Caught Looking

by Lucy McConnell

  “But—the crash?”

  “Feel it when it comes—if it comes. You don’t know for sure you’re going to crash.”

  Clover bit back the argument that she could feel the crash on the horizon. There was no logical explanation for her feelings, just the sense of impending doom if she stopped to think about breaking her regular schedule. “Yeah. Okay.” She checked the clock. “I’m going to shower and get ready.”

  “That’s the spirit. Wanna borrow my slip-ons?”

  “Can I? They’d look great with the skirt I was thinking of wearing.”

  “The navy one?” Maddie’s eyes lit up.

  “You know it.”

  Maddie clapped her hands. “Yes! And I get to pull your hair up in a faux bob I saw on YouTube.”

  Clover rolled her eyes. “Have at it.”

  “Go. Go. Go.” Maddie shoved her toward the bathroom.

  The warm water was comforting, and as Clover worked the shampoo into her hair, she repeated Maddie’s advice over and over again. She was not being a flake. Vacation days were a normal part of life, and she was now a normal woman living a normal life and doing something normal like dating an MLB player. The fate of the world didn’t rest on her shoulders.

  But even after the conditioner rinsed down the drain, the feeling that she was missing something important held on.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Admit it, you miss me.” Dustin cradled the phone between his jaw and shoulder as he gathered his clothes from where he’d dropped them around the hotel room in St. Louis. The All-Star break was the best week of his life. He helped Zander in the morning, which didn’t feel like a burden because Zander worked right alongside him. It was like old times. He had workouts and practice in the afternoon with the team, which meant he got to play baseball every day. And his evenings were filled with Clover, which made leaving town difficult.

  Clover laughed. “More like I’m relieved you’re gone. I can finally catch up on the important things in my life. You are sooooo high-maintenance.”

  He grinned, almost dropping the phone in the process. High-maintenance my foot. They’d fallen in love with a crepe place and ate there at least three times in six days. He’d watched a movie on her lumpy couch, not even caring that a spring jabbed him in the thigh, because Clover was in his arms.

  “What’s so important that you had to kick me out of town?” he joked. Knowing Clover would be in St. George when he got back made being here seem almost futile. Almost, because he was playing ball, and next to playing at home, playing ball anywhere was awesome.

  “My jobs. Laundry. The dishes you left in my sink …”

  He snorted. Both times they’d shared a massive banana split at her apartment, he’d washed the bowl.

  “The Lean Cuisine in the freezer isn’t going to microwave itself,” she added.

  “One demanding moment after another.” He scanned the bathroom to check for his wallet before he headed down to the bus that would take the team to the field.

  “Well,” she sighed into the phone, and he was reminded of the other types of sighs she made—the kind that came out when he kissed her slow. “Someone has to live my life, and I am the most qualified.”

  “Did you notice how I didn’t take a swing at that sinker you threw out there about me being high-maintenance?”

  “I thought for sure you’d chase that ball.”

  “Naw, I saw that one coming.”

  “The truth is easy to spot.”

  He grabbed his wallet off the counter, tucked it into his back pocket, and headed for the door. “I’m still waiting to hear how much you miss me.”

  “Aren’t you late for your bus?”

  “You miss me and you know it.”

  “I know no such thing. I do know that you have four games in St. Louis and your first one starts in three hours.”

  His grin could have stretched from St. Louis to St. George, it was so wide. He loved that she kept track of him. “Yes, I do. And when I get back, I’m planning on taking you on a real date.” He wanted a reason to see her in that a dress again, and his sister-in-law’s advice on wooing a woman wasn’t too bad.

  “Have we been pretend dating so far?”

  “I’m talking about a paint-your-toenails kind of date.”

  “Will you wear red or pink?”

  He shook his head. She was on one today, giving him a hard time and being all sassy. He made sure the hotel door shut behind him and headed for the stairs. “You’re going to paint your toenails, and I’m going to admire them.” And your legs and …

  “That doesn’t sound like a very exciting date.”

