League of Her Own

by Faith O'Shea

  “The equipment alone would be prohibitive.”

  Clare explained, “The university I work at funded me to start, but I had to find other investors to keep my lab open.”

  Fifi gave her mother a steely glare.

  “Writing grants has never been my strong suit.”

  Her mother returned the look in spades.

  “No scientist likes to waste their time and energy doing it.” She turned her eyes in his direction and added, “Fiona has yet to come to terms with the fact you must do things you don’t want to in order to succeed.”

  He gave her mother what might have been a scathing look. Was she kidding? Fifi was twenty-five years old and had accomplished more than most at that age. It was also a scathing commentary on his own life. He’d been handed everything and had come up short. He had a feeling that she could have been given more than she had been. Her parents had to be doing well. Well enough to ease her way but they’d only doled out expectation and criticisms, from the look of things.

  He looked up at Fifi abashedly, committing himself to being the best he could be, his gene pool be damned.

  Pat changed the subject smoothly, as if he’d been doing it most of their lives and directed the next line of questioning to him. He probably felt it was safer territory.

  “I get to a Phillies game now and then. I’m going to make it a point to get to one of the Greenies games this year. Your team has a bunch of new players I want to check out.”

  Fifi sounded more than surprised. “Uncle Jim said as much. When did you start attending baseball games?”

  Pat had finished his waffles and pushed the plate aside. It didn’t take the waitress a minute before coming over to claim it and refilling their coffee cups.

  “Years ago. I never thought to ask you or Siobhan. You weren’t interested in anything that had to do with sports.”

  Fifi huffed out, “I’m beginning to think I missed out on a topic as complex as genetics. Did you ever go to a game with Uncle Jim?”

  “A couple over the years. When he was living close by. Not so much anymore. Besides he goes with Melinda now.”

  Clare said, as if she couldn’t believe it, “They go to every single home game. He works around their schedule.” She glanced at her watch and rose, placing her napkin on the table. “We’ve got to go, or I’ll be late. It was very nice meeting you, Enrique.”

  Pat got out his wallet as he waved the waitress over for the bill. After it was taken care of, Clare

  shook Rique’s hand and leaned over to give Fiona a hug and kiss. “You’ll let me know what happens Friday.”

  “I will.”

  When they were all bundled up, Pat and Clare walked quickly out through the restaurant, leaving him and Fifi behind.

  “Well that went better than I expected. Thank you for coming with us. My mother can sometimes be a little heavy-handed.”

  “She makes it easy to get that impression.”

  He helped her on with her coat and guided her toward the exit. As they walked to the car, he took her hand. “It’s kind of slippery out here.” The truth was he needed to feel it in his.

  She seemed deep in thought as they carefully made their way to the parking lot. Finally letting him in on what had taken up head space, she said, “Mom never fully appreciated that we worked around her schedule. I was actually going to toss that grenade but caught myself in time.”

  “She was gone a lot?”

  “Even when she wasn’t traveling the globe, she worked late most nights. I get it if you’re on the cusp of some new revelation, but every night?”

  “You want something different for your life?’

  “I hope to fill my life with a variety of things, not be so single-minded. I know dedicated scientists who have it, so I know it’s possible.” She glanced up at him. “Which reminds me, I dropped by my old lab and my former mentor asked if I could get her tickets to one of your games.”

  “You told her about me?”

  “I explained that you were at the house, and why. Her husband loves baseball and she has a certain fondness for it as well.”

  “I tell you what, I’ll get you some tickets, but you have to go with them.”

  “She helped me advance my career, so I guess it’s the least I can do.”

  “It must have taken single-minded focus.”

  He opened the car door and she slid in. When he was behind the wheel and they were inching their way out of the parking lot, she said, “It did. Science has given me everything, but it’s also given me nothing. I’ve been so caught up in my studies, I’ve ignored the rest of the world.”

  “I have a feeling lab work suits you.”

  “Working in isolation suits my personality but it’s no way to live life. I don’t want to be like my mother, attuned to her machines but not her children.” She gave him a deprecating laugh. “I’m nothing like her, actually so I don’t know what I’m afraid of. She’s a social butterfly. I’m more a spider who’s content within her web.”

  She had a web, all right, and she was casting it around him. He didn’t know what he’d do if he found himself completely ensnared in it. If he hadn’t mentioned his trip to Brazil for the express purpose of finding a wife, he might have had some leeway, might have…what? Tricked her into bed? Seduced her into thinking she had a shot at a future? She wasn’t the type of woman who jumped into bed for the hell of it, so he’d have to have promised something. He’d come to know her more intimately than most women he dated for months. He knew inside her mind, and he was being given glimpses of what was inside her heart. Could he find a woman like her during his search? He glanced over as he pulled into the drive-way. She was in profile. Her hair was clipped off her face making it look longer, thinner. Her nose was pert, and it made a compelling picture. What he missed at this angle were her eyes, the window to her curiosity and expressiveness.

  When he put the car in park, she turned to him and asked, “What are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?”

