Me and the Cute Catastrophe (Sweet, Small Town Romantic Comedy in Good Grief, Idaho Book 1)

by Jessie Gussman

  Rachel grabs it, takes three steps, and then says, “Oh, that’s right. I’m supposed to dribble.” She gives a little shrug and then grins at the other girls. “Wait there, guys, and give me a couple of minutes. I haven’t dribbled since last year.”

  I hear snorting, and I turn my head, seeing three boys, tall and athletic, standing in the doorway.

  I guess they’re probably on their way to the weight room, and they’re probably part of the boys’ team, which practices in the evening.

  I can’t blame them for snorting. But it was unkind, and I have a good mind to say something. Maybe they realize that as two sets of eyes track over to me, their brows raise, then they hit the third member of their group in the shoulder before they exit the doorway.

  I put the boys out of my mind, feeling like we have bigger problems. If we want to win games. We’re doing great if we don’t care a flip about winning.

  I care.

  I will never convince myself that I don’t care.

  When Claire said we would actually practice basketball today, I got excited. When the team’s at the bottom, the only way you go is up.

  But I guess Claire and I aren’t really seeing things eye to eye on this.

  “There is something wrong, isn’t there?” Now, her voice holds true concern. “Have you changed your mind about wanting to be the assistant coach?”

  Her head turns back to the court, and she watches the girls as she speaks, like she doesn’t care about my reaction or response.

  That makes me feel like she really does care.

  A lot.

  And I think again about what Coach Woodley said.

  And what Tammy said the day we chased Midget. I hadn’t believed her then.

  “So when I was in high school, did you have a crush on me?” I ask, knowing that question goes against all workplace harassment regulations and all accepted social norms as well.

  I barely know her, and there I am, asking the thing on my mind rather than answering her question or contributing anything intelligent to the conversation.

  “I did.” Her mouth barely moves, and her words are hardly audible.

  Her eyes stay on the girls, who are practically tripping over each other to be polite, to keep from getting in each other’s way, and to give each other space.

  I have never seen basketball played like this before.

  Ever.

  “What about now?” I ask.

  I don’t even know where that question comes from. But I realize immediately it’s the thing I really want to know. The thing I never should have asked. But a man has to take a chance once in a while. Risk rejection. Nothing good comes by sitting around and waiting for someone else to bring it to you.

  Basketball taught me that too.

  It’s a lesson these girls need to learn.

  “I don’t know.” Claire turns her head and looks at me. I see on her face her answer is as honest as it can be.

  “I had a huge crush on you up until the day you got married. It probably lasted a little longer, but I had hope up until that point. After that...” I shrug. “Because I just knew it was wrong.” Her marriage didn’t change my feelings, but it changed how I could act about them.

  She nods and turns her head back to the girls. “That has something to do with basketball?” she asks, her voice a wisp in the air.

  I stand there, my eyes on the girls, my heart thumping. I guess it does. I guess I feel like I have to lay it out for her before I can say what I want to.

  “I’d like to actually teach these girls how to play basketball,” I say.

  This time, my eyes stay on the girls as I speak. I don’t want to see her reaction. My whole body is tensed up, and I’m scared to death to hear what she’s going to say.

  I’m expecting an explosion. A rebuttal at the very least. Any kind of negative reaction. I don’t expect it to go over well.

  “I would too,” she says, and I feel her eyes on the side of my face.

  My jaw twitches, and I turn my head slowly, unable to hide my disbelief. “Really?”

  She nods.

  I don’t know why, but my eyes drop to her lips. They’re red and shaped like a bow, and they move in a tantalizing way as she quotes, “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” Those lips close, and maybe a smile touches them before they open again. “If the girls are going to play basketball, I think they ought to do it to the best of their ability.”

  Her teeth come out, and they grab her bottom lip.

  I have to look away. Not to her eyes. They’re just as mesmerizing.

  “But I don’t know how... I...I hope you’ll help me.”

  My breath pushes out, and while it’s exactly what I want to hear, it’s not everything I want to hear. It’s not even what I want to hear most. But it’s a start. It’s a little more than a start.

  I close my eyes and I take a breath, fortifying myself, before I open them again and turn to meet hers.

  “I will.”

  After that, practice changes some. Not just for the day, but for the rest of October.

  We switch practice to every day after school. I schedule three hours on Saturday morning, because the boys have the gym Saturday afternoon, along with voluntary attendance on Sunday after church. That comes with pizza. Provided by me.

  Claire backs me on everything I say, and I clearly give her deference as the head coach.

  I don’t have any illusions about the team winning a championship. I do, however, have high hopes that they might win a game. Or two.

  The good thing about the way Claire has been doing things is that the girls who are on the team are on the team because they really do want to play basketball.

  It doesn’t take too much to motivate them into jumping on the bandwagon, especially as I casually drop the fact that I was an all-state baller and part of the team that won the two pennants that are in the display case in the hall at the end of the gymnasium.

  Hey, I believe in being humble, but I also believe in doing whatever it takes.