  He laughed. “You worry about your toes, and I’ll worry about the rest.”

  “Maybe we should reconsider this idea if there’s so much worrying involved.”

  “Are you always this difficult to ask out?”

  “Pretty much. I like to think of myself as an intriguing challenge.”

  “You’re a pill.” He borrowed a phrase from his mother’s playbook.

  “That too.” He could see the satisfied grin on her face. “Gotta go. I just pulled into work.”

  “Me too.”

  “Have fun being eight years old today,” she teased.

  “Always. Hashtag blessed.”

  There was a pause.

  “What?” he asked, wondering if they’d been disconnected. The staircase wasn’t exactly cell friendly, but he hadn’t lost a signal before. His steps slowed.

  “When I’m with you, I feel overly blessed. Like—”

  “Like it’s almost too much,” he finished for her.

  “Yeah,” she breathed.

  He knew exactly how she felt, like what they had between them was fragile. One wrong move and it would shatter around them. “Clover, life isn’t always like this. The feeling will run out eventually. I want to hold on to it as long as we can.”

  “Me too.”

  He shoved the door opened and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “Call me when you get off work?”

  “Yep.”

  The sound of automatic doors opening whooshed through the phone, and he knew she had to go. They said goodbye and hung up. Disconnecting the phone was as much a physical experience as it was an emotional one.

  Pregame went fine. St. Louis had decent facilities for visiting teams. They didn’t get batting practice in today, which meant they’d hit after the game. That put a damper on answering Clover’s call. Hopefully she’d still be awake when he dragged himself into the hotel room. Funny that all the late nights he’d spent with her, sharing French toast after midnight, hadn’t worn on him like the idea of staying at the stadium until all hours did.

  The stadium filled to three-quarters capacity. Not bad for a weekday evening. They needed a fan base like this in St. George.

  Walking up to the plate for his first at bat, Dustin couldn’t help but wonder if Clover was watching. He wanted her to see him do well, wanted to share this moment with her.

  He rubbed his gloves together, gripped the bat, then re-gripped it. The first two pitches were balls—outside and laughable. The pitcher squinted at the catcher to get the sign and laid one low, right over the plate. Dustin watched it fly by and stepped out of the box with a curse.

  Caught looking. That sucked!

  He stepped his right foot in the box. Man, that was his pitch. He wasn’t going to see another one of those at bat, and he’d missed it. He dragged his left foot into place, signaling to the ump that he was ready to bat, and loading his swing. The next pitch was on the outside edge of the plate, and he fouled it off.

  So, two balls way outside, the golden pitch that he missed, and then shaving the outside edge. The next one would be inside. A ball. He loaded and waited for the pitch. The pitcher walked around the mound before scraping his foot against the wood. He executed his windup in record time and sent a fastball right down the middle.

  “Strike three!” called the ump.

  Dustin bare
ly resisted throwing his bat against the fence. There was no excuse for a miscalculation like that. He’d decided not to swing before he’d even seen the pitch. The batboy took his bat, and he stripped off his gloves, throwing them against the wall. Brayden looked at him out of the corner of his eye but wisely chose not to comment.

  The only thing that kept Dustin from losing it was the thought of Clover seeing him throw a tantrum. Cameras were all over the field and the dugout. She’d teased him about being a kid—good-naturedly now that they were no longer at one another’s throats. He didn’t want to give her any ammunition, nor did he want her to think less of him.

  He settled onto the bench, as far away from Gary Betts, his backup, as he could. He didn’t need the reminder that he could be the one warming the bench during every game. The word slump followed him around like toilet paper stuck to his cleat that he couldn’t shake off. Everyone could see it there, and he hated it.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The next day, Clover hurried into The Pantry, still feeling the rush of Dustin. This was her first day back since her week off. She’d had to swap her evening shifts with the day workers to make it all work out, which meant she hadn’t been in The Pantry for five days straight. As much fun as she had during her time off, she missed being a part of things.

