Picture Perfect Page 8
Abby touched Erin’s back lightly. “Can you see Michael out there?”
Erin shook her head and looked away from the field.
“Do you want a soda?”
Erin shook her head again.
“Would you mind handing me one?”
Erin opened the cooler and dug through the top layer of ice. “Do you want me to open it for you?”
“I can do it. Thanks.” Abby turned back to the diamond, but her attention remained firmly focused on the girl. Erin still reacted to the abuse so differently from Michael, closing herself off and burying her emotions. And she was pathetically eager to please Abby—or to avoid displeasing her. As each day passed and Erin remained untouchable, Abby despaired of ever reaching her. She didn’t know the best things to say, the right things to do or the proper way to react, and Erin kept pulling further into her shell.
Erin shifted position and stared at the field again. There had to be something Abby could do to reach her, something that would help her recover in the same way Brody and Little League had helped Michael. But what?
On the field, a boy in a Jets uniform swung at a high, outside pitch. A strike. Behind them, a man yelled out at the coach, the batter and the umpire.
Men still frightened Erin, and she shuddered and looked down. Abby groaned inwardly, praying the man would keep quiet. But when the boy took another swing at a pitch even Abby could see was impossible, the man yelled again and shot to his feet.
“I’m going down there to see what’s going on.” His words slurred slightly and the unmistakable odor of alcohol floated on the air.
“You’re not going anywhere,” a woman said in a harsh whisper. “Sit down and quit making a fool of yourself.”
“Hey! Jason ought to be on the starting lineup. I don’t want anybody making him look bad.”
“Nobody’s doing anything to him. Sit down.”
Without glancing up, Erin sought Abby’s knee and clenched it. Putting her arm around Erin’s shoulders, Abby held her close.
The boy stepped up to the plate again, determination on his face. From his position on the edge of the field, Kurt called out something and the boy smiled grimly.
“Don’t screw this one up, Jason,” the man behind them shouted. “Keep your eye on the ball.”
Several heads in the front rows turned to look at him.
“You’ve had too much to drink and you’re embarrassing him,” the woman hissed.
“Jason doesn’t care if I have a beer now and then. You’re the one with the problem,” the man said.
Erin tensed and Abby held her breath. Jason let the next pitch go by, and the umpire called it a ball.
“Don’t look up,” the man shouted.
“For Pete’s sake, Bill—”
“Just back off, Naomi.”
“You’re doing it again,” she warned. “Doing what?”
“This. We can’t go anywhere without you making a scene.”
“Oh, shut up.” His words carried a threat, but his voice had lost some of its conviction. “I only had a few beers. Why do you always have to make such a big deal out of it?”
Jason swung at the next pitch and connected weakly. The ball skittered across the grass and was picked up by the shortstop, but Jason tore down the baseline and made it in time.
With his son safe on first base and the crisis apparently averted, the man settled his weight back on the bleachers.
Beside Abby, Erin relaxed slowly, but tears filled her eyes. “I thought he was going to hit her.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Abby pulled her closer.
“My dad gets mean when he drinks,” Erin said softly.
Keeping her arm around the girl’s shoulders, Abby tried to focus on the game, but she was too conscious of Erin’s fears to enjoy it even a little.
If coming to the games meant exposing Erin to the things she feared most, Abby couldn’t let Michael finish the season. She’d thought Michael’s involvement with Little League was wonderful. She’d even wanted to find something similar for Erin. But Erin wasn’t ready for this. It wasn’t fair to subject her to situations so painful for her, but Abby couldn’t let Michael come to Little League by himself, any more than she could let Erin stay home alone. So which child’s needs did she meet?
Two interminable innings passed before Abby saw Kurt on the edge of the field as he made his way toward the bleachers.
Even the sight of him at this distance sent her pulse into overdrive, but today’s incident only reinforced what she already knew. She had no business falling for this guy when she was in the middle of a family crisis.
Spotting them, Kurt waved and started up the bleachers, stepping gingerly through the crowd and tossing greetings to the people he passed. People liked him, that much was obvious. She liked him. But even if her present situation was different, she knew they’d never make it together. She’d watched Kurt with his son and listened to him that day in her kitchen talk about giving Brody a brother at some future time—and Abby simply couldn’t give him what he needed. She refused to let herself get caught up in something that could only end in pain.
Kurt greeted her with a lopsided grin and wedged himself into the narrow space beside her. He pointed toward his sister-in-law on the coach’s bench by the field. “Theresa wanted me to invite you to the potluck dinner next Wednesday. Everybody—parents, kids, families—gets together every year. It’s not a big deal, really, but she thought you might like to come.”
“I don’t think so.” Not after Erin’s reaction to the incident with the man behind them. And not when sitting this close to Kurt drove Abby to distraction.
“It’s informal,” Kurt continued. “All you have to do is bring a salad or a dessert or something. Glen Bybee always provides the soda, and the coaches usually bring burgers and hot dogs.”
