Love, Louisa

by Barbara Metzger

  He handed her the hair clip from the ground, spiderweb and all. “Then I guess he won.”

  “You mean I won?”

  “No, him.”

  Louisa was confused. “Your nephew? Mr. Avery about the dog?”

  “The fiancé. Howard.” Dante walked toward his truck. “He won.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Howard? What game was he playing?”

  Dante called back over his shoulder as he got in his truck. “You’re supposed to be so smart. You figure it out.”

  She hadn’t figured it out in all the weeks since the wreckage of a wedding. How could she have loved a man who could be so heartless, or understood him so little? For that matter, how could he have stopped loving her so suddenly, unless he never had? Maybe he had another woman, someone more domestic, more like his mother, more… What, damn it? What more had Howard wanted that Louisa hadn’t been?

  She just did not know. Now she felt like the losing contestant on some quiz show where no one had told her the rules. What blasted game? Cards? Dice? “Jeopardy!”? Oh, yeah. Give the wrong answer and you were in Purgatory, or Paumonok Harbor.

  Life wasn’t a game, and she was no loser. Was that what the tool guy meant, that she was letting Howard’s defection destroy her life? Well, who gave Mr. Dante Rivera a degree in psychology? He was the neighbor house’s caretaker, not Louisa’s, by god. She was taking good enough care of herself, thank you. She was doing fine, in fact, Louisa told herself. She had a roof over her head, even though it leaked around the chimney, a possible job, a car, and a dog. Her sister was a phone call away and her mother had offered to lend her money in emergencies. Her medical insurance was paid through the end of the year by the law firm, and her car insurance had gone in with Howard’s in March. She wasn’t in debt and she wasn’t starving. So there.

  Howard may have cost her a fortune, and her job, her home, her friends and her self-respect, but she was managing. She was even learning to cook and garden. That ought to be enough for the post-digger posing as Plato. Dante Rivera could just keep his deep thoughts for the deep holes the fence needed. Louisa did not appreciate his cryptic comments or his company. He was a fixer-upper, and she was not broken.

  Unless she was hiding out in the old beach cottage, afraid of the dark, afraid to face new people. Unless she was reading her romance novels and playing computer solitaire and poisoning her dog with chocolate instead of getting on with her life. Unless she was growing too brokenhearted-bitter to enjoy an afternoon in the sun, watching children play. Then he was dead right. She was a loser. Howard had won.

  Not that creep. He wasn’t worth her lost savings; he certainly wasn’t worth her tears. No way was Howard worth the rest of her life. She snapped her fingers. Click, that part of her was gone. Finished. Kaput. Except for the sticky spiderweb.

  After she nearly scalded her hand, trying to sterilize it clean, she called Jeanette at the animal shelter.

  “Yeah, I was wondering when you’d call. We got in a litter of Maltese pups confiscated from a puppy mill. You know, little white lapdogs, long hair. One of them ought to suit you fine.”

  “Galahad suits me fine. Mr. Avery decided not to pursue his claims of ownership.”

  Jeanette whistled, over the background barking. “You stood up to that blowhard? I’m impressed. I couldn’t do it. Didn’t want to give him your number, but figured I had to, with all the papers he had. You go, girl!”

  Louisa basked in the praise, not admitting her courage had come from a stud at her back and the victory had come from the suddenly studless dog at her feet. “I only wanted to know about chocolate.”

  “I couldn’t make it through the day without it.”

  Once she was sure she wasn’t killing her new best friend, not such a big dog with so little chocolate, Louisa decided to go to the ball field after all. Those cookies needed to be walked off—her hips, not the dog’s—and she could appear to be simply exercising her dog if no one welcomed her. As for Mrs. Terwilliger, the librarian had said to call back at the end of the week.