  She’d tried to call Dustin after work, but he didn’t pick up. Sometime in the middle of her REM cycle, he’d texted that they had stayed late for batting practice and he’d call if he got the chance today. She patted her phone in her back pocket, ready to answer at any moment even if she was in the middle of work. Jane had never been a hardnose about personal phone calls. Not that Clover had given her a reason to be. She’d have to watch herself to make sure she wasn’t taking advantage of Jane’s kindnesses.

  She’d teased Dustin pretty hard when he’d asked her out. He gave as good as he got, though. Had he been in town, he would have tickled her side, she would have squealed, and they’d end up kissing for hours.

  Man, she missed him!

  The way she felt about Dustin inspired her for the weekly pep talk with Serena, which was sure to happen today because she hadn’t seen her for a while. Serena was smart and beautiful; she deserved a man who made her feel fascinating. Clover grabbed an apron and checked the calendar for tonight’s menu. Sloppy joes—she could make those with her eyes shut, which was great because it freed up her brain to think about Dustin.

  Quietly humming as she worked, she lost herself in the tasks of chopping onions and green peppers. She didn’t look up until Jane breezed through the door.

  “So, how was your time off?” Jane asked.

  “Bliss.” Clover felt her cheeks heat and knew that it had nothing to do with the slowly bubbling mixture on the stove. She glanced at the clock on the wall and noted it was after five. “Hey, where’s Serena? She’s usually here by now.” And Damarius has usually eaten three sandwiches.

  Jane’s face clouded with worry. “I haven’t seen her since last Wednesday.”

  “At all?” Clover stirred the mixture vigorously. “That’s not like her.” Serena’s visits weren’t regular, but they could usually count on seeing her within five days.

  “Paul and I have been praying for her, and we asked the ladies in the quilting circle to add her to their prayers too.”

  Clover swallowed her worry. She needed to trust the Lord and hoped that her conversation with Serena in the park was enough to hold her over. A cold chill crept down Clover’s spine like the hairy legs of a spider as she thought of Serena’s husband finding the pair under that pine tree. “I’ll keep praying for her, too.”

  Jane smiled, her eyes bright pools of worry. They talked about the items that needed to be stocked for a few minutes. “I’ll call our supplier and see if they can switch us to earlier in their route. That would help. If not, we’ll have to handle—”

  A blur of black hair and a torn red shirt darted into the kitchen and latched his arms around Clover. She stumbled back from the force of his hug. “Damarius! I was wondering where you were. Where’s your mom?”

  His brown eyes were as big as the hamburger buns. “With Dad.”

  Clover cupped the back of his head and hugged him close so he wouldn’t see her lips move as she talked to Jane. “Can you call her?” she asked. If Damarius was here alone, then something must have happened. Jane already had her phone out and was on her way out of the room to conduct the call far away from tender little ears.

  Instead of asking Damarius what had happened to his shirt, she walked him over to the cupboard where they kept a few special treats. She opened it and waved her hand in front of the packages. “What do you want?”

  He pointed to the Oreos.

  “Oooo, good choice. But they’re no good without milk to dip them in.” She crossed to the fridge and removed a gallon. For a moment, she wondered when he’d had milk last. Her mom rarely bought milk for the two of them. They didn’t have a way to keep it cold.

  Damarius gave her a small smile, even as his eyes darted to the doorway like he expected someone to come through at any moment—or hoped they would. Clover’s heart pulled in all directions. She set Damarius up on a stool with a tall glass of milk and the entire package of Oreos. He could eat himself full on the cookies for all she cared—as long as they kept his mind off whatever it was he had run away from. He methodically worked his way through a stack, dunking each one until it was soft before shoving the whole thing in his mouth. Clover smiled at him, hoping her concern wasn’t as evident on her face as it was in her racing pulse. With each moment that slipped by, her fear for Serena increased.

