great weekend.” I shooed them away like
flies.
ey scattered as various cars pulled up, some parents
getting out, some not. I bagged the equipment as bases
50
Starting From Scratch
were dropped at my feet, muttered “Bye, Coach”’s floating
by me. I was completely exhausted and looking forward to
the long weekend without having to deal with the kids. I
was hoping to plant some flowers, take Steve to the park,
and try a new cookie recipe with Grandma. So lost in my
upcoming plans was I that I didn’t hear the approach of
one of the parents.
“Hi there.”
It was Max’s mom, the one who’d leered at me so
openly that first day of practice. She hadn’t stayed for every
practice; in fact, I’d only seen her once or twice since that
first time. Max carpooled with another kid the other days.
I hadn’t paid her much attention, and she’d apparently
returned the favor, disregarding not only me, but Max and
his tee-ball play as well. He still turned to her when he did
something well, his adorable face lit up with pride. Each
time, I watched it fall with disappointment when he saw
her absorbed in whatever electronic device she happened
to have brought with her that day.
Forcing myself to remain professional, I replied, “Hi.
You’re Max’s mom, right?”
With a nod and a smile, she stuck out her hand.
“Cindy Johnson.”
I returned the handshake. “Avery King.”
Max saved me from more small talk when he ran up
to us. “Did you see my hit, Cece?” he asked Cindy, all
dignified and proud.
I stayed focused on him, well aware from my
peripheral vision that Cindy’s focus was not on him, but on
me. “I must have missed it, buddy,” she said with little
interest.
51
Georgia Beers
I met her gaze. “It was a very solid hit,” I told her.
“He’s doing very well.”
“I’ve got a knot,” Max said, looking down at his shoe.
“Are you new around here?” Cindy asked me. “I don’t
recall seeing you before.”
“No, I’m not new, but it’s a good-sized city,” I replied,
trying to take her in without giving her the wrong idea—
which was exactly the idea she wanted, I suspected. Her
gaze was intense, her eyes a light brown with gentle crow’s
feet at the corners. She wasn’t a small woman—not heavy,
just rather big-boned—but her expensive clothes hid it
pretty well. Her brown hair was cut in a stylish bob, the
slightest hint of gray showing at the part, telling me she
was due for a coloring soon. I saw no ring on her left hand,
which made me feel only minutely better about her
obvious flirtation.
“It is. It’s just…I’ve been here my whole life and I’m
kind of surprised we haven’t run into each other, you know,
at Blink or the Pink Rhino or something.”
Two of the gayest places in town. She was fishing for
my sexuality and much as it made me a little
uncomfortable, I had to admire her smoothness.
“Yeah, well, I don’t go out much,” I offered, caught
between embarrassment and amusement.
“I’ve got a knot,” Max said again, louder this time,
bouncing up and down impatiently. I squatted to help him.
Anything to get out of the spotlight of Cindy’s stare.
“We could fix that,” she continued, apparently not at
all fazed that her son was right there and I was working on
his shoelace. “Maybe we could have a drink some time.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I hedged, wishing I had the balls
to simply say that I thought her approach was
52
Starting From Scratch
inappropriate, given the close proximity of her son and me
being his coach. But before I could figure out the right
wording, her cell phone rang and I knew she’d answer it. It
was impossible for her not to answer it. She was one of
those people, the ones who lost part of their identity if they
didn’t have the damn thing within their grasp at all times,
who didn’t find it at all rude or annoying to be chattering
away in a restaurant or a library or
flies.
ey scattered as various cars pulled up, some parents
getting out, some not. I bagged the equipment as bases
50
Starting From Scratch
were dropped at my feet, muttered “Bye, Coach”’s floating
by me. I was completely exhausted and looking forward to
the long weekend without having to deal with the kids. I
was hoping to plant some flowers, take Steve to the park,
and try a new cookie recipe with Grandma. So lost in my
upcoming plans was I that I didn’t hear the approach of
one of the parents.
“Hi there.”
It was Max’s mom, the one who’d leered at me so
openly that first day of practice. She hadn’t stayed for every
practice; in fact, I’d only seen her once or twice since that
first time. Max carpooled with another kid the other days.
I hadn’t paid her much attention, and she’d apparently
returned the favor, disregarding not only me, but Max and
his tee-ball play as well. He still turned to her when he did
something well, his adorable face lit up with pride. Each
time, I watched it fall with disappointment when he saw
her absorbed in whatever electronic device she happened
to have brought with her that day.
Forcing myself to remain professional, I replied, “Hi.
You’re Max’s mom, right?”
With a nod and a smile, she stuck out her hand.
“Cindy Johnson.”
I returned the handshake. “Avery King.”
Max saved me from more small talk when he ran up
to us. “Did you see my hit, Cece?” he asked Cindy, all
dignified and proud.
I stayed focused on him, well aware from my
peripheral vision that Cindy’s focus was not on him, but on
me. “I must have missed it, buddy,” she said with little
interest.
51
Georgia Beers
I met her gaze. “It was a very solid hit,” I told her.
“He’s doing very well.”
“I’ve got a knot,” Max said, looking down at his shoe.
“Are you new around here?” Cindy asked me. “I don’t
recall seeing you before.”
“No, I’m not new, but it’s a good-sized city,” I replied,
trying to take her in without giving her the wrong idea—
which was exactly the idea she wanted, I suspected. Her
gaze was intense, her eyes a light brown with gentle crow’s
feet at the corners. She wasn’t a small woman—not heavy,
just rather big-boned—but her expensive clothes hid it
pretty well. Her brown hair was cut in a stylish bob, the
slightest hint of gray showing at the part, telling me she
was due for a coloring soon. I saw no ring on her left hand,
which made me feel only minutely better about her
obvious flirtation.
“It is. It’s just…I’ve been here my whole life and I’m
kind of surprised we haven’t run into each other, you know,
at Blink or the Pink Rhino or something.”
Two of the gayest places in town. She was fishing for
my sexuality and much as it made me a little
uncomfortable, I had to admire her smoothness.
“Yeah, well, I don’t go out much,” I offered, caught
between embarrassment and amusement.
“I’ve got a knot,” Max said again, louder this time,
bouncing up and down impatiently. I squatted to help him.
Anything to get out of the spotlight of Cindy’s stare.
“We could fix that,” she continued, apparently not at
all fazed that her son was right there and I was working on
his shoelace. “Maybe we could have a drink some time.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I hedged, wishing I had the balls
to simply say that I thought her approach was
52
Starting From Scratch
inappropriate, given the close proximity of her son and me
being his coach. But before I could figure out the right
wording, her cell phone rang and I knew she’d answer it. It
was impossible for her not to answer it. She was one of
those people, the ones who lost part of their identity if they
didn’t have the damn thing within their grasp at all times,
who didn’t find it at all rude or annoying to be chattering
away in a restaurant or a library or
Similar Books
