Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(71)

Savannah played in the regular Little League, too, but she loved the game and begged Dad and Gail to let her play on the town league, too. The more baseball, the better. At first, people had been kind of sweet to her, throwing soft pitches last summer...right up until they had to hit the dirt to avoid her wicked line drive. At the ripe old age of nine, Savannah could throw out a runner attempting to steal second. Her batting average was .378 this year, and that was hitting against grown men. On-base percentage? Please. .479.

It was a balmy night, Monica and Hannah were running the bar, Rafe manning the kitchen, though Con would go by later to obsess and micromanage and irritate their sous chef. Dad and Gail were here to see Savannah; Dad had not yet missed a game. Well, he hadn’t ever missed one of Savannah’s games. He’d missed plenty of hers and Con’s back in the day.

Mom was also here, cheerful as the Angel of Death at a wedding. She stood directly in Dad’s line of vision and had on one of her familiar expressions—Hello, my name is Rejected First Wife.

“Hey, Mom, what are you doing here?” Colleen asked, going over to the bleachers, Rufus at her heels.

“I’m here, Colleen,” Mom began in that slightly defensive and regal voice she always used when lying, “to support you and your brother. And that sweet little girl from church. She happens to adore me.”

“Really? What’s her name?”

Mom gave her an irritable look. “Sherry.”

“There’s no Sherry here, Mom.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No. There’s not.”

“The Irish one. You know.”

“Shannon? Shannon Murphy?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Adorable girl.”

“She’s eighteen.”

“Fine, Colleen. Mock me. We’ll see how your memory is when you’re fifty-four.” Mom paused. “There’s that child. Is she really qualified to be here?”

“Savannah? My sister? Is that the child in question? And yes. She’s really good.”

“When does this get started? And how long does each round last?”

“Inning, Mom. Baseball has innings.” She muttered a prayer for patience to St. Gehrig of Lou. How could one live in the Empire State and not be a baseball fan? Colleen herself had a photo in her bedroom of the mighty Jeter going into the stands (July 1, 2004, Red Sox/Yankees, greatest game ever, and one she watched repeatedly whenever the YES Network reran it).

A man approached, and Colleen did a double take.

“Hello, there, Jeanette. So great to see you again.”

“So good to see you again,” Mom said as he kissed her cheek, and Mom gave Colleen a smug look. “You remember Stan, don’t you, Colleen?”

“Uh...yes. You look...different with clothes on.” It was Stan, Stan the Hairy Man. So those singles things did work, after all, and holy shitake, Mom had a date. So that’s why she was here. She wanted Dad to see.

Colleen couldn’t help feeling a little bit proud.

“Sweetheart,” Mom said loudly, “not only is Stan artistic, he’s a doctor.” An arch look of triumph accompanied the statement. “We met again last week when he did my colonoscopy.”

“That’s...beautiful.”

Stan smiled. “Your mother’s preparation was perfect. Utterly clean. I haven’t seen such a gorgeous colon in years.”

“She gets that a lot,” Colleen murmured. Stan was wearing a white dress shirt, and she could see his Neanderthal-style chest hair all too clearly. “Connor! Over here, buddy!” This was far too good not to share.

Her brother gave her a look. What fresh hell are you luring me into now?

She smiled. You don’t want to miss this.

“Nice meeting you, Stan,” Colleen said. “I have to run. I’m playing for Stoakes tonight, Mom. Cheer for me!” She kissed her mother’s cheek and loped off with Rufus. “Ask how they met,” she told her brother in passing.

There was Savannah, standing with Dad and the Tail. Colleen sighed.

Being an attractive female was nice, granted, and Coll had no problem enjoying it. She knew she was pretty, and appreciated her good genes. But Gail...Gail advertised sex. Tonight she was wearing a dress that barely cleared her ass. The dress was so low cut her lacy white bra showed, not to mention half her boobage. Two years ago, she’d gotten implants, and the new boobs stuck out at an angle that defied God and nature.

Maybe Gail, who was no longer as young as she’d been when she was the Hot Young Thing, was afraid of losing Dad.

Not that he was such a prize.

At the moment, he was goofing around with Savannah’s hair, pulling a strand, then pretending he wasn’t when she turned around to see. Both of them were smiling and laughing, and Gail would occasionally look at them and smile, her red-painted lips a bit ghoulish in the natural light.

“Hey, Yogi!” Colleen said, using the nickname her sister loved. “Ready to kick some patootie? Hi, Dad. Gail.”

“Why are you in a candy store shirt?” Savannah asked.

“Oh, they’re short a player, so I’m on their team today. It’s okay. I’m still rooting for us.” She winked at her sister.

“How are you, Colleen?” her dad said, glancing over her shoulder. “Marian! Good to see you!” Yes. Schmooze the mayor.