  Wanting her meant finding an escape.

  “I think I might call that agent my sister told me about, go check out some rentals. I don’t want to infringe on her privacy any longer than I have to. You?”

  “I might drive to my sister’s. Seeing my parents today made me realize I miss her.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Maine.”

  “How far up?”

  “Far enough that I’ll probably spend the night.”

  He didn’t like that thought. He’d gotten used to her company and wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep to his new regimen of early nights without her.

  “What about Hoover?”

  “I’ll take her. Siobhan’s kids love dogs and she’ll get to romp in the snow.”

  “You can leave her with me. I’ll make sure she’s attended to.”

  “I almost believe you but she’s my commitment for the next couple of days, so she’ll sit shotgun.”

  “I thought I was, too. One of your commitments. Isn’t my sister paying you extra to keep me in line?”

  “I have to believe you can behave for one night.”

  “I don’t know. I need stimulation and if the house is empty…”

  She’d gotten out of the car and was making her way toward the house. He sprinted out and followed her in, Hoover the kind of welcoming committee a person came to enjoy. The dog didn’t jump up on you, she sprung up so she could meet your eyes. She wanted you to know how happy she was you were back. Fifi had her arms around the dog’s neck, hugging her, while he studied the interaction. He envied their furry friend.

  “What breed will you get?”

  She looked up from her squat. Her dress had inched up and he had to force himself to keep his eyes on hers.

  “You said when you get a bigger place, you’re going to get one. What kind? Big, small, long-haired, short?”

  “I don’t know. A rescue for sure, so it would depend on what was available when I looked. I gravitate toward big.
There’s more to love.”

  He went down on his haunches beside her and began to stroke Hoover’s back.

  “Me, too. If I wasn’t gone for long stretches of time, I’d think about getting one.”

  “What about this fabulous woman you’re going to marry? Won’t she be at home?”

  He was frowning. She never failed to remind him about his future wife, and her words struck a chord. She probably expected some pithy remark. He had nothing unless he counted the nagging voice telling him here was yet another attribute he had to add to his list. It was growing along different lines lately. What would the advertisement look like today?

  Searching for intelligent woman driven by curiosity and a love of learning. Must speak English, listen well, have a sense of humor, be kind, like baseball, love dogs.

  He’d left out the hair, eyes, and build. When had looks become secondary to temperament and personality?

  He glanced up, took Fifi in.

  “I’d like to think she’ll travel with me. At least until we start a family.”

  He heard himself talking but his mind was elsewhere. He’d left out another very important component in his search. What kind of mother did he want for his children? Someone like his, who encouraged her children to forge their own path, affectionate and giving, who embraced those who’d come before. She could have fought his father about bringing Izabella and Jaco into the family, but she was more adamant about it than Paolo. Peaceful and content with what life had handed her. She was a happy woman, satisfied with what she had, never thought she needed more.

  Love is all, my Rique, and I am surrounded by it. What more could I want?

  Not one of the women he’d had in mind was remotely like her, not in any way. They were wealthy, beautiful, and…self-absorbed. His friends’ lifestyle, and their upbringing, were similar to his own. Always searching for better, for more, they were never satisfied with what they had, only who they were. His mother hadn’t come from money. She’d worked her way up at the bank, her sweetness attracting his father. Sweetness, like nectar, had more appeal to him now as well.

  For the first time ever, he was beginning to realize he might never find what he wanted. Not in the place he’d anticipated.

  “Where are you? Rique?”

  He came back to the here and now.

  There was a furrow across Fifi’s brow. “Don’t go introspective on me now. It’s not like you and I’ll start to worry. Then I won’t be able to leave.”

  He took her hand and stood, bringing her with him. A powerful rush of emotion made his chest ache with longing.

  “Don’t go. Let’s light a fire. Talk. You can tell me all about this lab you’re dreaming about.”

  She laughed that magical laugh.

  “I’ve been dressing it up like a doll, whatever that’s like, for weeks. I add a piece and then take it out and reassemble.”

  He took her hand and guided her to where they could sit, where he could probe into her life. He was going to ask her all those questions he should have been asking.

  “You never did that as a little girl?”

  His sister Leia had. Her whole room was filled with all kinds of them, Barbie, baby, one that even wet. She was such a girly-girl, always in dresses, frills and bows.

  “Too mundane, I’m afraid. I preferred frogs to dolls.”

  Felicia had been more like that. Liked being outdoors, inquisitive about the natural world, both seen and buried underground. She’d still learned to cook, loved being with family, could dance like she was born on the dance floor.

  “What did you do?”

  She sat back, her hands in her lap. When Hoover circled the area in front of her, she kicked off her boots, pulled her legs up and tucked them under her, giving the dog space to lie down. As soon as she did, Fifi said, “After school some days, I’d go to my mother’s lab, watch her assistants, ask a million questions, be told to shush and go do my homework. Other days I’d go home and watch TV, shows on National Geographic, Animal Planet, the Science Channel. It’s where I learned to love genetics.”

