“You made it!” Mel exclaimed.
“Excuse me?” an annoyed female voice said. “This is Stephanie Simpson.”
She racked her brain, trying to recall where she’d heard the name. Nothing came to her. Obviously, she needed more coffee. One double-shot Frappuccino wasn’t cutting it today. “I’m sorry?”
“From your daughter’s school.” The woman’s disapproval was plain.
Dread prickled her skin. “Did something happen to Tara?”
“To her? No.” The school administrator sniffed. “Your daughter is disrupting class.”
Mel didn’t believe it. Tara might be precocious, but she minded fairly well. “You’re sure you have the right kid? Tara Cline?”
“Yes, Ms. Cline. Tara locked herself in the classroom bathroom and refuses to come out.”
“What?” Mel’s voice shot up at least an octave—maybe two—along with her blood pressure. “Why?”
Ms. Simpson cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to pry, but are you seeing anyone new?”
Mel’s jaw dropped. With Tara locked in a bathroom, this woman wanted to discuss her personal life? “How is that any of your business?”
“Believe me, I have a reason for asking. I mean, I don’t care what happens in your bedroom. The school prides itself on embracing children of parents with alternative lifestyles. But when that home life starts to affect my students—”
“Excuse me?” Did this woman think she and Lu were a couple? Mel’s face warmed. She’d only been teasing Dave when she’d said that. “Ms. Simpson, I’m not gay.”
Silence. Then a tiny, “Oh. You’re a single mom?”
“Don’t we have something more important to talk about than who I may or may not be seeing?” She didn’t want to discuss her relationship with a stranger.
“It’s pertinent, Ms. Cline. Your daughter…” When she paused to clear her throat again, Mel considered offering her a lozenge “…has fabricated a father. She says she’s not coming out of the bathroom until he comes to get her.”
Mel fought an urge to say “What?” again. The woman would think she had no ears—or, worse, no brain. “He’s no figment of her imagination, Ms. Simpson. Her father and I recently reunited.”
“Good.” The woman’s voice oozed relief. “That makes this crisis much easier to solve. Just have him come to the school.”
“Great plan—with one hitch.”
“What?”
Mel was glad to be on the receiving end of the high-pitched question this time. She felt less slow-witted. “Dave is in Phoenix.”
“Oh no.”
Oh no, indeed. Mel picked up her purse and snapped off her office lights. “I’m on my way.”
Less than ten minutes later, she stood in front of the locked bathroom door. Tara’s classroom was empty, the teacher having taken the kids to the playground for an unscheduled recess.
“Tara, sweetheart, Mamma’s here.”
Silence.
“At least tell me if you’re okay. Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Having trouble going potty?”
She giggled. “No.”
“Then why won’t you come out? Other kids have to use that bathroom, too.”
“I miss Daddy.”
Lord save her from lovesick four-year-olds. “We went over this, sweetie. Daddy has to work.”
Her daughter took a ragged breath and started crying. Through her sobs, she choked out, “Daddy doesn’t love me.”
Mel’s heart broke. “Baby, he does love you. Very much. That’s why he’s working to take care of you.”
“He can work here.”
Before she could think of an appropriate answer, her phone rang. She stepped away from the door to take the call. “Dave, I’m glad you called.”
“Told you I would.”
“Well, we’re having a crisis here.” When she explained the situation, Dave chuckled. “It’s not funny. She can’t very well spend the next week locked in the classroom bathroom.”
“Guess not. Put me on speakerphone. I’ll try to reason with her.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him you couldn’t reason with a four-year-old, but she figured it was better for him to learn by doing—or in this case, not doing. Besides, there was a chance Tara would listen to him.
She set the phone next to the crack under the door. “Done.”
“Tara?”
“Daddy!”
Mel was both thrilled and saddened by the excitement in her baby’s voice. When was the last time she’d gotten such an enthusiastic greeting?
“Mamma says you’re locked in the school bathroom.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now why’d you go and do that?”
“’Cause I miss you.”