  So what did one wear to a Little League game? Louisa didn’t want to look too well-dressed, so no one could accuse her of putting on airs. That eliminated her work trousers and pant suits and dresses, which was most of her wardrobe, besides a few T-shirts and shorts, most of which now had paint and rust on them. She couldn’t go in what she was wearing, though, or she might insult her new neighbors with stains and sweat, as if they were not worth a shower. No way was she putting her last good, pricey designer jeans on wooden bleachers either, or her silk blouses, linen shorts, and rayon sundresses that were her trousseau. Finally, from the back of her bottom drawer, she pulled out a Hawaiian print shirt she’d bought for Howard to surprise him on their honeymoon. It had bright blue orchids and yellow parrots and green leaves. He would have hated it. Louisa loved it. It was long enough to cover the tear in her work jeans, besides. She rummaged in the hall closet to unearth an old baseball cap someone had left there ages ago. The Yankees. Good, at least they were still playing in New York.

  “Come on, Galahad, let’s go play ball. You know, buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks.” He didn’t get up. “Peanuts and popcorn and hot dogs, right?” She wondered if they had anything like that at Little League games. She took a few of the chocolate chip cookies with her, just in case. The dog barked.

  “That’s root for the home team, silly. Not woof.”

  *

  The cretin must be right. Half the town had to be at the game, and the opposition town too. Both bleachers were crowded and Louisa didn’t know where to sit. Then Aunt Vinnie waved to her and called out: “Over here, Annie.”

  Annie was Louisa’s sister, but she went in that direction anyway, stopping often so everyone could pet Galahad, who was in his element, thinking all these people had come to see him strut, as usual. Gally was a perfect gentleman, unlike the clod who’d invited her to see the game and was nowhere in sight.

  Aunt Vinnie patted the seat beside her and introduced Louisa to a chunky brunette on her other side. “This is my Francine. You played together when you were little.”

  “No, that was my sister Annie. She’s older. I’m Louisa.”

  “Of course you are. I went to your wedding, didn’t I? A shame. Francine is divorced too.”

  “But I’m not—”

  Francine shook Louisa’s hand. “Don’t worry about it. You just skipped the middle innings.”

  “Oh, I didn’t think I was that late.”

  “Not the ball game. The so-called wedded bliss that comes between the courtship and the court case. Some of us weren’t that lucky. Anyway, I’m glad to meet you. Dante’s been telling us about you.”

  Louisa made sure Galahad couldn’t fall through the bleacher seats, instead of commenting on the obvious. Everyone in this town talked about everyone else.

  “He didn’t think you’d come, being so busy fixing up your house, which is really ambitious of you. Not that there is anything wrong with being ambitious, of course,” she hurried to add.

  “Francine wants to go back to school to get a teaching degree,” Aunt Vinnie put in, feeding Galahad a grape. If chocolate wasn’t going to kill him, Louisa guessed a grape wouldn’t either.

  “Oh, Ma, you know I just talk about it. It’ll never happen.” Francine pointed out to the grassy area. “There’s my Teddy. He plays in the field.”

  Louisa thought all the kids were playing in the field, but she followed Francine’s finger toward a skinny little boy whose Paumonok Pirates black uniform was about two sizes too big. His socks were falling around his ankles and his helmet hid his eyes, his hair and his expression. No matter. He was practically skipping in place he was so excited. Or else he had to pee.

  Francine shouted, “Yeah, Teddy!”

  He hopped some more, but never took his gaze off home plate, where a boy who looked at least three years older was coming up to bat. “That kid’s a ringer,” Louisa said. “It’s not fair.”

  F
rancine smiled. “Welcome to the world of sports. I’m glad you came.”

  The parents on the other bleacher started yelling for RJ. Over the noise, Louisa asked, “Uh, where is your cousin? I thought he would be here.”

  Francine nodded toward the bench where the extra Pirates waited their turn. “He’s the batting coach. He watches to see what the other team does, what our boys can do better. He has an analytical mind, you know.”

  Louisa did know that. She hadn’t known about the coaching, naturally. She knew very little about the man, in fact, except that he looked even better in his black T-shirt with the pirate on it. Either he was a good citizen, coaching other people’s kids, or he was one of those men who never outgrew boyhood games. He turned his back to speak with a young woman in a halter top and shorts. Or else he’d found a new way of impressing the girls.

  He looked over and smiled. Louisa told herself it was a good thing she was not easily impressed. She waved with the hand not holding Galahad’s leash, then turned back to the game. That’s what she came for, wasn’t it?

