Sit, Stay, Love Page 18

“Cal,” she said. “Tell me the truth. Did you arrange all of this just to keep a friend around?”

  Did he? Was he so desperate to have her stay close because he treasured her friendship? Strange shocks of emotion jolted through him as he remembered the feeling of her body in his embrace. “That’s it,” he heard himself say. “Just friends.”

  The green eyes shimmered and dulled, the light of anger fading away and taking with it something else.

  “Like I said, I’ll always be your friend, Cal,” she said, “but I’m still going to Florida. I hope everything works out the way you want it to here at the ranch, I really do.” She got up from the table and went down the hallway to her room, hugging herself around the waist and looking very small.

  What had he done?

  Tried to help a friend? It didn’t ring true in his own heart. He should go after her, explain, find the courage to tell the truth, whatever that was, but his feet remained frozen in place. It felt like his disastrous showing last season when he’d tried so hard, done everything he’d been told, and still the ball would not obey his command. Out of control. He could only fester in that horrible feeling, as he heard her toss her things around, packing up.

  Later, he carried her bag to the car, accepted the stiff hug she offered, and stood staring as she drove away.

  Game over.

  He’d never felt so alone in his entire life.

  Gina had to pull off to the shoulder several times when the tears made driving unsafe. Cal had done a bonehead thing, disregarding her feelings and pride, and for that she could forgive him. But what hurt was that he’d let her drive away with the realization that he did not love her, not enough.

  Love. She had not even admitted to herself that her feelings for Cal had transcended friendship. When had it happened, exactly? When he’d brought her to the ranch and she’d seen clearly the type of man he was? Honorable, wounded, loyal to his family and to her? When he’d driven across half of Arizona, searching every corner and bush for Tippy, the zany dog who’d turned his life upside down? She could not pinpoint when her feelings had morphed from friendship to love, but it hardly mattered now.

  Friend or something more, she was a commodity to be kept around, a girl who could be contracted to stay in his life, neatly arranged for like the tidy furnishings of his San Francisco home or the staff of people who provided for his care and comfort. How mortifying. Her cheeks went hot again.

  She was not being fair, she realized. She was more than staff to Cal, but it was a lopsided relationship. On her side, love. On his? Something else.

  “Big fat deal, Gina. You loved before, you’ll love again. Take care of yourself and get packing.” Her insides ached anyway, and the miles passed in agonizing slow motion without Tippy to keep her company in the passenger seat.

  When she finally arrived back in San Francisco, she let herself into her tiny room. There was a text message on her phone from Cal.

  Let me know when you arrive.

  Home, she texted back. It was not true. She was not home, merely in a borrowed bed in a room that seemed so far away from the joy and laughter she’d been blessed to enjoy since the day she’d met Tippy and Cal. Where was home? Greeting cards said it was where the heart was. And her heart lingered at a rundown ranch with Cal, and somewhere lost in the night with a sweet old dog who couldn’t help but love everyone.

  Once again she folded her hands and prayed for Tippy to come home… and for Cal.

  Cal wrenched up a few nails from the corner of the ramp that did not meet his standard of perfection. The weeks had passed in a torturous rhythm, unless he was pitching. He’d returned to spring training, shuttling back and forth to the ranch whenever he was off, until training was over and he went home for the final time before the season opener.

  He was not supposed to be hammering nails, but he did anyway. It did not seem important at the moment to protect the million-dollar hands. There was work to be done and he would soon have to catch a plane for their first game. Besides, busy was best. Busy prevented his heart and mind from running amuck with thoughts about how he’d messed things up with Gina and the persistent silence about Tippy. When his phone rang, he snatched it quickly, shaking the sawdust from his hair.

  “Don’t hang up.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Tom Peterson.”

  Cal was about to push the disconnect button when he heard one word.

  “… Tippy.”

  Rage boiled through him. “You took her, didn’t you?” He clutched the phone. “I’m going to find out what you did to her if it’s the last thing I do, and you’re going to pay for it.”

