike and his siblings. Granted the boys had had to endure losing their birth mother, but by Mike’s admission that emptiness was short-lived once Kate came into their lives. From what she could see, the last twenty years had been filled with love and mutual respect.

  Miranda was willing to bet that very little silence had occupied those years. When she thought of her own home life, silence had been a main component. Awkward silence, uncomfortable silence, uncommunicative silence.

  Soul-sucking silence.

  “You’re very quiet,” Mike noted several minutes into their trip to her apartment. “Are you just tired or did they overwhelm you? They do have a tendency to do that, even if they don’t mean anything by it,” he confessed.

  “Neither.” She was too wired to be tired and his family hadn’t overwhelmed her, they had thrilled her. Every one of them, including Mike’s sister, Kelsey, although she had to admit that at the beginning of the party the youngest Marlowe seemed to be sizing her up, as if gauging her suitability for Mike. “I was just thinking.”