Out of Her League (13 page)

He swallowed, and the movement made his Adam
’
s apple seem even more prominent than it was. Poor kid.

“
Play ball,
”
he shouted, and his voice cracked in the middle.

Evie observed for a while, sighing with relief as the game went on without incident. The kids were enjoying the increased attention rather than being
intimidated by it. Luckily, this had happened at the T-ball game and not the AA League. First graders liked to be watched. Middle school kids did not

“
Isn
’
t this marvelous?
”

Evie winced. She knew that voice.

“
Mrs. Larson.
”
Evie greeted the elderly patron.
“
What brings you to Little League?
”

Decked out in her usual attire
—
dress, hose, heels, pearls, hat and purse—Mrs. Larson looked as though she
’
d arrived from a garden party. She just might have, since they still had those in Oak Grove.

“
I
’
m here to see this, dear.
”
She swept out a perfectly manicured hand, indicating the game and the crowd.
“
Isn
’
t it wonderful?
”

“
Wonderful?
”
Evie echoed.

“
Oh, my!
”
Mrs. Larson pointed to the parking lot.
“
Why, this is a dream come true.
”

Evie followed Mrs. Larson
’
s finger. A crew from Channel 8 News hurried toward them.

“
A dream? It
’
s shaping up like a nightmare.
”

“
What are you mumbling about? This is splendid. Look at all the spectators. Look at that concession stand.
”

Evie did—and moaned. The parents who were running it were—well, they were running. The line was long and getting longer. If this kept up they
’
d have to close down, or go and get more stuff to sell.

The level of noise surrounding the game was amazing. Evie turned toward the field. Joe no longer seemed to notice. Why would he? He was used to doing his job in front of television cameras, beneath
field lights and under the scrutiny of thousands. This was nothing to him.

What had she done in letting Iceman Scalotta coach T-ball? Would this chaos repeat itself at each and every game? If so, how could she stop it?

“
I
’
ll have to fire him,
”
she blurted.

“
You
’
ll do no such thing, missy.
”
Only Mrs. Larson could get away with calling grown women
“
missy
”
—and she knew it.
“
That boy is the best thing to happen around here in aeons. The school board, and Don Barry, have plans for him.
”

Don—her father
’
s oldest and dearest friend—was the athletic director who had hired Evie to teach at Oak Grove. Also the vice principal, he had the final say on who was employed. He wouldn
’
t screw up her life for
a sound bite, would he? The school board, of which Mrs. Larson was also the president, was another story.

“
What about the board?
”
Evie asked, though she had a very bad feeling she wasn
’
t going to like the answer.
“
Wha
t would they want with Joe Scal
otta?
”

“
If he can bring this many folk to a Little League game, just imagine what he could do for our varsity program.
”

“
Varsity baseball?
”

“
What else, dear?
”

What else, indeed. At Oak Grove, baseball was all she wrote.

“
He
’
s a football player!
” Evie’s shout drew dis
approving glares from several people engrossed in the game—or rather, in watching Jock Hollywood.

“
What difference does that make?
”
Mrs. Larson frowned.
“
Just look.
”

The camera crew set up shop right next to Joe and began filming the game from his point of view. The reporter stuck a microphone next to his mouth and taped his words of wisdom to the kids. Scalotta didn
’
t even flinch; he just kept right on coaching. At least he didn
’
t stop the game and give a live, prime-time interview.

“
Just because he was a football hero doesn
’
t mean he knows diddly about baseball,
”
Evie pointed out, quite calmly, too, co
nsidering her roil
ing stomach and the state of her mind.

“
If he doesn
’
t know
‘
diddly,
’
as you say, then why have you allowed him to coach your sons?
”

Evie glanced at Mrs. Larson. Just as she
’
d thought, the sweet-voiced question did not match the deliberation in those eyes.

Evie didn
’
t think Mrs. Larson would be happy to hear
“
He was the only man for the job.
”
Only being the operative word. Evie hadn
’
t searched elsewhere for
a better candidate because there weren
’
t any other candidates, let alone better ones. Therefore, because Evie had let Joe coach her kids, he had just become Coach Extraordinaire in Oak Grove.

And Evie was hung with her own rope.

She spent the rest of the game helping at the con
cession stand, while
trying to glimpse what was hap
pening on the field. The news that one of her Big
League coaches had fallen off his roof and broken his leg made Evie
’
s night complete—completely disastrous. How was she going to find another coach at this late date?