Dave’s tone was patient. “How’s locking yourself in the bathroom make you miss me any less?”
Tara’s giggle rang out. “Silly Daddy. I’m talking to you now.”
Dave let out a strangled sound that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a groan. “Good point.” He coughed and then tried another tack. “Sweetheart, don’t you think you’ll get awfully hungry in there?”
“Nope. I have Teddies.”
“Teddies?”
Even as she wondered why Tara took her lunchbox into the bathroom, Mel explained. “Teddy Grahams. I put a baggie in her lunchbox.”
He muttered something that sounded like “Way to go.” When he raised his voice, he made another attempt to dislodge their daughter. “Other people need that room.”
“That’s what Mamma said.”
“Your mother’s a smart woman, kiddo. Now why don’t you follow in her footsteps and come out of that bathroom like the brilliant girl I know you are?”
Appealing to Tara like that just might work. Mel held her breath, but the door didn’t budge. Damn. So much for flattery.
“Come back to me. Now.”
“I wish I could, sweetheart, but I have five games in the next four days.”
“You love baseball more than me.”
“No!” Dave’s denial was swift and definitive—and it brought bitter regret to Mel’s tongue all over again. “I love you just as much—in a different way. Maybe you should come out of there so your teacher and classmates love you too.”
“They already think I’m da bomb. Shelli said so.”
Just as she’d feared, Dave was getting nowhere in reasoning with Tara.
Still, he wasn’t giving up, even if the scowl in his voice was plain with his next attempt. “You don’t want to be known as Bathroom Girl, do you?”
Tara’s sharp intake of breath ended in a hiccup. “Uh-uh.”
“Then you ought to come out of there before someone thinks it up. Or something worse.”
Mel heard shuffling feet inside the bathroom. Now this was progress. She piled it higher. “‘Tara the Toilet Queen’ has a nice ring to it.”
Tara’s plaintive “Mamma!” nearly drowned out Dave’s chuckle and low-voiced “Nice one.” He spoke up. “I wouldn’t want people calling me that, kiddo.”
The door inched open and Tara’s tear-streaked face peeked through the crack. When her eyes landed on Mel, her lower lip started to tremble again. “Where’s Daddy?”
Mel pointed at the phone. Tara stepped all the way through the doorway and scrambled to pick it up. “Daddy, dance with me!”
“Huh?”
Mel was as confused as Dave until a scan of the room revealed the words printed on the whiteboard: Daddy-Daughter Dance, Sept. 28.
“Let me talk to Daddy, sweetheart.” She pried the phone out of Tara’s hand, all the while keeping a firm hold on her wrist to keep her from skittering back to the bathroom. “The school has scheduled a Daddy-Daughter Dance at the end of September. I think this is Tara’s overly dramatic way of asking you to go.”
Tara’s head bobbed so hard Mel worried it would fall off her shoulders.
“When is it?”
“September twe
nty-eighth.”
She heard beeps as he checked his calendar. “Shi—shoot. That’s a game day. In Vancouver.”
Beside her, Tara went rigid. Uh-oh. He was about to be on the receiving end of one of the royal fits he seemed so eager to see. As Mel clicked off the speakerphone, she squeezed her daughter’s hand in an attempt to distract her from full meltdown.
“You just said baseball wasn’t as important as our daughter,” she reminded him in a hiss.
He growled back. “I know what I said, and I meant it. Just give me a chance to figure out how to work it. I’ll be there.”
“You’d better be.” Mel doubted she’d be able to handle the emotional fallout, Tara’s or her own, if he didn’t show. In a very short time, she’d come to depend on him…to believe in him.
“Tell Tara I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I promise.”
****
Several hundred miles away, Dave cursed as he hung up the phone. What in hell had possessed him to make a promise that could torpedo what was left of his career? He’d have to do some pretty fast talking to find a way to duck out on an earlier flight.
His brain instantly conjured a picture of Mel and Tara waiting for him as he’d stepped off the plane Tuesday morning. Even though he didn’t deserve an enthusiastic welcome after getting himself hauled to the police station, both their faces shone with love and excitement.
