by Wendy Burke
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Safe at Home
Copyright 2016 by Wendy Burke
ISBN: 978-1-68361-120-2
Cover art by Fiona Jayde
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
Look for us online at:
www.decadentpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
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Wise Men Say
For Me
Dedication
Whether Miller Park in my home state of Wisconsin, or Comerica Park near my current home of Ohio, or Fifth Third Field home of the world famous Toledo Mud Hens in my adopted hometown of Toledo, some of my best days have been in the stands of a ball park. And, whenever at a game, I make sure to tip a beer to an old friend, gone now more than a decade. I never cheered louder, laughed more heartily or felt more “at home” than with you, Debbie Guenther. I miss those wonderful days in the 70s and 80s in the bleachers of Milwaukee County Stadium, or when we’d splurge and for $14 get box seats behind home plate. Life was easier, simpler and much more innocent. I miss you every day, my friend!
Wendy Burke
Thanks a bunch to:
You! –who decided to spend a couple bucks on some silly rantings which came out of my head. Thank You! Go ahead and holler at me: [email protected].
‘The Huz’ – even though you may not understand what’s going on in my head, you love and support me and every one of these endeavors just the same. (And, no, I didn’t kill you off in the first six pages of the first book I wrote!)
My ‘partner-in-1Night Stand crime,’ Deanna Wadsworth – for the butt-kicking, critiquing, beta-reading, talking me out of a tree, stealing my characters, forcing me to be a better writer, putting Sam Adams Lite in my hair, and so much more.
Jill Kemerer – for being the wonderful, sweet encourager you are! Lunch is on me next time. (You look fabulous on TV!)
Val & the DP Gang – you freed the people in my head! (Even now, I’m sure you’re editing those em-dashes!)
Louie, Maximus the Gladiator Kitten, and Sir Wolfie T. Fluffernutter – none of you can read, but you all spent a lot of encouraging time on my laptop. My life is so much more fun with the three of you.
And the following folks in no particular order, who may or may not know your contribution to my madness: D.B.; the gang on the ‘Party Line’ for always ‘going there’; the newsroom conspirators and ‘input artists’ - Darla, Allie, Alicia, Corey, Jared, Jimmie, Ali, Amanda, and yes, even ‘Babe’ (my apologies if I left out anyone!)
Safe at Home
Charly Knox has everything—married to handsome, major league baseball shortstop, two darling little girls, a beautiful home in an upscale suburb. What more could she want? Other than the love of her husband?
Andy Knox has everything—a gorgeous, smart-as-a-whip wife, beautiful twin daughters, plenty of fame, and more than enough fortune and friends. What more could he want? Other than the love of his wife?
Their marriage isn’t over, but stalled, stuck. Regardless of status, they’re bogged down in the rut that work, kids, familiarity, and life in general can become.
Can Madame Eve “light the fire” and again show them why they fell in love in the first place?
Safe At Home
A 1Night Stand Story
By
Wendy Burke
Chapter One
“Un moment, s’il vous plait.” Charly Knox dropped her cell phone on her desk and stared slack-jawed at the muted television. The off-season report on ESPN couldn’t be true! Her husband’s handsome face was on the screen, the word GONE flashing above the shortstop’s image, after which red question marks danced across the screen. She didn’t bother to turn up the volume. She’d seen the bad news and certainly didn’t want to hear it.
Stunned, she retrieved her phone and brought it back to her ear. “Josef, mon cher, I’m going to have to call you back.” Without a thought, she hit “end,” cutting off her boss’s boyfriend and stalling a potential six-figure sale of modern art.
“He can’t be traded,” she said aloud to no one. Dropping into her chair, she scrambled for paper and pen and began the math problem. “Four and half years in Milwaukee, a half season in Minnesota, back to the Breakers…crap.” The numbers didn’t add up—Andy hadn’t played ten years in the major leagues nor had five consecutive seasons with the same team. Sighing, the weight of the situation began to settle. “He doesn’t meet the union criteria to refuse the trade.”
Text after text rolled across the screen of her cell. The WTF? and Call me ASAP! messages added to her irritation.
“What the eff is right. Not even a heads-up?” Closing her eyes for a moment, she realized she’d been left in the dark by the one man she completely trusted with her life, her husband, shortstop for the Milwaukee Breakers, Andy Knox. Staring out the large bay window at the expansive snow-covered backyard, she allowed her thoughts to wander.
“Mommy?”
The little voice brought her back to reality. “Yeah, baby?” Damn, how long has Bree been standing there?