  “Listen to me,” Tom said, nearly yelling. “I didn’t take her, but I finally know who did.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe that?”

  “It’s the truth. Why would I be calling you otherwise?”

  “Why?” Cal tried to keep from shouting. “Because you’re nuts and all you want is your five minutes of fame and you’ve been stalking me and Gina, invading our privacy, all to get your name in the paper.”

  “Okay. I’ve done some bad things, but I didn’t touch Tippy. I wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “You almost ran her and Gina over.”

  “That was an accident. I like dogs and Gina’s a nice lady.”

  “I’m going to hang up now and call the police again, and you can tell them your latest story.”

  “I can get Tippy for you.”

  Cal stopped. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because you want your dog back.”

  The truth of that sprang alive in his gut. He wanted Tippy returned, that crazy dog who had twined her crooked way around his heart. He loved the old animal, and her loss left a hole in his heart right next to another one.

  But Tom was no doubt manipulating him again, using him to get what he wanted. Guilt pounded in him. Hadn’t he done the same thing with Gina? Arranged for her job just to keep her close without the messy prospect of revealing the jumble in his heart?

  What do you want, Cal? his mind hollered at him. What did God put you down here to do? Pitch? Run? Love? His brain whirled. “What do you want, Tom?”

  “If I get Tippy back for you, I get to be the hero.”

  “You’re not a hero,” he spat. “You’re a stalker.”

  “For one minute, just one time,” he pleaded, “I get to be the guy, the one who gets some attention for being great. That’s not too much to ask.”

  He thought of Gina then.

  You’ve changed.

  Maybe just allow him to do good now.

  He looked across the yard at Mitch who knelt on hands and knees, checking the boards with a level. Never in a lifetime would he have imagined himself to be working on a project with his father. Was Cal Crawford the kind of guy who could allow someone else to be great?

  “Cal?” Tom said. “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Have we got a deal?”

  Cal considered for one moment more. It was time to be the kind of man Gina and Tippy believed him to be. “All right. Rescue my dog and I’ll make sure the whole world knows it.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Tom said as he clicked off.

  He checked on the nurse, stocked the refrigerator, and swept the already clean kitchen. He’d just settled onto the sofa with a bottle of water when his father came in, face sheepish.

  “Hey, uh, sorry to ask, but could you give me a ride to my place? I locked my keys in the car and I’ve got a spare set back home.”

  Inwardly, Cal groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was spend forty-five minutes sitting next to his dad. He’d been using Sweets’s pickup since Gina had left in her Volvo, and there didn’t seem to be a way to decline the request.

  “All right.”

  They climbed into the truck and Cal headed into town and on through, taking the main road out to the even smaller town where his father had bought a house.

  “What made you pick th
is place?” he said as the truck bounced along the gravel road, sending rocks pinging underneath.

  “Cheap, and close to Meg.”

  Could have been close to her when she was well, he thought, but he bit back the remark. There were only a few houses along the road, spaced far apart. His father’s house was small, no more than one bedroom, he imagined, sitting on a rock-strewn lot with a row of pine trees that sent a cascade of needles onto the worn shingles.

  “It might take me a minute to find the keys,” he said. “Come on in.”

  “No,” Cal wanted to say, but his father was already out of the truck and opening the front door. With a sigh, Cal followed.

  He skirted a warped board on the porch and entered the tiny house. It was a mess, a sagging sofa stacked with boxes, a crate which served as a coffee table covered with camera parts. In the kitchen there were cereal boxes and empty frozen dinner containers. As his father went back into the bedroom, Cal examined the camera flotsam strewn around. They were old cameras, the kind with levers and dials that required actual film and developing to do their work.

  He remembered his father taking one apart, reverently showing a little boy Cal all the insides. Cal had not cared at all, thinking only about escaping outside to fish or play ball.