That was why he did it. His girls. He’d been absent from their lives for way too long, so he had to be there for them now. If that meant pretending to be sick and missing a game—well, a man had to do what a man had to do.
He checked his watch. He had two hours to catch some Zzzs before practice. Thanks to the mostly sleepless nights he’d spent with Mel after Tara fell asleep, he needed ’em.
Dave woke up refreshed and ready to take on any curveball that came his way. When he got to the stadium, Matt greeted him with a clap on the shoulder. “Good to see you, buddy.”
Dave shot the breeze with Matt until their manager, Jerry, boomed, “Places everyone. This is practice, not a social event.”
He nodded to Matt and took his place between second and third bases while his teammates scrambled to their positions. When everyone was in place, Jerry shouted, “Play ball.”
What followed were three of the most grueling innings Dave had ever had the misfortune to suffer through. He missed countless hits that never should have gone through his glove, and his at-bats were even worse than usual.
“Reynolds, to the dugout,” Jerry barked after he missed yet another easy catch.
Dave trotted off the field. He was about to get reamed, and deservedly so. He hadn’t played such sloppy ball since Little League. “Good thing it’s only practice.”
When he reached the dugout, Jerry patted the bench beside him.
“Something bothering you, son?”
Why wasn’t his boss reading him the riot act? He took the offered seat and hoped Jerry’s benevolence didn’t mean he was about to get canned. “Sorry, Coach. I visited my family on my days off. Guess it’s harder to be away from them than I thought.”
“Your daughter and girlfriend in Texas, right?” When Dave confirmed it, Jerry went on. “I talked with Logan, the Tornadoes’ manager, and he’s happy to take you on, as long as your numbers don’t drop.”
Dave almost jumped off the bench and did a celebratory fist pump. He managed to contain his excitement and instead offered a mild, “That’s great.”
Jerry frowned. “But son, if you play the way you’re playing today, your stats will fall faster than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. Get your head in the game.”
Now he did stand. He pumped Jerry’s fist. “I will. Thanks.”
“And, Reynolds?”
“Yeah, Coach?” Judging by the angle of his boss’ chin, he wouldn’t like what was coming.
“You’re a family man now. Try harder to keep your nose clean.”
His face burned. He didn’t need his boss to tell him it had been stupid to go to that suite. Good intentions or not, he’d embarrassed both himself and Mel—or at least Mel’s family. “It won’t happen again.”
****
Mel groaned when Tara came stomping down the steps in front of her preschool Friday afternoon. Her daughter was in a bad mood for the third time this week.
She’d hoped to have at least another decade before she had to deal with mood swings. Apparently teenagers didn’t have the exclusive rights to moodiness.
Tara tossed her lunchbox into the Civic’s back seat and climbed in, flinging herself into her booster seat. Her bottom lip poked out in a pout.
Mel ruffled Tara’s hair and buckled her in. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Teacher said girls hafta wear a dress to the dance.”
That was today’s crisis? Mel was so relieved she almost laughed. “Dresses are a given for special events like a Daddy-Daughter Dance.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Don’t like dresses.”
Mel knew all too well her tomboy had an aversion to skirts. From the moment Tara started talking, she’d been declaring a preference for pants. Mel gave in because she preferred to pick her battles, and that one wasn’t vital to Tara’s health or safety.
“I bet Daddy would love to see you in a pretty dress.” If her classmates were all dolled up, Tara might feel left out. “You can make an exception for the dance.”
“I s’pose.” She sniffled.
“Tell you what. We’ll swing by Auntie Lu’s and then the three of us will go shopping.”
“Now?” Tara’s dismayed wail rang in Mel’s ears.
“No time like the present.” Mel, a lover of all things pretty and pink, jumped at the chance to get her daughter to dress like a girl. “You can pick the color.”
“’Kay.” Tara’s foot jarred the back of Mel’s seat. “No pink.”
Two hours later, Mel waited by the bank of mirrors while Lu helped Tara into about the twentieth dress she’d tried on. True to her word, she’d avoided anything pink, which left out about three-quarters of the stock in each of the stores they’d visited.
