* * *
Keely peeked in at Mary Margaret, smiling when she saw the baby had barely moved since she’d put her down for the night and left Jack in charge while she ran through Macy’s at top speed, buying bedding for her—that is, the guest room.
He’d protested at first, saying something about having to do something down at the garages—yeah, like she couldn’t figure out what the “something” was. But when she came home it was to see him try to hide one of the ice-filled bags beside his chair, so maybe he needed to rest his arm more than he’d needed to practice, or work out, or whatever pitchers called it.
“Arm feeling a little better?” she’d asked as she’d come out of the kitchen, walked into the den, saw that the baby monitor was sitting on the old fiberglass TV tray set up beside the chair. Had Jack been watching Mary Margaret sleep? “I hope you didn’t hurt it too much, helping me get the mattress up the stairs. You won’t have to lift a finger tomorrow, but I really did want to sleep on at least half of a real bed tonight.”
“It wasn’t any problem, and who said my arm hurts?” he’d shot back, and Keely left the room again, without trying to imagine the new furniture in it.
She should wash the mattress pad and sheets before putting them on the bed, and would have if she weren’t so exhausted. Spending money was tiring, even if it was somebody else’s money.
Tomorrow the bed frames would come, along with all the furniture, rugs, lamps, and other accessories that would have to do until she had a chance to visit local antiques and specialty shops.
But the basics were pretty well done for the den and three of the bedrooms. She had the living room and dining room, study, exercise room, master suite sitting room, the glassed-in porch on the east side of the house, three bedrooms, and the upstairs living room to go; still, it wasn’t too bad for one day’s work.
Once the sheets were on the mattress—leaving the bedspread for tomorrow and the box spring and bed frame, or else it would just drag on the floor—Keely pulled a freshly washed nightshirt and a pair of cotton underpants from the neat piles on the floor, and headed into the bathroom.
She showered quickly, sparing only a moment to wonder, yet again, what it would be like to take a shower in Jack’s bathroom. All those water jets! If she had a shower like that, she’d probably live in it. Still, the guest-room bath was light years away from the ancient plumbing in her Brooklyn apartment, the apartment that had meant she’d taken a step up the success ladder and now couldn’t miss less.
She couldn’t miss Manhattan less, she realized as she toweled herself off and then pulled her nightshirt over her head. She was too busy to think about her old life, and couldn’t even work up a head of steam over Gregory’s takeover of her lease on the shop. As for Gregory himself? What had she been thinking when she fell into bed with that pompous ass?
All her life, she’d wanted to leave Allentown, move up to some big city like New York. All her life she’d wanted to prove herself, needed to prove herself. And she’d failed. She’d lost her business, her apartment, all her money. She’d come home a failure.
So why didn’t she feel like a failure anymore? She felt good, the best she’d felt in a long, long time. Maybe ever.
She felt needed. Her Aunt Mary had needed her to take over the business for a while. Mary Margaret needed her. Jack Trehan—Lord knew he needed somebody!
Keely hugged herself, headed for the hallway, taking the time to check on the baby once more before calling it a night.
She stepped out of her room and turned left, without looking where she was going—and bumped smack into Jack.
He held out his arms, steadying her, saying, “I just came upstairs to find you. Candy’s moving around in there. I can see her on the monitor.”
Keely mentally pulled down the hem of her navy blue nightshirt, although she didn’t actually reach for the material; that would only draw attention to the fact that it stopped a good six inches above her knees. “Babies do move around, Jack,” she told him, trying not to sigh as he let go of her arms, trying not to believe she’d miss his touch.
“I know,” he told her, stabbing the fingers of one hand into his hair, so that she noticed, once again, that intriguing lighter blond streak above his left temple. “But I was watching one of those videos while you were gone, and babies can get their heads stuck in corners, under those bumper pad things you have in the crib, or even poke their heads through the bars, choke. I mean, it’s a real concern. That’s what it was called on the video—a real concern.”
He was so sweet. Look at him, all worried—concerned.
“Jack, Mary Margaret is six months old, according to your cousin. She’s old enough and strong enough not to get tangled in the bumper pads if they’re put on correctly, and the crib we bought meets all the newest safety standards. I checked, the moment I watched the video.”
He pressed his palms to his temples. “God, I had no idea how hard this is,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s so much to think about, so much to worry about. The kid’s so little, so helpless. I don’t know how Candy survived, living with Cecily for six months.”
“Personally, I prefer not to think about that,” Keely said honestly. “I just keep hoping she won’t come back.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “Won’t come back? She has to come back. I can’t raise Candy. I don’t want to raise Candy.”