  The whole time, it isn’t just the girls learning to play basketball. It’s also Claire and I learning to work together.

  For me, that is the best part.

  Chapter 16

  Claire

  FRIDAY NIGHT, MY KIDS go to my mom’s to stay overnight.

  I’ve mentioned my dad is a vet, and the girls going over is mostly because of that.

  It went down like this.

  Through the years, when someone finds a stray animal, either along the road or hanging around their house or whatever, because there’s no animal shelter in our county, they always take it to my dad. He has cages and everything at his clinic and can house the animals while he works to find the owners.

  Of course, sometimes all the cages are full, and that’s what happened on Friday night.

  He has this cute little puppy, what we figure to be a miniature poodle mix, that had been brought in a couple weeks prior.

  He has been working pretty hard to find its home because it seems like it is an expensive designer dog and someone paid a lot of money for it.

  He’s searched everywhere, and no one is turning up as an owner.

  Then someone brought another dog in. This new dog is a pitbull, and while in my experience, pitbulls are actually very good with people and children and not so good with other animals, you just never know.

  So, he took the puppy out to make room for the pitbull, and my mom, who knows if the puppy ends up at her house, they would most likely be keeping it, and they already have five dogs, offered to watch my kids if I kept the puppy.

  That’s how I came to be sitting in my living room Friday night, curled up with a blanket and book, Midget lying at my feet and staring with loving eyes at the puppy in my lap while I try to read.

  My cats are offended, just because cats get offended over everything and not really because of the puppy, but they’re hiding somewhere.

  I am very sore.

  Trey is w
orking the girls hard at practice. At least in my eyes.

  When I’m in charge, I’ve always been a big proponent of not asking people to do things that I wouldn’t do myself, and so I’ve been trying to keep up.

  Wednesday, he had them running what he called suicides.

  It’s Friday, and I am still hobbling around like an old woman.

  If I weren’t so stubborn, I probably would take a pain pill. Moving, any kind of movement, hurts.

  I can’t complain. Trey told me since I’m the coach, I’m not supposed to do the drills.

  But...I guess coaching means something different to me. Because, like I said, I couldn’t ask the girls to do things that I wouldn’t do.

  And I’ve never done suicides before.

  Just to be clear, I am perfectly fine never doing suicides again.

  The puppy shifts in my lap, and although I already have a dog big enough to be about six dogs, I am seriously thinking of keeping this one.

  We have fostered enough dogs over the years that my girls were actually more excited to go to their grandmother’s house than they were to play with the new puppy, so I am alone.

  I’ve already cleaned up three puddles of puppy pee and two piles of the other stuff.

  Otherwise, I’m enjoying the time by myself. My book isn’t that great, and I am petting the puppy and thinking more than I am reading.

  Okay. I am thinking about Trey.

  I definitely have fun working with him. And yeah, I am thinking about how much I admire him and like him and how good he has been to me, and how he has given me deference, even though he is obviously the knowledgeable one about basketball.

  But I am also thinking that maybe I should just give my position to him.

  The nicer he is to me, the more I feel like he deserves it, since obviously he is the more qualified one out of the two of us.

  Anyway, I waver back and forth with that and occasionally get distracted by thinking about what he’d said about his crush, although he’s not done anything else like that in the week or so since. He’s been nothing but completely professional.

  Since Cody left, I haven’t met anyone that I am interested in dating.

  Not until Trey.

  That isn’t exactly the thing I want to think about, though, so having the doorbell ring is actually a welcome distraction.

  I’m not expecting anyone and have no idea who it might be at this time of night.

  But this is Good Grief, and I’m not apprehensive, just curious as I get up, setting my book down but holding the puppy, and walk to the door.

  Midget beats me there.

  Great Danes aren’t exactly known for being wonderful watchdogs, and she slept right up until the doorbell rang.

  I think she is less excited about announcing an intruder than she is about getting to see someone. Anyone.

  And possibly getting to put her nose on the puppy again. It was love at first sight for Midget.

  I grab Midget’s collar to keep her from knocking down—in love of course—the person at the door.

  That leaves me in a bit of a dilemma, since I have the puppy in the other hand and don’t want to put it down. Since it has been an hour and a half since I last took it out, it is almost guaranteed to pee on my floor again.

  After about three seconds of thought, I finally pull back on Midget’s collar and shout at the door, “It’s unlocked. Come in!”

  There is a three- or five-second pause while the person on the other side of the door apparently waits and tries to decide whether I actually mean that or not.

  I am trying to figure out if I could possibly tuck the puppy under my arm and grab the door that way when it creaks open.

  My heart skips, then does some suicides of its own when Trey appears on the other side.

  We said goodbye after basketball practice. I did my best to pretend my entire body was not aching, and I didn’t expect to see him again until tomorrow’s basketball practice.

  In all the time that he’s been living with his dad, the only time he’s been at my house was the day Melody almost burned it down.

  “Um...hi,” I say awkwardly, struggling to keep a hold of Midget and the puppy.

