Page 105 of Spotlight
“That’s good,” I say, focusing on my bowl. “Baseball isfinetoo.”
She peeks over at me. “Grandpa said you’re the best pitcher he’s ever seen.”
“He did?” Genuine surprise lifts my brows. The old man and I chat whenever we see each other and occasionally he gives me his opinion on what’s working or what isn’t. As soon as I mentioned to Wayne that I thought my front foot might be landing a little inside, he watched and agreed. It was a small tweak, an inch or less, but it’s made a big difference.
I told Earl as much, but he’s slow to give guidance. I imagine he doesn’t want to step on the toes of my coaches, but I’m not opposed to feedback, no matter where it comes from. And I think he’s got plenty of it that could help me.
She nods and we fall quiet while we finish our ice cream. When we’re both done, I rinse the bowls and spoons and put them in the dishwasher and then we head back to the living room to continue the movie.
I get lost in the story, and so does she—evidenced by the way she unconsciously inches closer to me while watching. I rest my right arm along the back of the couch, and she nuzzles against my side. Apparently, I was stressed because by the time the movie is over, I’m more relaxed than I’ve felt in days.
“Can we play a game?” Greer asks as the credits roll. “My dad sent me the Disney Princess edition of Monopoly, but my mom doesn’t like to play it.”
I hold back a laugh as I remember Olivia telling me how much she didn’t like the game and then what happened after. “Sorry, munchkin. Time for bed.”
“Fine. I’ll just wait until I see my dad again to play it.”
Man, the kid really knows how to lay on the guilt.
“Are you going to see him soon?”
The nonchalant shrug she gives me makes my heart squeeze. I remember that feeling of not knowing when you’d see your dad again and not wanting to answer questions about it for fear of people judging you.
“You miss him, huh?”
She nods.
“Can I tell you another secret?”
“Sure,” she says, looking the tiniest bit excited but like she doesn’t want it to show.
“I didn’t live with my dad when I was growing up either.”
“You didn’t?” Her eyes widen a fraction.
“Nope. My brothers raised me.”
“Really?”
“Mhmm.” I want her to know that she’s not alone, but I don’t want to dismiss her feelings either, so I add, “It was tough. I used to sit around and wish that he’d call or stop by, that I could tell him about my day or show him something I did in school.”
Shit, I still feel that way sometimes.
“I video chat with my dad every Sunday,” Greer offers.
“That’s cool.”
She nods, finally smiling. “Where’s your dad now? Does he come see you play baseball?”
It feels like a punch to the gut. “Sometimes he does, yeah.”
I’m lost in my own emotions until Greer yawns so big her eyes water.
“Time for bed, munchkin. You don’t want to be tired for school in the morning.” I stand and so does she.
“I hate school. I don’t want to go anymore.”
My pulse kicks up and I consider my words carefully as I follow her to her room.