“
Only one disaster at a time, if you please,
”
she muttered as she tr
ied to keep her mind on the wor
ries at hand. Namely, that they had run out of hot dogs in half an hour, and soda in forty-five minutes. There was no candy left by the fourth inning, and there were people whining all over the place.

When the game wound down, Joe
’
s team had lost. Evie would have taken childish and unprofessional pleasure in that, except no one seemed to care about the loss. Everyone gathered around him, slapping his back and shaking his hand as if he
’
d just won a gold medal.

So she returned to her own disappointment. She
’
d been promised that varsity coaching job if she won the championship. She
’
d been willing to work hard to get it. Now Joe would likely be handed her prize on a platter just for being a great big manly man.
Grr
.

Mrs. Larson ap
proached Joe and introduced her
self. Evie was close enough to hear what followed, though she pretended to be checking the bench for leftover caps and gloves.

“
Mr. Scalotta, I
’
m the president of the Oak Grove School Board, and we
’
re co
nvening a special meet
ing tomorrow night that we
’
d like you to attend.
”

Joe appeared puzzled, but he nodded. What else could he do? He had a child in the system and no
idea of the kind of politics that went on in a small town. He probably thought the school board was like some welcoming committee.

Well, Evie wasn
’
t going to roll over and play dead. Not yet, anyway.

* * *

Joe
had
no
clue
why the little old lady wanted him at the school board meeting, but he also knew better than to argue with a woman like her. When she said jump, Joe bet, most of Oak Grove didn
’
t even ask how high.

He tried to get Mrs. Larson to tell him what was going on, but she merely smiled and said,
“
We want to talk to you, sonny. Make you welcome and all that.
”
By the time
he stopped chuckling over some
one of her size calling someone of his size
“
sonny,
”
she was gone. The woman moved amazingly quick for an octogenarian.

With all the people waiting to talk to him, it took Joe another half hour to get to his car. He hadn
’
t thought there were this many people in Oak Grove. Now that he did, he realized there weren
’
t. Some of his new best friends had mentioned driving in from neighboring towns.

Joe hoped this circus atmosphere was a one-night occurrence. Why would people watch him coach T-ball once a week? How boring was that?

Evie had disappeared in a flash, just like Mrs. Larson. The few times he
’
d glanced her way during the game, she
’
d looked shell-shocked. He figured he
should give her a call and reassure her that he didn
’
t think this fiasco would repeat itself.

Joe drove home meaning to do just that. But when he arrived, and Toni wasn
’
t in yet, he got caught up in pacing the floor.

She showed up before eleven—by five minutes, but still before. Joe, who had been staring out the window down the long, empty street, wishing and waiting for headlights to appear, dove for
a chair and the remote control when twin beams turned onto his road.

By the time he heard the car door slam, Joe was sufficiently engrossed in the
“
Nick at Night
”
episode of
Happy Days
to answer any quiz on this par
ticular adventure—mainly because he
’
d seen it ten times already.

The fifties—now those were the days, or so he
’
d heard from his parents. He himself had grown up in the seventies. By then a lot of the innocence had gone.

Growing up in the nineties and the first years of the new millennium? Joe shivered. Toni had a tough road ahead. He only hoped he
’
d be able to help her negotiate the trials without making things worse. The terrors out in the big bad world were enough to cause a grown man to cry for his mother. Joe planned on doing so regularly. His mom had raised four boys and no girls, but she was all
he had avail
able for expert advice. Joe was a firm believer in the adage When the Going Gets Tough, Call Mommy.

The front doo
r opened—then shut with unneces
sary force. What was it about kids and doors? They had to slam every one.

“
Hi, Joe.
”

He glanced up, trying to act as though he
’
d fallen asleep in the chair. Toni leaned in the doorway, that new dreamy smile on her face.

“
Did you have fun?
”
Joe narrowed his gaze and checked her for telltale rumples or hickeys, keeping his sigh of relief silent when he found nothing. He
’
d moved to Iowa to eliminate some of the everyday dangers of the world, but even in Iowa they had teenage boys.

“
Yes. Fun.
”

She sighed like a teenage girl who
’
d just gone out with Elvis. Make that Paul McCartney. No, not him, either. Who the h
eck was the dreamboat of the de
cade? Probably Adam Vaughn. Joe resisted the urge to growl.

“
What kind of ice cream did you have?
”

“
Hmm?
”

“
Ice cream. You were going for ice cream.
”

Suddenly she focused on him and caught him fo
cusing on her.
“
You checking up on me, Joe?
”