Never far from one another, Bree and her four-year-old twin sister stood in the doorway. Chloe held up a receiver. “The telephone, Momma.”
She hadn’t even noticed the rarely-used landline phone ringing. Shaking off the emotional overload, she ousted thoughts of leaving her house and the home state she loved, and picked up the phone. “Thank you, Chloe. Hello?”
“Need anything from the store, hon?”
Andy’s voice covered her like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. Her confusion and slight ire dissipated with his tone. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.”
“Okay. I finished up in the cage and stopped off at Ray’s office.”
Keep it under your hat until you can talk to him face to face. “How is that agent of yours?” she prodded, hoping he’d give up something, anything.
“Makin’ us money, honey. I gotta keep you in the lifestyle to which you’ve grown accustomed!” he joked.
She teased back. “I work for a living, remember? I made more money than you did for quite some time, Mr. Sarasota Sea Turtle!”
“Wow…kind of early for your period, isn’t it?” he snickered.
“I guess that was a low blow, huh?”
“Maybe, but I like it when you blow….”
“Stop it. The girls are right here!”
“Give them the phone. I’ll talk to them so you can go sell shit I don’t understand. I’ll be home in a bit. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Here’s Bree.”
Turning the phone back over her older child, Bree punched the button to put the phone on speaker, and the girls took their conversation with their father into another part of the house.
Toddlers and technology…they know more than I do!
Charly’s cell phone continued its symphony of pings and rumbles. When the friendly face of her boss, owner of Third Street Gallery, appeared on caller ID, she had to answer. “Paulie, please apologize to Josef for me, I didn’t mean to be so abrupt.”
“He was just concerned, darling. After the phone went dead, we both texted and called with no reply. Everything all right? The girls okay?”
Not wanting to give too much away, she fibbed. “Yes, sure. Everything is fine. I got distracted by something.”
“Well, don’t be late. You know the Gallery doesn’t run without you, love.”
“Thanks, Paulie. Bye.” She tossed her phone aside, letting the nearly perpetual texts scroll across the screen, unread.
Sighing, she took stock of the situation and hoped she could curb her simmering irritation. Her husband had obviously kept her out of his professional loop. The question was why. Clutching the tiny diamond cross at the end of her necklace, Charly looked toward the ceiling and begged. “Please, God, anywhere but New York.”
***
Andy waited for the words “call ended” to appear on the dashboard console. After stopping at his agent’s office, for nearly an hour he’d sat in his pickup staring out the windshield at the ice on Lake Michigan. “This is gonna suck…bad….” But at this point, there was no way around it. The information he had to break to his wife, his best friend since high school, was already out there for the whole world to see and speculate upon. He was being traded. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
He lifted the overstuffed manila envelope from the passenger seat and pulled out just enough of the paperwork to see the first paragraph of his newest contract. Three words mid-way through the first sentence stared back at him. New York Titans. Taking a centering breath and girding his bravery for what he knew would come, he stuffed his future back into the envelope.
“She’s gonna kill me.” Putting the truck in gear, reluctantly he headed for home.
***
“Daddy’s home!”
He was barely in the mudroom from the garage when his daughters assaulted him, wrapping their arms about his legs and clinging to him for dear life. “Whoa!” He grabbed onto the waistband of his sweats, before they were unintentionally yanked from his legs. Looking into the kitchen, he watched Charly shake her head at the silliness.
The girls clenched tightly to his legs, giggling happily as he schlepped up to where his wife poured coffee into a travel mug. “Hey, baby.” He kissed her cheek.
“Hey, yourself.” She looked down at her children, “Ladies, go pick out your clothes, so Daddy can get you dressed. I have to go to Uncle Paul’s store for a little while.”
Andy bent down, kissed their heads, and patted their little butts before they disappeared out of his reach. “How do you get them to do that?” Turning back to his wife and slipping his arms about her middle, he rested his chin on her shoulder.
“Do what?”
“You say jump and they ask how high?”
Her trim form turned in his hold. The short fluff of her cashmere sweater tickled his neck. “Because they know I run the show here.”
Hugging her tightly, he picked up her familiar scent, which, even after all these years, stirred him. “You do, huh?”
“At least that’s what I’m told.” She leaned slightly out of his hold. “What did Ray have to say?”
He knew her beautiful smile would disappear in mere moments. “I’ve been dealt.”
“Well, you must’ve been the last to know. It’s all over ESPN, and my phone’s been blowing up all morning. Why didn’t you tell me, Andy?” She forced her way out of his embrace, turning her back on him. She went back to readying her coffee.
