Page 66 of A Spot of Trouble
Violet nodded. “Definitely.”
As in she wasn’t going to get caught beneath a sprinkler head again with Sam any time soon. She’d given the Charlie’s Angels a good talking to about meddling in her love life—non-existent as it was—and they’d sworn to behave from here on out.
“But you know you don’t need to have Josh and Joe look out for me like that, right? I can handle things on my own.” She swallowed.
Why was it so hard to talk to him like this? At least she was trying, but it still felt like they were tiptoeing around the issue instead of discussing it outright.
“We’re just looking out for you, cupcake.”
“I know you are, and I love you for it. But I’m stronger than the three of you think I am. I promise.” She took a deep breath. “Can I ask you something, Dad?”
“Sure.”
“I ran across something the other day—an old picture from theTurtle Beach Gazette.” Violet hoped he didn’t ask her how she’d found it. She didn’t want to lie to her father, but she also wanted to keep her word to Mavis. “It’s of Mom with Polkadot on Christmas Eve, 1982.”
“That’s nice,” he said, and pulled his baseball cap lower over his eyes.
“Polkadot was just a puppy—so sweet, with little jelly bean toes and a chubby little belly. I was wondering if you remembered it? The picture, I mean.” Violet’s throat went thick.
There. She’d asked the question. The ball was in his court now, not to toss a non-softball-related sports metaphor into the mix.
Her dad stood and blew hard into the coaching whistle he always wore on a cord around his neck during practice.
“Tossing drill over. Let’s hit a few balls, men,” he shouted.
His timing was impeccable…and more than a little suspect.
“Dad,” Violet said.
“Sorry, Cupcake. We’ve got a game to win tomorrow. I’ll see you later, back at home.” He stepped over Sprinkles to head for the opening of the dugout.
All right, then. Violet had swung and missed, so to speak.
“Have a good night, Dad.” She stood and gave Sprinkles’s leash a gentle tug. Suddenly, she was in no mood whatsoever for softball.
“Vi?” her dad called as she walked away. “Don’t forget to get that matter you and Joe discussed taken care of. The sooner the better.”
A dash of confusion spiraled through Violet. Had she missed something? This was starting to sound like more than just a warning about keeping her distance from Sam.
“No worries, Dad,” she called over her shoulder and waved.
Violet was tired of being on the receiving end of lectures from the March men, especially when she couldn’t get an answer to a simple question about her mother. Whatever her dad was referring to, she didn’t want to talk about it. So she kept on walking, her sights set someplace else.
Like father, like daughter.
Chapter 15
Sam bowed out of batting practice following his and Cinder’s dismal performance at the surf camp. He just didn’t have it in him—not after all the ribbing he got throughout the course of the afternoon. Word of Cinder’s antics had spread far and wide by the time he’d gotten back to the firehouse.
“I guess we don’t have to worry about freeing Cinder anymore?” Griff had said, tossing half of a turkey hot dog in the Dalmatian’s direction. “Sounds as if she’s gone ahead and cut herself loose.”
“It was an off day,” had been Sam’s curt response.
He didn’t mind being teased. Anyone who’d survived in a career in firefighting as long as he had could definitely take a joke. Within the first responder community, firefighters worldwide had a reputation for being pranksters that rivaled that of their purported skill at rescuing kittens in trees. Back in his old station in Chicago, one of the department’s leather recliners had a broken seat. Anyone who sat down in it would sink straight through the cushion, practically to the floor. A rookie wasn’t considered a true member of the department until he or she had been tricked into sitting in the chair. It cracked Sam up every time—even all those years ago when he’d been the rookie falling through the seat of the recliner.
Of course, it had been a while since Sam had laughed like that at work. The heaviness that had settled deep inside him on the day of the mattress factory fire was still there. He couldn’t seem to shake it. Time heals all wounds, everyone said. And time had certainly taken the edge off his grief, but he still hadn’t been able to find his way back to being the guy who would coax a rookie into being the butt of a joke. The old recliner wasn’t the only thing that was broken.
In truth, though, Sam hadn’t even tried to be that guy again. He didn’t see the point. And now here he was, the new star of Turtle Beach’s hilarious Dalmatian and pony show.