  Jane came back in a couple minutes later and motioned for Clover to come out.

  “I have to check on something, I’ll be right back.”

  Damarius said okay, his cheeks as full as a chipmunk’s the day before he goes into hibernation. He had a streak of black up his arm where he’d wiped his mouth.

  She carefully shut the door behind her and pressed her back to it as if she could shield Damarius from what was to come. “What is it?”

  “Serena answered. She’s in bad shape. She was weak and had a hard time getting a full breath. I’ve sent officers and a paramedic to her house. They’re sending someone for Damarius.” Her voice broke and her eyes filled with thick tears.

  Clover pressed her fist to her lips to hold in all the nasty words she wanted to call Chad. “How did he find her?”

  Jane swiped a tear off her cheek. “Serena met him at a fast food place with Damarius, and he talked her into going home with him. Damarius ran off, refusing to get in the car. Chad grabbed him, but he managed to get away.”

  “That explains the tear in his shirt.” Clover’s stomach soured. “Chad’s been after her to meet and talk.” The topic had been a main part of their conversations at the park. “Oh my gosh—it’s my fault.” Clover’s lunch threatened to make a reappearance. “If I’d been here last week to talk to Serena, this wouldn’t have happened. I can’t believe I wasn’t here.” She’d been off feeling precious and fascinating with Dustin when she should have been here helping her friend.

  “Clover.” Jane shook her arm. “This isn’t your fault. We’ve seen this cycle with other women. They leave their abusive husbands and a couple months later go back.”

  “I know—but she was doing so well.” Clover groaned and wrapped her arms around her middle.

  “We help those we can—those who want help. I hope she comes back, and I’ll make sure she knows we are here for her and Damarius.” Her gaze traveled to the swinging door. “I’ve got to talk to him, prep him for when the officer comes. That’s not going to be easy. Can you serve dinner on your own?”

  Clover nodded numbly. “I’ll do whatever I can to help. Make sure the officer has my name and number to call if Damarius needs anything—anything.” She was such a failure. Serena depended on her for support, and she’d let her down.

  “Of course. I’ll have them take him out the back door so the other
children don’t become alarmed.”

  Clover threw herself into serving dinner. She handed napkins to people with food in their beard, picked forks up off the ground and brought new ones, dished sloppy joes onto buns, and gave her cardigan to a teen with skinny arms who hunched over like the world was on her back.

  Her phone rang, and she knew with all her heart that it was Dustin calling. She glanced around at the room, seeing all that needed to be done, all the places she could fill in these people’s lives, and let it go to voicemail.

  She offered comfort and encouragement and a smile to all those who needed them. And by the time she fell into bed, not even bothering to take off her shoes, she’d given everything she had. It wasn’t until she was on the verge of sleep that she realized she hadn’t called Dustin back. Feeling as though she didn’t deserve that much happiness in her life—not when she’d let her friend down—she pulled the blanket over her head and went to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dustin paced the cracked walkway in front of Clover’s apartment. It was late, and the stars were out, but her car wasn’t in its usual spot. She was probably at work. The team had flown into Vegas earlier that evening, and those who didn’t have a wife or girlfriend to pick them up from the airport had to take the bus back to the stadium. A wicked rainstorm in the canyon had slowed them down considerably. Heavy winds buffeted the side of the bus, turning the driver’s knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel.

  Dustin wasn’t afraid of the weather; he was afraid of what he’d find waiting for him in St. George. Clover hadn’t returned any of his calls or texts since their conversation two days ago—which had gone well, in his opinion. So the sudden cold shoulder was uncalled for and disturbing. He wanted to ask her what was going on, but he couldn’t do that if she didn’t come home.

  He stumbled over a raised section of concrete. What if she’d stopped to help a homeless guy and gotten attacked? They’d met because she’d jumped out of her car in an effort to “help” him. Had he been less than a gentleman, he could have easily carted her off and done horrible things to her. She was so small and delicate physically.