  “So the small pony wasn’t enough? You got a new dog?”

  Apparently, whatever he wants, it’s not an emergency since we are going to do some small talk first, I guess.

  “Not exactly. Dad just ran out of room at the clinic.”

  His head jerks up. I think he probably understands.

  Everyone knows my dad’s clinic doubles as the animal shelter. Living beside us over the years, he’s seen some interesting animals coming through our house.

  We had a monkey for two weeks, a couple of goats over the years, several potbellied pigs, and thankfully the three boa constrictors dad had kept at the clinic.

  Mom had insisted.

  Trey glances down at Midget. She is still straining to get to him.

  “You can let her go. I’m not afraid of her.”

  I try not to sigh in relief. Normally, I don’t allow Midget free rein if we have houseguests.

  She can be overwhelmingly nice and accidentally hurtful. But it is a bit much since now the puppy is struggling to get out of my arms and go greet the newcomer as well.

  “She’ll only sniff you for a few minutes, and she doesn’t usually jump up,” I say as I let go.

  He scratches Midget’s head, which comes to his chest, and leans his head down so Midget’s nose almost touches his.

  That’s just wonderful. On top of everything else, he has to be good with my dog too.

  If the cats like him, I’m sunk.

  I figure there’s no need to worry. My cats don’t like anyone.

  Midget usually overwhelms people. They aren’t used to a dog that big.

  “For such a large dog, she’s really sweet,” he says.

  “She is. A big baby. Couch potato, really. But watch her tail,” I say as she turns. “It feels like a stick against your legs when she’s this excited.”

  He jerks his head and doesn’t flinch when her tail smacks against his knee before Midget moves off.

  “You can come in,” I say, assuming he isn’t here for a visit, but he isn’t saying what he wants, so I don’t know what else to do, other than stand there holding the door and looking dumb.

  “I am, uh, sorry to bother you.”

  I wave my hand, my fingers still burning from Midget’s collar, and remind myself to move smoothly and not like the old lady I was allowing myself to be when no one could see me.

  “It’s not a bother. The girls are at my mom’s, and I’m just enjoying a little bit of time to catch up on my reading.”

  I most certainly do not add that I’ve been thinking about him more than I’ve been thinking about my book.

  “Well...” He shifts his feet and clenches and unclenches his hands. Weird. “This is maybe a little unusual, but I wondered if you might have some spinach I can borrow.”

  I’m sorry. I have to admit my head tilts way to the side, and I give him a look that probably is as confused as I feel.

  “I actually do have some in the refrigerator,” I say, although it’s an automatic answer.

  My mind is trying to figure out what in the world he could possibly want spinach for this time of night? It has to be almost eight o’clock.

  I start walking toward the kitchen, and he follows me.

  “I’ve been trying to get my dad to eat some healthier things, and I went to make him a spinach salad, and I realized that I neglected to pick up spinach at the store.”

  “It’s okay. You could be using it to try to make a battery to run your phone, you don’t have to explain. I’m happy to let you...not borrow...have it.” I lift an eyebrow as I open the refrigerator door. The puppy has snuggled down in my arm.

  “Yeah. When I said borrow, I meant that I’ll grab some at the store and pay you back. I’m not used to the grocery stores closing so early. In Seattle, many of them are open until ele
ven if not all night.”

  I nod. “Small towns, right?”

  “Actually, I’ve been enjoying the small town. Things that were annoying to me as a teenager are kind of nice now that I have some years under my belt.” He puts a hand on his stomach. “I know what you’re thinking. That’s not all I have under my belt.”

  He gives his self-conscious grin, and I pause in the process of pulling the bag of spinach out of the refrigerator.

  Seriously? Is he insecure? It strikes me as odd. Our town practically worships at his feet everywhere he goes, since he is the only all-state baller ever to come out of Good Grief.

  “I wasn’t thinking that,” I say. Honestly.

  I finish pulling the spinach out of the refrigerator and shut the door.

  I turn to face him, handing the bag of spinach over. His expression is serious.

  “I want to thank you too.” He takes the bag, and it crinkles, loud in the silence of my kitchen.

  “For the spinach? Of course. Anytime. That’s what neighbors are for.” I say this flippantly, because his serious tone and expression have made me uncomfortable. I don’t like serious conversations. Especially ones that are emotionally charged as I suspect this one will be, although I can’t put my finger on exactly what makes me feel that way.

  I start to move, but his words stop me.

  “For that, yes. But also for what you’ve done with the basketball team. And what you allowed me to do. It means a lot to me, and I think it’s going to end up being a season that the girls will never forget.”

  There are so many things running through my head right now. Things I want to say.

  It should be me thanking him. I’ve heard, although it hasn’t happened yet, that another girl is going to join the team. Just because of Trey.

  I’ve also heard there’s a buzz in the school, a buzz of excitement because of the all-state baller being involved in the program.

  I’ve also heard, and this could just be gossip, that the school board is thinking of springing for new uniforms for the girls as well.

  This is huge, since the uniforms they’re wearing are twenty years old.