Michael would love it, but Erin would hate it. “I really don’t think so, but thank you.” Abby turned away and let her eyes roam the field as if Kurt held no more interest for her than anyone else in Pine Cove.
“Brody will be awfully disappointed if he has to go alone. At least let me pick up Michael and take him with us.”
She’d already given in to the sleep over, but she couldn’t let Michael go to a party without her. She opened her mouth to refuse again when the man behind them shouted an obscenity and leapt to his feet. Erin’s shoulders hunched defensively and Abby felt her inch closer. Michael might be flourishing on a diet of picnics and Little League, but Erin’s immediate need for security had to take priority.
She stiffened and tried to force steel into her voice. “I really don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Kurt looked away, surveying the field. After a moment, he shrugged. “Whatever you want to do is fine. Theresa just asked me to mention it.”
His voice sounded hard, knife-edged. She knew she’d offended him. But she didn’t dare risk exposing Erin to situations she couldn’t handle. Still, she wasn’t prepared for the knot of pain that formed in her stomach when he turned away from her.
She said his name softly, willing him to understand what she couldn’t explain. But if Kurt heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it. Rising, he cast an almost impersonal glance at her and nodded coolly. “Then I’ll see you later.”
Before she could think of a way to stop him—or even an excuse for doing it—he’d reached the bottom row of the bleachers, jumped lightly to the ground and walked to the bench where Jack and Theresa sat. He never looked back.
Tears pricked at her eyes and a lump formed in her throat. If she’d met him at any other time, they might at least have been friends. Why did she have to meet him now, at the one time in her life she couldn’t afford even his friendship?
WELL, SHE’D CERTAINLY put him in his place. Kurt couldn’t believe he’d set himself up for a fall again after everything Laura had put him through. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to think he and Abby could be friends. And he couldn’t believe how cold she’d looked.
What would Theresa say to that? She’d been the one who’d listened to him endlessly after Laura left. She’d provided the voice of reason when he’d despaired of ever feeling whole again. She’d seen his pain, and she knew only too well what Brody still struggled with.
So, how could he dream about another man’s wife? How could he even think of doing something that would inflict the same pain he’d experienced on some other guy? It was insanity. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why Abby affected him this way. No woman had ever even made him imagine abandoning all his principles until now.
The touch of cool fingers on his knee made him jump. Theresa leaned toward him. “So, is she coming?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t want to.”
“I should never have let you talk to her,” Theresa said impatiently. “You’re as bad as Jack at arranging things. I guess I’ll have to do it myself. Tell Jack I’ll be back in a minute.”
Knowing that Abby would refuse Theresa as summarily as she’d rejected him didn’t completely salve Kurt’s bruised ego, but it helped a little. In fact, he actually managed to focus on the game for long enough to see Brody get on first base and Michael hit a double.
But when Theresa didn’t return by the bottom of the fourth inning, Kurt began to wonder. And when she rejoined him at the top of the fifth wearing a Cheshire-cat grin he lost every ounce of good humor he possessed.
She wormed her way into the space beside him and slapped him on the back. “We’re picking her up at six-thirty on Wednesday.”
KURT LOWERED the cover on the barbecue and looked over the railing of the deck to where Brody and Michael were tossing sticks for Pride to retrieve. After the way Abby had acted at the game on Thursday, he’d been afraid she might change her mind about letting Michael sleep over. But she’d kept her word to the boys, no matter how she might feel about him.
“Burgers will be done in five minutes,” he called.
Brody waved to him and tossed another stick. Pride raced after it, and when he appeared a few seconds later, he ran to Brody, depositing the stick like a prize at the boy’s feet. Boys and dogs belonged together. Both Pride and Brody had long ago forgotten that Pride was actually Kurt’s dog—except when it came time for a walk in the middle of the night.
Kurt opened a bag of chips and poured a few into a bowl. He placed plates and cups around the table and fished a pickle from the jar with a fork. “Hey, guys,” he called. “Time to wash up.”
By the time the boys got to the table, Kurt had the burgers on a plate. “This is a make-your-own dinner,” he told Michael. “Fix yours however you want.”
Michael grinned and slathered mayonnaise on his bun. “I love hamburgers.”
“Me, too,” Brody agreed, reaching for the catsup.
“We used to have ’em every week at home.” Michael said. “But not anymore.”
Brody’s face reflected deep sympathy. “Why?” Considering how often Kurt fixed burgers, Brody probably couldn’t imagine a week without them.
“Because my…my mom doesn’t like ’em.”
“So why’d you have ’em before if your mom doesn’t like ’em?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t know. We just did.” He reached for the chips. “You know what I want to do?” he asked, changing the subject. “I want to go in the ocean.”
“Can you swim?” Kurt asked.
“Yeah. Pretty good, anyway. In a swimming pool. I’ve never been in the ocean before.”
“Never?” Brody echoed.
“Nope. It’s too far away. I’d never even seen this much water until I came here.” Michael stuffed his mouth and chewed happily.
Kurt put a few chips on his own plate. “I thought Baltimore was close to the ocean.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to Baltimore, either. Can I have another Pepsi?”
