Daughters Of The Bride. Susan Mallery
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disposal?”
“Yes. Want to check it out?” She drew in a breath. “Or are you asking if there was something else going on? David, I’ve known Jimmy my whole life. We’re friends and he’s my landlord. I have a lot of flaws, but being unfaithful isn’t one of them. If you can’t trust me, this isn’t going to work between us.”
For a second she found herself wishing he would push back. Would make a fuss. Because then...well, she wasn’t sure what. She would break up with him? Did she want that? She honestly wasn’t sure.
He put his hands on her waist and drew her close. “You’re right. I’m sorry. There’s something about Jimmy that gets to me, but that’s my problem, not yours. Of course I trust you. Sometimes I can’t believe my luck, but I trust you.”
“Thank you.”
He kissed her. A soft, sweet kiss that should have stirred her heart, but didn’t. What was wrong with her?
“Ready for dinner?” she asked, drawing back just enough that he couldn’t kiss her again.
“I am.” He took her hand in his and smiled at her. “Come on. There’s a margarita with your name on it just a few short blocks away.”
“I can’t wait.”
A margarita sounded good. And an evening with David, well, that would be fun, too. He was a great guy. She needed to remember that. David would never tell her she wasn’t good enough. He thought she was a prize. Compared to the alternative, being a prize sounded really good to her.
* * *
Rachel spent the Wednesday afternoon baseball game fuming. Heather not only hadn’t shown up, but she hadn’t even bothered to call. Which meant Rachel arrived with snacks but no drinks. She’d been forced to run to the store and buy water and juice packs for twenty boys. When she’d returned, there hadn’t been any close parking, so she’d had to lug everything nearly two blocks, which had taken her two trips. By the time she was set up, the game had already started and her lower back was throbbing.
Ice, she promised herself. She would spend the whole evening icing her screaming muscles. She knew the price of ignoring the spasms. If she didn’t take care of the problem early, it would get worse, and she couldn’t afford to miss any work.
She sat down by the team bench and handed out drinks as the boys requested them. When Ryan Owens scraped up his arm sliding into home plate, she was the one who brought out the first-aid kit and cleaned his wound.
“Did you see?” the twelve-year-old asked excitedly. “I got a run.”
“You did. It was fantastic.” She used first-aid wipes on the scrape, then applied a nonstinging disinfectant and a couple of bandages.
“This will hold you until the game is over,” she told him. “Have your mom look at it when you get home.”
Ryan nodded and returned to the bench, where he was congratulated for his run. Rachel shifted on her seat, wishing the game would end so she could go lie on an ice pack. But there were several innings to go. She dug in her purse for some ibuprofen and took two pills, then waited and endured. She saw her friend Lena up in the stands and waved. Greg was there, too, but didn’t seem to notice her.
Nearly two hours later, Josh’s team had won. The boys cheered, then lined up to shake hands, like they’d been taught. Lena walked over.
“We’re taking Kyle out for a celebration pizza. You and Josh want to come?”
“My back’s acting up. I’m going to pass.”
Lena’s mouth twisted. “I’m sorry. Why don’t we take Josh with us and bring him back afterward? That will give you some time to just relax.”
“Would you? Thanks. That would be great.”
“Need any help with the drinks or equipment?”
“I’m good.”
Her friend waved and returned to the boys. Fifteen minutes later nearly everyone had left the field. Rachel had three bags of trash, leftover snacks and water, along with five bats, three mitts and all the bases. Because Heather hadn’t shown up, and whichever parent was supposed to be responsible for the equipment had forgotten.
Greg came up to her. “No Heather?”
“No. She didn’t call or anything. I had to go get the drinks she was supposed to bring.” She stood up and did her best not to groan as pain shot through her back. “I’m going to always bring extra in the car from now on, just in case.”
Greg frowned. “You’re hurting. Your back?”
“I’m fine.”
He ignored that. “Where’s your car? I don’t see it in the lot.”
“I had to go shopping for the drinks,” she snapped. “When I got back, there weren’t any spots.”
He held out his hand. “Give me your car keys. I’ll get it and move it closer for you, then help you carry everything. You need to get home and on ice.”
She wasn’t sure why, but his offer annoyed her. Or maybe it was that he knew what was wrong. Or the whole situation with Heather.
“I said I’m fine.”
“You’re not. Let me help, Rachel.”
“I can do it myself. I should just leave the equipment out here. Someone will steal it, but maybe the parent responsible will learn a lesson. Only, they won’t and I’ll be the bad guy for letting it happen. I have to do everything.”
“Do you know who the parent is?”
“There’s a list. I have it at home.”
“Are you going to call them?”
“What? No. That’s not my job.”
“And you’re not going to say anything to Heather, are you?”
“What’s the point? She doesn’t take this seriously. She knows I’ll pick up the slack and she takes advantage of me. I’m not even surprised.”
Greg stared at her. “You’re not going to give me your car keys, are you?”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He shocked her by picking up her handbag and digging through it until he found her keys.
“Hey! You can’t do that.”
“I just did.”
He walked toward the street. She watched him for a second, then walked slowly to collect the bases.
Every step was agony. Pain shot down her right leg, and she was terrified that the muscles were about to seize up. She had muscle relaxers at home, along with the healing ice. But first there was this mess to clean up.
By the time Greg got back, she’d stacked the bases and collected the forgotten equipment. He shook his head.
“You couldn’t wait, could you? What the hell, Rachel? Why do you always have to be the martyr? It’s like you’re the only one who gets to be right and everyone else has to be—”
He stopped talking.
“I don’t think everyone is wrong,” she told him. “But sometimes they are. Like Heather is today.”
“Yet you won’t confront her. You’ll simply stew about it. You’ll be snippy with her the next time you see her and she won’t know why. She’ll think you’re a total bitch, but you get to have righteous indignation on your side. Then at some parent meeting someone will mention the team mother thing and you’ll get to be the one who always showed up.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “You’re saying I’m wrong to be here on time,