Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(73)

And if Gail had her way—which she usually did—it would be Savannah’s last.

Dad watched his youngest intently, cheering every time she came to the plate. The poor kid struck out twice. “Good try, baby!” Dad called both times. “You’ll get ’em next time!”

Colleen looked away. Paulie had been instructed to high-five Bryce every time he got a hit (he was really good), so Colleen had to keep an eye on that. She was also watching Connor to see if he was giving any significant looks to anyone, because he just wouldn’t crack and tell her who his mystery girlfriend was. He was clever, too; he’d erased his texting history on his phone, which she had stolen that very morning. Damn that twin telepathy thing.

Mom kept braying with laughter at whatever Stan, Stan the Hairy Man said, then looking over at Dad, who wasn’t watching, which caused Mom to laugh more and more loudly until she sounded like a laboring mule. Brahahaha! Brahahaha! In between innings, Coll texted her. Quiet down, you’re trying too hard.

Her phone chimed with the answer. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Another donkey bray.

Sigh.

In the second inning, Colleen led off with a double, then watched as the next three runners struck out. In the fifth, she walked and again didn’t score, since Stoakes’s offense would’ve had trouble hitting a beach ball.

Then, in the eighth inning as Colleen was walking back onto the field, Lucas appeared with Joe and Didi.

As usual, Didi Campbell looked pissed off about something. Bryce loped over and said hello, then returned to the dugout, as O’Rourke’s was up.

Lucas helped Joe sit; he’d brought a camp chair, which was good, because the bleachers were uncomfortable. Joe didn’t look so good; his skin was dark and he was moving slowly. The evening was cool; Lucas had brought a blanket, too, and tucked it around his uncle, then sat next to him on the bleachers and said something, making Joe laugh.

He was an awfully good nephew.

Her heart wobbled dangerously.

He glanced up, and Colleen looked away fast.

Savannah was coming up to bat. She wiped her eyes with the back of her arm. “Time!” Colleen called, and ran over to her sister. “Honey?” she whispered, kneeling down. “What’s wrong?”

Savannah’s pressed her lips together. “It’s my last at bat, that’s all,” she whispered, and a tear streaked down her chubby little cheek. She glanced toward the dugout, obviously afraid that her tears would be noticed.

Colleen squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ll talk to them. I told you that already. Don’t cry.”

“Do you really think you can change her mind?”

“Please. Who do you think you’re talking to? Does anyone say no to me?”

Savannah gave a watery smile. “I guess not.”

“Of course not!” Colleen glanced over at her father; he was standing, looking concerned. She’d take him aside later and force him to let Savannah stay on the team. Cheerleading was fine; in fact, Colleen herself had done a little in middle school. It just wasn’t for Savannah. “Now come on. I want you to knock it out of the park, okay?”

“Okay.” Savannah wiped her eyes once more. “Don’t tell anyone I was crying.”

“Gotcha. Here, let me pretend to check your eye.” Colleen examined Savannah’s eye solemnly. “It looks clear to me,” she said in a regular voice.

“Everything okay?” the umpire said.

“She had something in her eye. We’re all set now. You ready, Yogi?”

Savannah grinned. “Yeah. Thanks, Colleen.”

Coll ran back to her spot between second and third. She felt warm, suddenly, and the back of her neck prickled.

Lucas was watching her, his eyes steady on her, and for a second, it felt as if they were the only two people here.

“Stee-rike!” called old Mr. Holland, their home plate umpire.

Colleen smacked her fist into her glove and gave Savannah a smile. Big Frankie, the pitcher for Stoakes and a lug-headed jock, wound up and threw again.

“Stee-rike two!”

Lucas was still watching her.

He’d always had a way of looking at her that went right into her bone marrow, making her skin thrum and buzz.

The crack of the bat made her head snap back to the game. Line drive to the gap, Coll could catch it in three paces, but she’d be damned if she was going to. She took two strides and made a dramatic, full-out lunge for the ball, pulling up an inch short and hitting the dirt hard. The ball flew past her and into the outfield, rolling into no-man’s-land.

The crowd roared. Savannah rounded first and chugged toward second—hurry, hurry—and Shannon Murphy scored. Colleen picked herself up and watched as Lefty Moore streaked after the rolling ball. People were screaming and yelling as Savannah hit third and kept going, and Colleen’s toes curled—an in-the-park home run, that never happened, let alone to a nine-year-old girl.

Lefty fired the ball to Colleen. She caught it and threw it home, timing it so the ball hit Evan Whitfield’s glove just a second after Savannah’s foot hit the plate.

“Safe!” Mr. Holland shouted, and everyone on both sets of bleachers was on their feet, cheering and screaming and whistling. Connor ran out of the dugout and scooped up their sister, giving Colleen a subtle thumbs-up.