  All these cameras, old, discarded, obsolete. There was something sad about it and the way his father still cared for these useless things. Cal wished he’d cared more when he was younger, or at least pretended to.

  He crossed to a set of shelving. There was a photo there, dusty, of Cal and his dad standing together, smiling. It had been taken at the pond. Cal was holding a good-sized fish, grinning madly.

  “I never was a good fisherman,” Mitch said. “Your mom helped you catch that one, but she insisted that I be in the picture with you.” He stared at the photo. “She was like that, always seeing me as a better father than I really was. She had an optimistic life lens, she told me once.”

  He felt a pain in his heart. “Yeah.” She’d seen the best in her son, too.

  He noticed that the photo was propped next to a Bible with a worn purple cover. His mother’s. It was free of dust, as if it had been recently moved.

  “She gave it to me before she died,” Mitch said. “She was hoping I’d learn to pray. That optimistic life lens thing again.”

  “Did you?” Cal wondered why he’d asked the question of this man he despised.

  “Not yet. She said she was going to pray double headers until I could manage it myself.” He laughed. “She was constantly writing notes and calling me up to tell me how she’d prayed for me.”

  A woman with so much disappointment and struggle in her own life who always found the time to pray for others. An ache balled up inside him, and at that moment he thought he’d drown in the sorrow.

  Mitch took the Bible and fingered the cover. “I told her I was a slow learner so she said to write it down, what I’d pray for, if I could.” He took a piece of paper out of the Bible. “I wrote it, just like she said.”

  “What did you write, Dad?” He was not sure why he wanted to know, but something way down deep in his soul craved the answer.

  His eyes wandered over the pieces of camera and the dust-covered photo magazines. “Your mom said that God is a Father who forgives every bonehead thing we’ve ever done and He loves us anyway, all the time, and never lets us down, ever.”

  Cal heard the throb of regret in his father’s voice and the twinge of hopefulness there, too. “Do you believe that?” he asked.

  Mitch’s brown eyes met Cal’s. “I don’t know, but I’m going to keep thinking on it and reading some of that Bible and if I learn how to pray someday… ” He gazed at Cal as if he was lost in the past, looking at his little boy whom Cal realized he’d loved in his own flawed way. He wasn’t a good father, a good provider, a faithful man, but he had loved his son in the only way he could.

  The muscles of Cal’s throat tightened. Inside, the hard crystalline hatred in his heart softened, just a little, just enough.

  “Well… anyway, this is what I wrote.” Mitch unfolded the brittle paper. “I’d pray that my son would know a Father like that, the kind that would never let him down, like I did.”

  A sizzling mixture of emotion flooded through him, reaching the places behind the rocked-in spots that had been sealed away since he was a child. I do know that kind, Cal realized. I learned it in the joyful times with Mom and in the heartache of losing you. I do know that God loves me, Cal Crawford, in spite of the messes I make. I feel it, deep down. I know. He’d been reminded of that long-slumbering truth because of the gentle soul of a young woman and the unconditional love of a dog.

  He caught his father’s gaze. They would have a long road ahead, a route full of bumps and anger and resentment, but in that moment he had a glimpse of hope that he might know his earthly father because he’d remembered his heavenly one.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you’re—if everything goes okay, would you come to Opening Day to see me pitch?”

  Mitch’s mouth fell open. For a moment, he stood stock still, gaping. Then he cleared his throat and straightened a bit, growing an inch before Cal’s eyes. “Son, there is no place in the world that I would rather be.”

  Though he could not decipher all the feelings pinballing around in his heart, Cal knew that something momentous had just taken place. He desperately wanted to tell Gina about it.

  His phone buzzed. Blinking, he reached for it.

  The shock almost made him drop it.

  “What happened?” his father said. “What is it? Is it Sweets?”

  He could not answer. Instead, he turned the phone around so his father could see the text.

  Mitch gasped. “I sure didn’t see that coming.”

  “Me neither,” Cal said, heading for the truck.

