Ida sighed. “Three kids in five years wasn’t smart.”
She supposed that was true. It had to have been hard to maintain a life of her own with so much responsibility on her shoulders. She’d had no help from her husband. There was one question that burned in her curious mind and she finally asked it.
“Why did you get divorced and remarry?”
Jasper of all people. He wasn’t what you’d call a catch.
“He stayed home nights, didn’t travel for eight months out of the year. Stupid mistake. I cared for him, but…he was boring. It took me too long to realize I’ll never love anyone the way I love your father.”
“Is that why you had Scarlett?”
She came over and patted Allie’s cheek. “It is. Bob gave me such incredible babies. You all grew up well in spite of me.” She picked up her wine and took a sip. “Don’t make the same mistake I did, my love, and ignore what’s right in front of your eyes. It wastes so much time.”
She turned away from the conversation and re-opened the oven. A rush of hot air came steaming out.
“It smells good. What did you make?”
“Lobster casserole.”
Her taste buds woke up and she realized she was ravenous. She also knew it would be a long time before her father let Mateo out of his clutches.
“Have any cheese and crackers?”
“I can do better. I have some stuffed top-neck clams and crab cakes. Why don’t you make up a dish and take it into the office? If you’re hungry, I have to assume Mateo is, as well.”
Allie opened the refrigerator and fingered out a couple of beers. “I’ll take these along as well.”
Her mother took down one of her hand-made platters off a shelf and arranged an assortment of finger food on it. After popping a clam in her mouth, Allie warned, “Save some for me.”
“Don’t worry. I made plenty.”
“Where’s Scarlet?”
“At a friend’s. She didn’t know you were coming but she’ll be back for supper.”
She hadn’t seen her sister since Christmas, and she’d missed her. It was only the fact that Mateo was here, meeting her parents, with a potential bombshell of a secret, that she hadn’t noticed that Scarlet wasn’t around.
“Here. Now go.”
She did as told, just like she had when she was nine. It wasn’t often she was given any task that would send her into her father’s private domain.
She knocked and entered without any encouragement.
“Mom sent this in. Thought you might be hungry.”
Mateo was standing at her father’s bookcase. It was stuffed to overflowing with sports biographies, stacks of old magazines, and there was a shelf dedicated to his awards, one of which was in Mateo’s hand. There was a couple of framed jerseys hanging on the wall, one of the legendary Gil Demers, a Greenliner who played back in the fifties and sixties and up until a couple of years ago, was a special assistant to the team. There was a hockey stick signed by Bobby Orr hanging there as well, and a Patriots football, signed by Brady, that sat on what resembled a pedestal. Bob Nilsson was an all-round Boston sports fan and this room was a testament to that.
Mateo glanced over at her and grinned.
“I am being interviewed by one of the best. You didn’t tell me this.”
“He won a couple of Sportswriter of the Year awards, not just that one.”
Bob pointed to a ball enclosed in a glass case. “That’s one of Mac’s homerun balls, one he smashed into kingdom come during one of the championship series games. Maybe if you ever crack a hit that clutch, you’ll pass it along for my shelf of fame.”
“I could do that. My mother will get the first, then, perhaps, my wife, if she wants one. You will definitely get the third.”
Her father’s ears perked up at that.
“You’re married? No one said.”
Mateo must have noticed she’d paled and said quickly to correct the assumption, “Perhaps by the second one, I will be. I have to be prepared.”
She gulped, snuck a peek at her father to see if he bought it. There was a casual smile on his face and no sign of suspicion. Why would there be? Not in a million years would his mind go down that path. She had to relax.
“I think Allie would agree with me on this, that clutch hits will be a regular occurrence for you.”
He tilted his head at her, his eyes piercing in their intensity. “If you are both right, and I am not in a committed relationship by then, it is yours.”
She finally placed the platter down on a round table next to her father’s desk and handed over the beers.
“I’ll let you get to it.”
Her father snagged her arm. “Before you leave, can I ask you a couple of questions?”
She gave him a skeptical look. “About?”
“Your development plan for him. What improvements can be made by a man who was born to hit?”
She’d asked herself that same question and hadn’t come up with an answer yet. Did she admit that here? To both of them?
As if Mateo sensed her disquiet, he answered for her. “There are always ways to take it to the next level.”
Bob was interested enough to ask, “In what way?”
“Pitchers will soon figure out which pitches I hit well and will stop throwing them. My job will be to find new pitches to like. There will be trial and error involved until I do. Then they’ll adjust again. It will be a season-long job.”
The interview seemed to have officially started, so she slipped out, closing the door behind her. His answer had been well-reasoned, and she’d be adding it to the plan once she got up the nerve to sit down and write it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bob sat in his swivel chair, a notebook in his hand.
“Take a seat, Mateo, and enjoy some of Ida’s delicious food.”
He did as suggested, in a chair by the window overlooking the
