It was simple yet exactly what I needed and wanted to hear.
So for three days now, I was picking up scratch-offs and OJ or Snapple for her in the morning, chatting a second with Kurt, driving straight to the house, and spending the day with her on the couch. We’d watch daytime talk shows while looking at her old boxes of photos on the couch. Kaylie would pop in and out, say something either neutral or hostile to me, and Mom would whisper, “She’s just adjusting,” to me and give either a little eye roll or a squeeze of my hand.
Most curiously, she’d pay Kaylie very little mind before turning back to me, trying to get me to look at a picture of when I was baby wearing pink and purple socks she knitted, and talking about how we should perhaps start knitting.
For the first time in a long time, I had her attention back.
And it felt good.
“When did you start showing?” I asked as we settled into the couch today.
“I started showing with you when I was nine weeks, so good luck with that,” Mom snorted, patting a gentle hand on my tummy. “Whole town’s gonna know soon ‘cause of Kaylie’s mouth anyway. Did Kurt try to convince you to forgive the Remsens today?”
“Sure did,” I managed a smirk as I jammed my thumb on the old remote to turn on the TV. It took about seven tries.
“That ass. Don’t let him worry you about that. You got enough on your mind, sweetheart,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Tell him you’re busy making ten fingers and ten toes, for Chrissake! And they’re probably gonna be big ones, considering.”
Considering.
She knew well that Drew was the father. I wouldn’t confirm it to her, simply because I felt wary – and then guilty about feeling wary – carrying a millionaire’s baby into the town of Belfield. My overactive mind pictured people hearing that I was pregnant by Drew Maddox and suddenly showing up to tell me to get him in court, to get that child support.
It was the last thing I wanted to think of right now.
And thankfully, Mom didn’t press. Much to my relief, she said, “If Daddy ain’t in the picture, we don’t need him, honey. When did the Larsen girls ever need a man?”
“Never,” I had said, sounding convincing enough for her to beam at me.
But I was lying to myself that day and I was lying to myself now as I thought about what Mom said. Because I couldn’t help imagining the incredibly torturous image of Drew Maddox – happy, smiling and sitting next to me at the hospital, helping me count those ten fingers and ten toes.
36
DREW
“Drew, you were already coming off a bad loss in Cleveland on Monday, and tonight’s performance was obviously no better. Six innings. Six earned runs. Can you tell us what might be behind the offensive meltdowns in this two-game losing streak? Perhaps the flare-up of an old injury or… distractions in your personal life?”
And there it is.
There was always one reporter that got tired of my well-practiced stoicism during my post-game interviews. Win or lose, I didn’t give the press much to work with because no matter what I said, it was twisted and used against me. So I stuck with the usual responses.
My focus tonight wasn’t a hundred percent. There are no excuses. Next game.
Since those words weren’t easy to twist into some juicy headline, there was always some asshole who started prodding me with scumbag questions, just to see if he could get a fed-up reaction to turn into a good sound bite.
But even tonight – even after the stress of the past five days – I refused to give the little shit the satisfaction of my anger. So without a flicker of expression on my face, I lied straight to his.
“Physically, I’m a hundred percent. My personal life couldn’t be better. As far as the seventh inning goes, it was just a loss of focus.”
Lie. It was more so Emmett’s text about Evie.
“But what was the cause of the loss of focus?” the asshole p
ressed on.
The fact that he told me there “might be an emergency” and to meet him after the game ASAP, I thought furiously as my lips gave a different answer.
“I think I let myself get hung up on what I thought was a bad call from the umpire. It took me out mentally for just long enough to do offensive damage. I definitely won’t let it happen again.”
And after that sufficiently bland answer, the interview wrapped. Though of course, that didn’t stop one reporter from calling to me, “Might be time to start bringing your lucky charm again.”