“I’ve been meaning to, but I wanted to get more details first.”
“Where to?”
“That’s still up in the air,” he fibbed. “Guess I’m part of some multi-team deal.”
Andy watched her slow turn, the happy-to-see-him smile on her face gone, replaced with a serious expression. Her voice took on an I’ve-been-around-this-business-almost-as-long-as-you-have tone. “That sort of maneuvering doesn’t happen overnight. How long has this been in the works?”
“Couple weeks I guess.”
“Really, Andy?” Rarely did she get mad, but he could see a storm brewing in his wife’s gray eyes.
“C’mere.” Taking her hand, he drew her over to a kitchen chair. Sitting down in front of her, he took her hands and leaned in for a conversation of somewhat half-truths. “We don’t have to move.”
“That’s the least of my concerns, right now. What a crappy way to find out. I got the news the same moment the entire viewership of ESPN did, and I’m married to the player being traded. Why did you keep this from me?”
“I didn’t, babe. Wanted to get all my ducks in a row first. I’m dealing with this, too, you know.”
They sighed, practically in unison, and in the same emotional tone. That happened after nearly ten years of marriage and almost fifteen of being together.
“I’m not crazy about this situation either.” Leaning in, he put his forehead to hers. “This is home, always has been.” And it was. The two had met in a high school English class fewer than forty miles from where they now sat.
“But….”
“But, we both know I’m too young….”
“And too good,” she added.
He smiled, thanking God that even through her irritation she understood he had many more years left to play. “And healthy to retire. And, it’s provided well for us and the girls. So let’s see where this goes and we’ll deal with it, okay?”
***
Hunkered down on the sectional in the back of the gallery, Charly sat knee-to-knee with artist Emmy Klaussen. The glass designer nodded and handed over tissue after tissue as Charly explained her predicament. They looked up as the shop’s owner entered.
“Ladies, what is going on here?” Paul Strait asked.
“Andy’s getting traded.”
“Oh, is that all, Charly? For a moment, I thought someone had died!”
“You’re an asshole, Pauly,” Emmy mumbled.
“I know, that’s why Josef loves me so.”
Charly rolled her eyes and sighed. Since Paul had met the Haitian sculptor through the 1Night Stand agency owned by some mysterious Madame Eve, his attitude and life had changed for the better. Sometimes, however, hearing about all that elation got old. Once in a while everyone had to deal with less-than-blissful reality.
He plopped down next to the women. “Please stop with the tears, you look like one of those starving artists vendors in some tacky hotel ballroom trying to hawk knock offs and prints.” He put his hand on Charly’s knee. “So, what do we know?”
“All I know I found out watching Sports Center this morning. He didn’t even bother to tell me first. That sucked. He says he doesn’t know where he’s going yet. I don’t know what w
e’re going to do.”
Emmy put her arms about Charly’s shoulders and gave her a hearty hug. “After all these years of knowing you, I think you’re kind of acting like a spoiled, affluent prima donna. It’s not like he’s getting shipped to a war zone.” Kissing her on the top of the head, Emmy left employer and employee to themselves.
“I love her. She doesn’t mince words, does she?” Charly said quietly.
“Compared to what she went through, you know, you don’t have much to worry about.”
Charly understood. Emmy had raised a son with Paul’s assistance and the help of her family, as she waited to find out if her missing fiancé was dead or alive. Along with help from 1Night Stand, kismet had smiled on the couple. Nick Klaussen returned from the first Gulf War alive, and the lovers had been reunited, even if twenty years had separated them.
Charly’s situation, by comparison, was nothing. What was a few hundred miles in first class then settling in to five star digs wherever she visited her Major League hubby?
Paul waved a hand at her. “Go home.”
“Are you kidding? You’re not going to unpack and set up the new exhibits!”
“Your mind isn’t here, honey, it’s at home with that six-foot-three god of a baseball player. Go home, and spend the day in bed with that hot shortstop of yours.”
She shrugged at him. “Well, if you insist!”
***
No other sound compared to the elated shrieks of her children. Charly could hear giggling and happy laughter over the house-filling volume of singing and the strumming of a twelve-string. The girls’ tiny voices mixed with their father’s country-crooner tone. Hanging her coat, Charly leaned against the wall of the foyer. She sighed, warming at her husband’s sexy voice. His serenade had lulled her to sleep after the first time they’d made love. If Andy hadn’t been so good at baseball, a singing career in Nashville would have been a viable option.