  He was standing by the fireplace, relieved there were a few logs left from the other night. He was afraid that if he went to get more out of the garage she’d be gone when he got back. He had it assembled in no time, and when he lit the match, he looked back to find her eyes on him. She seemed content and he relaxed for the first time since they’d returned. He took possession of the other side of the couch and asked, “What show piqued your interest?”

  “It was called Genetic Odyssey, or something like that. It traced a couple of tribes back through time to the very beginning. I was intrigued with the premise and stunned by the results. Even today I watch shows like So Who Do You Think You Are and Finding Your Roots. It’s a personal journey that uncovers so much genetic material about the past. You become a more expanded version of yourself when you come to know your ancestors, where they’re from, what they did, how they lived.”

  “How old were you?”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Eleven, maybe.”

  “This is probably a dumb question, but did you ever have your DNA tested?”

  The faintest trace of humor lit her face.

  “Hello. I’m a geneticist.” More seriously, she said, “I tested it myself as part of a course I took.”

  “And?”

  “What? Did I compare it to my parents’? I did. There are a lot of similarities in our double stranded helix.”

  “Like what?”

  She gave him a sly smile and another scientific treatise.

  “My primary neurotransmitter is acetylcholine, a physiological characteristic more in line with my father. It’s created by thinking and feeling, which means we auto-stimulate through introspection and observation.”

  He didn’t know what the hell that word meant, but he got the gist of the explanation. It made her a good listener and a deep thinker.

  “I don’t think either of my parents donated that to me.”

  She went on. “You are more like my mother, one of the social butterflies of the world. You need more active stimulation than I do. Translation: you need to be the center of attention, involve yourself in activities that get your adrenaline going. You tend to get bored when you’re alone too long.” Her smile was more genuine this time. “Or on the bench too often.”

  He brightened up. “There’s a scientific reason I didn’t do well in New York? I like that better than thinking it was a personal failure.”

  “It’s all in how you deal with those traits. I used to force myself out, to parties, to friends’ gatherings, forced conversation about things I cared nothing about. What really turned me off, and the reason I stopped going out period? I’d spend five, ten minutes listening to someone’s story and when I went to reply they’d turn away like I’d already served my usefulness. It made me angry and not a little resentful.”

  Did he do that? Talk about himself and then become bored when someone else spoke? He was listening now, interested in what she had to say. It was giving him a deeper understanding of who she was, of who he was.

  Had he just circled back to himself, again? Yeah, he did but this time he consciously turned it back around. He didn’t like the idea of anyone ignoring this woman or the people who did it.

  “I can’t blame you. It was rude, plain and simple.”

  “Then there’s a lot of rude out there.”

  She pushed up the sleeves of her dress as if she were just getting comfortable.

  “Tell me about spring training. What is it and why do you do it?”

  Should he let her change the subject or probe further into her life? He decided to take a minute to decide. “I saved some coffee. Want some iced?”

  “That sounds good.”

  It took only a few steps before he was back, handed her a glass thick with ice.

  He sat closer this time, so that he could feel her body heat. It might be a distraction, but it was a welcome one.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN<
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  “Now, do you really want to know what spring training’s like or are you just changing the topic of our very stimulating conversation?”

  “I really want to know. Does everyone on the team go? Are they tryouts of sorts? If I’m going to start watching, I need to know what I’m looking for. Just another tid-bit about me. I’m curious about how things work.”

  “I would never have guessed.”

  She let the sarcasm go. Even though it was unsettling that he knew her so well, she gave him more.

  “When I was in the lab on Sundays, I’d binge watch a show on the Science Channel. I actually think the name of it was How Things Work. No How Things Are Made. They’d explain how to make stuff like guitar picks, light microscopes, vacuum cleaners, gummy vitamins. And I forgot to mention I love gummy bears, so that was an especially interesting show.”

  “I’m sure the one about the microscope was riveting.”

  “Actually, I stopped what I was doing to watch. Almost lost a whole set of samples.”

  “You’ll have our games to watch next month. They’re slow enough that there’ll be no risk of losing yourself in it.”

  “Actually, now that I’ve studied some of the mechanics, I’ll be watching the pitchers and hitters to learn more about velocity and trajectory.”

  “Probably not during our pre-season. We won’t be in it to win it. It is a try-out of sorts, with inexperienced rookies thrown into the mix. The regulars will play only part of the game. The starting pitchers won’t have a regular rotation.”

  “Those aspiring to move out of your farm system?”

  “Will be going all out, trying to impress the manager and coaches.”

  “Regulars won’t necessarily make the team?”

  “There’ll be some old-timers let go or used as utility players.”

  “How will they feel about that?”

  “Depends, I guess, on whether or not they have the right genes for bench warming.”

  He was smiling, and she could do nothing but return it.

  “You play in Sanford, right? Do all the teams fly south?”

  “Most of the Eastern Seaboard teams do. The ones on the West Coast train in Arizona.”