  Twenty-One

  Gina had just put out the last batch of pierogis when Mrs. Filipski screamed.

  “Are you okay?” Gina yelled, running into the shop. “Did you burn yourself?”

  She pointed to the small TV screen. “Watch. Just watch.”

  Gina did.

  Tom Peterson stood in the glare of cameras, beaming. Tippy wriggled in his arms, stubby legs waving back and forth.

  It was Gina’s turn to scream. She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Turn up the sound, quick.”

  The reporter spoke into a handheld microphone. “Thanks to the clever detective work of photographer Tom Peterson, Tippy the dog has been recovered after six long weeks. Tell us how you found her, Mr. Peterson.”

  “I’ve been investigating Harvey Bland, the Falcons’ mascot. It took me quite a while, but I finally realized he’d taken Tippy to his grandmother’s house in Tempe. He told her he was watching Tippy for a friend.” Tom laughed. “Harvey didn’t appreciate Tippy stealing his thunder.”

  The reporters buzzed around, peppering Tom with questions.

  “What is your relationship with Mr. Crawford?”

  “We played a little ball together in college. We’re… friends.”

  Friends? Tom Peterson? And Cal?

  Gina moved close, scanning as close as she could. Tippy seemed perfectly fine, her normal enthusiastic self. She snaked out a tongue and slurped Tom’s chin, eliciting laughter from the group. Gina wished she could reach through the screen and caress the sweet old dog.

  Then Cal Crawford walked into the picture, taking Tippy from Tom and shaking his hand. Gina’s pulse accelerated.

  “I want to personally thank Tom for returning Tippy to me. I can never repay the debt.”

  “How did you come to be aware of the situation, Mr. Crawford?”

  Cal shook his head. “This isn’t my story to tell, it’s Tom’s. He’s the hero. I’m just grateful to him for returning Tippy.”

  Gina realized there were tears streaming down her cheeks. Cal looked so happy, relaxed, the same handsome face that inhabited her dreams every night since she’d left Six Peaks. Cal, I mi
ss you, so much.

  “Why are you crying, Gina?” Mrs. Filipski asked. “Happy tears?”

  She nodded. She was happy, thrilled, overwhelmed that Tippy had been found safe, thanks to the bewildering actions of Tom Peterson. She was also stricken with grief.

  Cal had not called or texted to tell her about Tippy.

  “Will this put you in a better mental state for your start on Opening Day next week, Mr. Crawford?”

  He waved away the question, tucking Tippy under his arm and heading out of camera range.

  Not one word to her, after all they’d been through. Her heart ached.

  “Aren’t you happy, Gina?” Mrs. Filipski asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. Very happy.”

  “Do you want to go see the dog? We can manage fine without you here.”

  She shook her head slowly. “No. I’ve got things to do.”

  “What things?”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m going to print out my train ticket and arrange for a ride to the station on Monday.”

  “Monday? You’re not going to go see Opening Day?” Butch said. “Thought they invited you. You’re Tippy’s favorite person.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sure Cal will get someone to be there for Tippy.” In spite of the pain rippling through her heart, she knew it was time to move on. Gina was ready for her own opening day, an exciting new season. Now that she knew Tippy was safe, there was nothing to keep her from a fresh start. Cal did not need her or want her.

  Pressing the grief down deep, she turned and started up the stairs.

  Sunday night, Gina took extra care to paint her nails and wind her hair into pink foam curlers. She vowed to be at her absolute best as she boarded the train for her new life. The blue floral dress and snappy yellow sweater were laid out on the chair next to her packed suitcase. So what if it was chilly? She intended to be as cheerful as she could, at least outwardly, as she took off into her new life.

  Early to bed, she figured. She prayed and lay down to let sleep claim her. Stubbornly, it refused to do so. The room was quiet. Mrs. Filipski was at a movie with Butch and she would not return home to her own room downstairs until late. Gina thought of the conversation she’d had with Sweets on the phone the night before.