Fools Rush in(34)

“Ethel is not a woman,” I said. I sat down on the floor with him, and Digger wriggled over to me, his tail thumping loudly on the fridge as he enjoyed the simultaneous tummy scratch.

“Well, Mil, I don’t know if Katie’s really my type,” Sam murmured.

“Not your type? She’s gorgeous! And she’s nice, mostly. Plus, you already know her.”

“Sure, I like her. She’s great. I just…I don’t know. I don’t really think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not? Just say, ‘Hey, Katie, want to grab a bite sometime?’ How bad is that? Is that so hard, Sam, dear? Is it?”

He laughed. “Okay, okay, lay off. I’ll ask her out. But you know, nothing romantic. Just two old pals.”

“Perfect!” I exclaimed. “God, you are so stubborn.”

“Me? No, Millie, kiddo, I’m not the stubborn one on this floor,” he replied with a grin.

“Then you must be referring to Digger,” I said, smiling back.

“Digger’s a good boy,” Sam crooned at my puppy, who then mounted Sam’s leg. I giggled as Sam, horrified, pried him off. Aha! I was thinking. Love, and not just from Digger, was just around the corner.

A FEW NIGHTS LATER, Katie, Sam and I were seated around a table at the Barnacle. Katie had said she didn’t mind going there, though I suspected this was to give me a chance to see Joe. Whatever her reasons, I appreciated it.

If Katie suspected that I was trying to fix her up with Sam, she hadn’t said anything, and I took this as a positive sign. Many times in the past three years, she had told me that she just needed to concentrate on her sons, that a boyfriend was the last thing she wanted and the thought of being married again gave her the cold sweats.

But of course, she was thinking of being with someone like her horrible ex-husband. Not someone like Sam. Never before had Sam been free for speculation, and believe me, there was speculation. Every single woman in Eastham under the age of seventy was hankering for a shot with him. I didn’t want Katie to miss the boat.

We had to raise our voices to be heard over the din of the packed restaurant. From the bar, a crowd cheered as the Sox scored. Servers and busboys hustled about, rattling plates and silverware, keeping the customers content. Tonight was the night. I smiled at my friends across the brightly colored tablecloth, imagining the nice couple they’d make. Sam, clad in khakis and a white polo shirt, shifted in his chair, glanced at me and began peeling the label off his beer bottle. Katie gazed out at the crowd, no doubt assessing the flow of the service and the contentment of the patrons. I sighed. They needed help, these two.

“So, Sam, how’s Danny?” I asked, hitting on Sam’s favorite subject.

“He’s great,” Sam answered. Katie turned to look at him and smiled, too.

“Is he playing baseball this summer?” she asked.

“Yup. He’ll be shortstop for Bluebeard’s Bait and Tackle.” Sam returned his attention to the label.

“Two of my brothers are playing, too,” Katie said. “I think Trev is playing for Bluebeard’s. And you’re playing for Sleet’s Hardware, right, Sam?”

“Yes. First base.”

Summer softball was regarded as almost a sacred ritual here. There was a league for women, which even I had played in many years ago, and another for men. Katie’s brothers played, Joe played, Sam played, even my dad had played, although he had retired from the sport in a ceremony rivaling anything at Fenway. When Danny had turned seventeen this past winter, he had qualified, and the fact that he was varsity baseball hadn’t hurt. Now with my nephew and the object of my desire playing, I would be going to my fair share of games.

I gritted my teeth as the silence continued. Speak to her, idiot, I silently commanded Sam. He didn’t obey.

“I haven’t seen a game in a long time,” I announced. “Katie, we’ll have to go. When do you play, Sam?”

“Well, um, we start in a few weeks,” he mumbled, picking away.

“Great!” I barked, hoping to snap him out of his fog. The urge to kick him in the shins was strong. I psychically threatened him to look sharp, and this time he seemed to hear me.

“So, Katie, how are your boys?” he asked, putting the beer bottle at a safe distance.

“They’re good. Fine. Thanks.”

I ground my teeth and gave her a look.

“What?” Katie asked.

“What are the boys doing? Give Sam some details. He doesn’t talk to you every day, like I do.”

“Um, okay, let’s see. Well, Millie had them for a sleepover a few days ago, and they loved that. They really love her dog, and now of course they want one, too. And, um, they’re in the library reading program, well, Corey is.”

“Oh, really? What’s he reading these days?” Sam straightened up and leaned toward Katie. See? I wanted to tell her. See how interested he is? See what a good daddy he would be?

“He likes the Magic Tree House series. And I’m reading Harry Potter to him, and he loves that. And Mike likes just about everything, especially stories about animals.”

“That’s great. The Magic Tree House is great for a six-year-old,” Sam said. “I miss those days…. Trish used to come back from the library with a huge bag of books, and we’d read to Danny every night….” Sam’s martyred look crept onto his face, and this time I didn’t resist the shin-kicking urge. He jumped and looked at me, his baffled expression a significant improvement from the tragic one he’d perfected.