She rolled her eyes. If Tara was this picky at four, she hated to think how torturous shopping for prom dresses would be.
A delighted squeal came from the dressing room. “Pretty.”
“We have a winner,” Lu called out.
“Let me see.”
Tara came racing out, the skirt of a lavender dress hiked to her knees. Mel bit her lip to hold in a laugh. “Drop the skirt, sweetie.”
She obeyed, and stood without fidgeting while Mel fussed to smooth it. When she was done, Mel took a step back. The dress was sleeveless and the satin skirt fell to mid-calf. A darker violet sash accented the waist, tying in a bow at the back.
Not a ruffle in sight. Mel battled disappointment. Even if it wasn’t her kind of dress, she had to admit her daughter looked adorable in it.
She flashed a thumbs-up. “You did good, sweetheart.”
Tara’s answering grin was wider than an eight-lane superhighway. Mel whipped out her camera. “Let me get a picture.”
Her baby stood still long enough for the photo before throwing herself into Mel’s arms. Over her daughter’s head, Mel mouthed a “thank you” to Lu.
Lu flashed an evil grin. “Don’t thank me yet. We still need shoes.”
Thankfully, shoes were an easier sell. Mel had no trouble getting Tara to accept a pair of black patent leather Mary Janes, to be worn with lace-trimmed ankle socks.
She paid and then turned to Tara and Luanne. “We’re in the mall and we’re done shopping. You know what that means.”
Tara clapped her hands. “Food court!”
Mel didn’t feel the least bit guilty about feeding Tara a food court dinner, because they only did it a few times a year. She used it as a bribe to get Tara to shop without complaining.
About halfway through their meal, Mel’s phone rang.
Mel grinned. “Hey Dave. What’s up?”
/> “Good news times two. First off, Coach said the trade should be a go. Second, I worked out how to get to Texas for the big dance.”
“Good, because our daughter’s looking forward to it. We just found her a…” she infused the word with as much loathing as Tara would have… “dress.”
Dave chuckled, a warm rumble that made Mel wish he weren’t two states away. “Sounds like that was a chore.”
“She’s definitely more at home in pants.” She shoved aside the longing. “But after three stores and nineteen rejects, she found one she liked. I’ll send a picture.”
“Looking forward to it.”
****
Not long after Dave ended the call with Mel, his phone beeped with a message. He grinned to himself. How had long-distance parents managed before e-mail, cell phones and text messages created the capability for instant communication?
When he opened the file, an image of Tara in a purple dress greeted him. The tilt of her chin…the mischievous smile…her wide-legged stance.
His grin widened. No doubt about it, Tara was his little girl. A fierce need to protect her nearly drove Dave to his knees.
To do it right, he needed to be in the same state with her. And that meant taking his game up a notch—or ten—so the Tornadoes would be proud to have him on their team.
Time to put in some extra practice, make sure his head was in the game. He called Matt.
“Let’s go to the park and shag some balls.”
“Sure, man. I’m always down for that.”
That was why he called Matt and not some of their other teammates. Matt wasn’t afraid of hard work. In fact, after Dave’s mother died, Matt was the one who’d coaxed him to stop drowning his sorrows and start pounding them away in the batting cage.
He shuddered to think where he’d be now without his buddy to drag him off the road to nowhere.
Fifteen minutes later, the two of them met at the park. Matt fired fly balls at him until there wasn’t enough light to see them anymore.
“Had enough yet?” Matt called.
Dave trotted infield so they didn’t have to shout. “Of this? Yes. But I’m heading to the batting cages.”
Matt cast him a doubtful look. “Sure you want to do that?”
“Yep.” Dave was more certain of that than he’d ever been of anything. The more practice time he put in, the better the likelihood of getting the trade so he could be with Mel and Tara full-time. Part-time fathers were the pits—having had one all his life, he knew that for a fact.
Diva In The Dugout (All Is Fair In Love And Baseball) Page 12