  RJ missed the first ball thrown toward him by a tall, red-haired Pirate—they all seemed taller than Teddy, she saw now—with freckles. The Paumonok side clapped, especially a red-haired woman sitting in front of them holding a red-haired baby. He missed the second pitch and the cheering grew louder. Galahad barked. Aunt Vinnie fed him another grape. The baby cried, Francine shouted, “Heads up, Teddy,” and Louisa checked the scoreboard. The Pirates were losing. “Go, Pirates,” she yelled. “Three points are nothing.”

  “Runs, Louisa. They’re runs in baseball.”

  “Of course. I knew that,” she said, grinning at Francine, who laughed and handed her a bag of potato chips. Louisa took a handful, fed one to the dog, and handed the bag back.

  The ball didn’t come close to the plate and everyone moaned. The next pitch was over the catcher’s head. The red-haired woman looked like she was going to cry along with the baby. Louisa found herself holding her breath. “Three strikes you’re out, right?”

  Francine didn’t answer, too intent on watching the pitcher, the batter, and her son in the field at the same time she was cramming potato chips in her mouth. She passed the bag to Louisa without looking.

  The pitcher threw, the batter swung, the ball went soaring out—toward Teddy. “Oh no,” Francine groaned. Aunt Vinnie covered her eyes. The Paumonok crowd was silent. Teddy looked up, ran forward, ran sideward, ran back, his mitt out in front of him. The ball went over his head.

  Another boy ran after the ball and threw it back before RJ could go around all the bases, just most of them.

  “He stinks,” Francine said, sinking back against the bleacher, letting the potato chips fall.

  “He does not!” Louisa wasn’t quite sure why, but she felt both Teddy and his mother needed encouragement. “He’s just smaller than the others. He couldn’t have caught that ball unless he stood on a ladder. He’ll get the next one.”

  He dropped the next ball that came his way.

  Louisa cheered louder. Teddy was the littlest kid on either side, his team had lost ten out of twelve games, Aunt Vinnie said, and they were losing this one by four points—no, runs—now. He was out in that field by himself, alone, vulnerable, maybe scared of being hit, maybe worried that people would laugh at him, or his friends would not want him on their team anymore. Oh, how Louisa wanted him to catch a ball, hit a home run, steal a base, anything not to lose. She understood losing. Teddy was too young for that pain.

  No more balls came his way, thank goodness, and the Montaukers were finally out. “What a relief!”

  “Yeah, but now Teddy gets to come up to bat.”

  More torture? If Louisa ever had a kid she’d never let him play competitive sports. Maybe chess. At least then no one else was depending on you. How did mothers survive this? Most likely by junk food. Louisa found the cookies in her pocket and passed them around. Galahad ate the crumbs, plus a teething biscuit he stole from the red-haired baby when the pitcher’s mother wasn’t looking.

  Dante was giving the boy some last-minute pointers. Louisa hoped he was a better coach than he was a counselor. Nagging at her to come to a ball game for fun? Hah! She was a nervous wreck, and getting fat besides.

  She and Francine stood to cheer when Teddy stepped into the batter’s cage. Dante said something to him that had the boy turn to look at them. They both grinned. The handyman showed a dimple. The boy showed a missing space where one of his teeth should have been. Then he turned to face the pitcher and Dante stepped back behind the fenced-in area.

  The opposing pitcher had braces that glittered in the sunlight like armor. Teddy seemed even younger, smaller, weaker. How could his own uncle leave him out there, defenseless? Louisa was right from the first: Rivera was a louse.

  She stood up and shouted along with Francine. “Go, Teddy. You can do it! Come on, Pirates! Hit it!”

  They were both almost hoarse by the time he struck out.

  Francine sighed and ate the last of the grapes while the rest of the team went down in order. “Maybe he’ll do better at soccer.”

  “Nonsense. Your son is a wonderful baseball player!” Even the pitcher’s mother looked at Louisa like she was crazy. Aunt Vinnie said, “You are just as nice as your mother, Annie. But Teddy struck out, and he missed all his plays in the field.”

  “Yes, but he looked marvelous doing it.”

  Francine grinned. “I knew I was going to like you. Dante said I would.”

