Page 8 of The Scout
“I heard he brought his family with him. That’s probably why he rented a house.”
Patricia’s information brought an ache to my chest. Not that I had a right to be upset. It had been fifteen years since we’d seen or spoken to each other.
“Are you staying at the inn too?” Patricia asked.
“No, I live here.”
“You still live in BBF?” Sarah said with a bit of disdain in her tone.
Heat crept up the back of my neck. “I do, yes.” Rather than elaborate, I did my best to end the conversation. “Well, have fun. I’m sure I’ll see you this weekend.”
“Or sooner.”God, I hoped not.“This town is so small. I never realized it when we lived here,” Patricia said with a smile. Undoubtedly reading my expression, she added, “But so cute.”
“Yes, cute. See you this weekend.” I gripped the handle of my cart a bit tighter than necessary and steered my way through the store, happy having not run into anyone else from my past, especially Cash.
After I checked out, I went home to start dinner. I hadn’t seen Jimmy since this morning, and no doubt the boy was hungry. That kid could, and often did, eat me out of house and home. I knew about growing teenagers and how they had an empty pit for a stomach, but hearing about it and living it were two totally different things. The home we lived in was paid for thanks to my paternal grandmother leaving it to me in her will ten years ago. She always had a soft spot for me and Jimmy, and not having a mortgage on a teacher’s salary was beyond a blessing.
“Jimmy, I’m home,” I called out, shutting the door behind me and making my way to the kitchen. After setting down the bags on the table, I glanced out the back window. There was my son, throwing the ball into his pitchback net, practicing as usual.
Not wanting anything to spoil, I put the perishables away before heading out the back door. The scent of freshly cut grass, birds chirping, and the spring sun brought a smile to my face. Not only did I always love this time of year, but it was one step closer to summer—my time to relax and spend more time with Jimmy.
He lined up with the net, went into his pitching motion, and released the ball. It hit the outside corner of the red square before jetting back into his mitt.
“Hey, sport.”
“Hi, Mom.” He walked over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Something he did whether we were in public or not. I loved that about him and our relationship. “Do you need help with the groceries?”
“No, I got it, thank you. How was school today?”
He shrugged. “It was school. I got anAon my AP Algebra quiz but aBon my English paper. Mr. Raven said I can write an essay to bring up my grade. I hate that class.”
When I was younger, I’d be thrilled with aB, but Jimmy knew he’d need a scholarship to attend college without a large student loan. I’d do what I could, but no way could I cover the entire thing. It hadn’t been until this year that his coach said that he could possibly play baseball and get college money that way, which was always a possibility.
What hadn’t been a possibility was asking Cash. Yes, he was his father, but it had been clear he didn’t care enough to be a part of his life. Then there was Cash’s father, who had accused me of lying because of Cash’s lucrative contract. Those words had fueled my desire to do it all on my own. My parents had helped in the beginning, but they knew how important it was for me to be independent.
My son had always been smart. When he was in the second grade, he’d read at a fifth-grade level, excelled at math, and was constantly bored. After a couple of competency tests, he’d skipped the third grade and become the youngest in all his classes. Thankfully he wasn’t a small child, or he’d probably have been picked on.
“I know English class isn’t your favorite, but maybe you can get a tutor over the summer. I had one for math when I was your age.” I didn’t mention who’d tutored me since it was Cash, but that wasn’t important. “And remember, Aunt Mia teaches English. She’d help you.”
“Yeah, maybe I just don’t know why I need to learn about Shakespeare. I mean, who cares? I want to be an architect. I’m pretty sure an analysis ofHamletorMacbethwon’t be in my college curriculum.”
“Hate to break it to you, sport, but you need to get good grades before college, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
“Good. I’m going to go make dinner. Would you like to help?”
“If it’s okay, I’d like to practice more. The game is only two days away, and I want to perfect my curveball.”
“Honey, don’t worry about the game. If Coach didn’t think you were good enough, you wouldn’t be starting.”
“I know. I’m just nervous.”
“I smiled. You’ll be great. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
The screen door closed behind me, and when I turned around, Jimmy was back to throwing. It truly was amazing how good he was. Being only a freshman, not to mention fourteen years old, and one of the starting pitchers on the varsity team was a testament to that. There had been zero doubt in my head that once he took the mound, the alumni would see the same.
Specifically one of them.