“Because you’re going to go pitch in Japan,” Keely said, all her warm, fuzzy feelings for Jack evaporating in an instant. “You know, Trehan, you’re a lot like your cousin. She goes to Tibet, you go to Japan, and Mary Margaret goes—where, Jack? To her uncle, who you tell me is as bad as his sister? Or maybe to some sort of foster care until she’s eighteen. Yeah, well, not your table, right, Jack? Not your problem.”
She went to turn, walk away, but he grabbed her by the shoulders, held her in place. “Do you ever shut up?” he asked, glaring at her. “I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t ask for any of it. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Keely looked at him for long moments. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I just know that that baby in there deserves better than either you or your cousin seem willing to deliver. I’m here now, not because you hired me to be here, but because somebody has to care about that sweet child. I may not have started off that way, but that’s how I’ve ended up, and you can’t fire me because you need me too badly and Petra has evening classes and Aunt Sadie is too old and too happy with her own life to do your dirty work for you. Tell me, Jack, when do you stop passing the buck and figure out that you’re in charge of Mary Margaret?”
His fingers squeezed a little tighter. “Do you have any idea how much I’d like to throw you out of here?”
“I’ve a very good idea of how much you want to be rid of me. You’ve pretty much gotten it down to a daily explanation, sometimes an hourly one. So don’t just hint, Trehan, tell me to go. Come on, tell me to leave.”
“I can’t,” he said, stepping away from her. Keely nearly fell down, her knees all but buckling beneath her. He spoke as if she weren’t still there, able to hear him. “I’ve got Tim coming tomorrow morning for the tryout, I’ve got that commercial in Arizona next week...”
Try out? Whoa! Keely needed to back up a bit. She didn’t have enough knowledge, or interest, to be a commentator on ESPN, but she was a fan, and she understood the term. Japan wasn’t a done deal, as she had believed. He had to try out; just like a rookie, just like a guy nobody wanted anymore. That was why he was down at the garages. He was practicing, not keeping in shape, the ink already drying on a contract with the Tokyo Tigers or some such team.
How humiliating for him! Two-time Cy Young Yankee ace, and now he had been shot down to the point where he had to try out for a team halfway across the world?
He’d lost his career, he’d ended up back where he started—housed better, more solvent, but still back where he’d started. He had this huge house but no furniture. His brother was still in the majors, which ha
d to stick in Jack’s craw, no matter how much he might love his brother. And now, just to top things off, he had Mary Margaret... and her.
Keely was surprised the guy hadn’t decided to go down to the garages and suck on his car’s tailpipe.
She put out one hand, touched his arm. “Jack... I’m sorry,” she said, really meaning it. “I’ve got a big mouth. I shouldn’t have gotten so mad at you when you told me about this Japan business. I thought you were just looking for another fat contract and the hell with the kid, with anything else. But that’s not it, is it? You really don’t know what to do with yourself, now that you’re out of baseball.”
He bristled immediately. “I decide when I’m out of baseball. I came back from the first rotator cuff surgery. I can come back from this one. I was too quick to retire.”
His protests sounded so much like her own, as she’d tried to hang on to a failing business, a dream gone sour. “The Yankees didn’t think so, though, did they? The doctors didn’t think so. Don’t you think the Yankees would have held on to you if they thought you could pitch again?”
He half turned away from her, then turned back, glared at her. “Oh, this is good. She decorates, she cooks, she takes care of babies. And now she’s an orthopedist, a team owner, and even a shrink, and all for ten percent of the price of a couple of couches. How did I get so lucky? Well, thank you very much, Miss McBride, and good night.”
“Jack, wait!” Keely called out, then headed down the hallway after him, forgetting her bare legs, forgetting that, except for one small baby, she and Jack were a man and a woman alone in a huge house. She grabbed on to his arm once more, his right arm, and then quickly let go, remembering how he’d iced that arm earlier. He stopped. He waited.
And she couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him.
“Oh, Jack, I’m really so sorry,” she said at last, putting her arms around him. “Life isn’t fair, is it?”
She pressed her cheek against his chest, trying to comfort him because she knew how it felt when your dreams lay smashed at your feet. It hurt. It hurt a lot.
She felt his arms go around her even as he lowered his head to rest against hers. “This isn’t smart, Keely,” he said after a few moments. “I think you ought to go to bed now.”
She nodded against his chest, stood back when he removed his arms from her, and looked up into his face. “Good luck tomorrow, Jack. And I mean that. I really mean that.”
Then she turned and ran back down the hall.