  “He did? That is, why would he—?”

  Then he was there, with Teddy, who was eating an ice cream sandwich. “Coach takes us for pizza if we win. I like ice cream better,” the boy said after Dante introduced him to Louisa. He broke off a piece for the dog, after politely asking Louisa if it was all right, after his uncle squeezed his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry your team lost,” Louisa told him, “but you played a good game.”

  “No, I didn’t,” he said, swiping at the ice cream dripping down his chin, “but that’s okay.” He grinned up at her, showing the same dimple his uncle had. “All the other guys were jealous.”

  “Of your batting?” Louisa asked, three strikes of doubt in her voice.

  “Nah. Because I had the hottest babe in the stands cheering for me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  God, she was incredible when she smiled. Dante thought Louisa looked about as old as Teddy in the too-big shirt and crooked Yankees cap, at a distance. Up close she looked like a temptress and a tease and too good to be true. Which she was, of course, standing out in her brightly colored shirt like a rainbow trout in a guppy tank. She didn’t fit in here, although Francine had seemed pleased with her company. His cousin was now berating Teddy to mind his manners and his aunt was asking no one in particular, What Babe?

  “I hated that movie. Couldn’t eat bacon after it, either. And Babe Ruth’s been dead forever. And if Christina Hapgood’s baby didn’t match the rest of her redheaded brood I’d swear she was carrying on with Nate, down at the fuel company.”

  “He meant a pretty girl, Ma.”

  “Teddy’s too young to know about girls. It’s that computer stuff, I swear. What do you think, Louisa?”

  She gave the dog the last cookie. “I, uh, think it’s getting late and I better get home to fix Galahad’s fence.”

  “I’ll give you a ride,” Francine offered before Dante could. He was happy his cousin might have found a friend. Lord knew she could use one. And he didn’t need one more minute in Ms. Waldon’s company, so why was he disappointed?

  Aunt Vinnie, who couldn’t remember her way home sometimes, remembered her own plans for Louisa and Dante. “No, Francine. I need you to help make labels for the strawberry jam for the church bazaar.”

  “That’s not for a month.”

  “You can’t keep putting things off, like going back to school.”

  “Ma!”

  “Don’t ‘ma’ me. Dante can drive Annie home while you and Teddy help m
e with the labels. That will keep the boy from looking at those dirty pictures on his computer.”

  “Grandma!”

  “That’s Louisa, Aunt Vinnie, and I’m fine walking home, really. It’s good exercise.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Dante said. It was a statement, not a question. Louisa would have resented the man’s high handed attitude, but she needed his help to finish the fence. A bossy man who could fix things was a lot more tolerable than one who couldn’t. Besides, her feet hurt.

  “Thank you.” She said good-bye to Francine and Teddy, who invited her to the next and last game. Aunt Vinnie promised her a jar of jam the next time she came to visit. Then Louisa followed the caretaker-cum-coach to his decrepit truck. At least none of her New York acquaintances could see her now, in a pickup instead of Howard’s Porsche, with a country lumpkin instead of her successful lawyer.

  She had to wait until Dante cleared the passenger seat of cups and napkins and cardboard trays. “Teddy and I stopped for a snack.”

  Howard never let her have a breath mint in his car.

  Dante threw a bag of garbage into the back of the truck, but he tossed half an uneaten hamburger to Galahad, who leaped into the cab before Louisa to scrounge for french fries, then sat on her lap, his head out the window. As she struggled to get the seat belt around her and not the dog, she said, “I wonder if an afternoon like this can make up for his lost days in the show ring.”

  “Champ looks happy enough.”

  Louisa wasn’t sure. To her Galahad looked confused, as if he was waiting for the blue ribbon, or to be put back in his crate until the next show. “I’ll bet he never went to a ball game before. Or had a whole Little League team share their ice pops with him.”

  “I’ll bet you never did either. Go to a kids’ ball game, that is. Little boys must have been offering you their treasures since you were six.”

  She made a face, remembering Denis Bromley offering her a pet frog in kindergarten.

  Dante saw her scowl and thought she was still worried about the dog. “Who knows, maybe Champ is happier being a real dog.”