Kurt felt himself pull back as if he’d been slapped. Never been to Baltimore? But just three days ago, Abby had told him they lived there. With his appetite fading rapidly, he dropped his unfinished hamburger onto his plate.
Another lie. And since Michael had no reason to lie about playing baseball, seeing the ocean, his mother liking dogs or being in Baltimore, Abby must be lying. But why?
The rest of the meal passed slowly. Each extra serving of potato chips, the extra burger for both boys, the endless refills of soda nearly drove Kurt out of his mind. He couldn’t think now, not with the boys needing his attention, but giving it to them undivided was impossible.
At last dinner was over and Michael and Brody rushed away, oblivious to Kurt’s mood. He rinsed and stacked the dishes quickly, but he couldn’t get his mind off Abby, and he couldn’t come up with one acceptable excuse for her lying to him.
By the time he’d finished the dishes, the boys had spread sleeping bags on the living room floor and were engrossed in a ninja movie. Since Kurt knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate, anyway, he decided not to join them.
Sitting on the deck to watch the sunset, he was close enough to hear them and far enough away to tune out the movie. And in the silence, with only the sound of the river for company, he could start to sort out his tangled thoughts.
He might have been able to believe that Abby was just uncomfortable around him, except that he knew he hadn’t done anything to make her feel that way. He told himself she was just cautious, a lone woman in a strange town, but that made no sense. She’d been as relaxed and unguarded when she’d talked about Baltimore as Michael was when he’d said he’d never been there.
He’d thought briefly about it before, but now he seriously considered investigating her background. If he was half the father he wanted to be, he couldn’t allow Brody to continue his friendship with Michael without clearing things up. The mysteries surrounding Abby Harris and her children raised too many red flags for him to ignore any longer.
If he thought she’d tell him the truth, he’d go straight to her. But she had something to hide and he didn’t expect her to willingly answer his questions. Besides, if there was a problem, confronting Abby would only make her defensive.
Well, he still had friends in Seattle. And first thing tomorrow he’d make a few calls.
Kurt propped his feet on the wooden railing. He’d been sitting in that position for several minutes when a small noise behind him caught his attention.
From the gathering shadows, Michael appeared with Brody in his wake. “Kurt?”
“What is it, guys?”
“Can we talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” He lowered his feet to the ground and leaned his elbows on his knees. “What’s up?”
Michael drew in a deep breath and darted a glance at Brody. “My mom is going to take me off the team, but I don’t want her to.” Tears glistened in the boy’s eyes, but he dashed them away with the back of his hand.
Battling his sudden anger, Kurt struggled to keep his voice steady. “Why is she going to do that?”
“Because…I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She didn’t tell me why. She just said I had to get off the team.”
“I’m sorry. I know you must be disappointed and we’ll miss having you. You’re a great pitcher.”
“Can’t you talk to her and ask her to let me keep playing?”
Not in a thousand years. Kurt would never interfere in an argument between a parent and child, unless the child were obviously being abused or mistreated in some way. “I don’t think that would be such a good idea,”
he said evenly. “This is between you and your mom.”
The expectation died from Michael’s eyes and he stared at his feet. “She won’t listen to me.”
“She might.”
Though he’d remained silent so far, Brody stepped forward, his eyes bright. “You have to talk to her, Dad. Make her let him stay on the team.”
“Brody—”
“I told him you would, Dad. He just has to stay on the team.”
He shouldn’t get involved. He couldn’t. “Look, guys, it’s just not a good idea to get in the middle of somebody else’s family disagreement.”
Michael turned away, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. “I knew it was stupid to ask you.”
“Michael—” Kurt began.
“So you’re not going to do anything?” Brody’s voice sounded sharp in the silence of the night.
“I can’t, son.”
Michael turned halfway back and pierced Brody with a stare. “I told you he wouldn’t do anything.”
Brody’s eyes flickered to Kurt’s face, and in them Kurt saw bitter disappointment and anger. Asking him to help had been Brody’s idea, and Kurt had refused. Now what would happen to Brody’s trust in him?
He shouldn’t allow himself to get involved in a dispute between Abby and her son. But he couldn’t destroy his own son’s faith in his willingness and ability to help.
He closed his eyes against the sudden pounding in his head and, knowing he might regret it, nodded slowly. “All right, guys, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Really?” Michael sounded ecstatic.
Kurt opened his eyes and met Brody’s gaze. At least the anger had faded.
“Thanks.” Brody’s lips curved in a smile.
The boys started toward the house together, but at the back door Michael stopped, spoke briefly to Brody, then ran back. “Could you do me another favor?”
Resigned to his involvement, Kurt tried to muster a smile. “What kind of favor?”
Michael pulled an envelope from under his shirt and thrust it at him. “Will you mail this for me?”
Kurt took the envelope and turned it over in his hand. It was addressed to Rachel Harrison at an address in Tempe, Arizona. The name struck a chord deep in his memory, but not close enough to the surface to connect with anything.