Nina sat in her office adjacent to the salon of the inn, studying her bank statement with a feeling of incredulity. For the first time in her life, she didn’t cringe at the sight of the bottom line. She not only had enough to cover her expenses; there was actually a surplus. Greg had promised that she’d be well-compensated, and he’d delivered on that promise. Still, this was not what she’d planned, not for herself or for the inn. Once again, life had thrown her a curveball. She had become that most pathetic of creatures, the woman with a crush on her boss. She’d been trying to deny it, but she’d never been good at self-deception. Her worst moments were when the two of them worked side by side, planning or supervising; they made such a good team, it was hard to avoid being drawn to him.
She slammed the file shut and put it away. She had a choice. She didn’t have to be that woman. She’d just have to make peace with the fact that this was a job. Not her life. Not her future.
Through the open window, she saw Max riding his bike home from Little League practice. He was back from visiting his mother, and he’d returned an angry, unhappy boy.
Not your concern, she told herself as she watched him nearly crash his bike, leaping off at the last moment and letting it clatter to the ground. His duffel bag of gear was flung away. Max picked up the bat and swung it violently.
Oh, boy, thought Nina, hurrying outside. As she approached Max, calling his name, she felt a chill, despite the heat of the day.
She reminded herself again of the vow she’d made—the line she’d drawn. She wouldn’t let herself be pulled into this family. It wasn’t in her job description.
But when she studied Max’s tormented face, something inside her melted. He was at that irresistible stage a boy went through, teetering back and forth between childhood and adolescence. He had a child’s soft, round cheeks, and the long, coltish limbs and big feet of a kid on the verge of a major growth spurt.
He didn’t hear her. He was too busy pounding everything in sight with his baseball bat. His chest heaved with ragged exertion and his eyes blazed with fury. His team jersey was torn and stained, his sweat-soaked cap askew. His red face was slick with tears or sweat—probably both.
There was nothing quite so volatile as a young boy in a rage. They were such an awkward mingling of urges, both adult and childish. In a boy Max’s age there was almost a wildness, as though he was on the verge of exploding beyond control.
“Max,” she said again, shouting now, looking over her shoulder to make sure none of the guests was watching.
He turned on her, the bat drawn fiercely back, his eyes on fire. She kept her distance. The bat went flying; it grazed low-hanging limbs and startled birds into flight before landing with a thud some yards away.
“Bad day at Little League practice?” she asked.
He glared, the fury rolling off him in nearly visible waves. “How’d you guess?”
She shrugged. “Just lucky. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he said.
He was trembling, a volcano about to blow. She waited.
“I quit the team.”
Nina merely nodded. “Your prerogative. It’s only a game.” She knew this was less about the team than about his parents and how he felt about himself. But then again, in a town like this, to a kid like this, baseball was everything. She could see the heartbreak in his eyes. He loved baseball. The only time he sat still was when a game was on. His bedroom was a virtual gallery of memorabilia, pennants and game programs. He owned and had memorized the stats on hundreds of baseball cards. “You want to talk about it?” she prompted.
“No.” He stared at the ground. “You’re not my mother.”
“Well, guess what? I don’t want to be your mother. And that’s lucky for you because if I was, you’d be doing hard time for ruining this expensive equipment. Now, if there’s something you want to talk about—”
“All people ever want to do is talk,” he snapped, practically yelling. “My dad and sister. My mom’s the worst. It’s just talk, talk, talk.” He gave his duffel bag a kick. “I take that back. Dr. Barnes is the worst.” Max picked up a baseball and hurled it wildly into the trees. The kid had quite an arm.
Dr. Barnes was the family counselor Max saw every week. “Why’s he the worst?” Nina asked.
“He keeps wanting me to work on my issues and find appropriate strategies for managing strong emotions,” Max mimicked as he lobbed another ball.
“So how are you doing with that?” Nina asked.
He glared at her.
“Why’d you quit the team?”
“Because Coach Broadbent is a dick.”
She knew Jerry Broadbent. Max’s assessment was not far off the mark. Still…“With a mouth like that, no wonder he’s giving you a hard time. Did Coach tell you you’re off the team?”
“I suck at baseball,” Max burst out. “I’m the worst one on the team.”
“I don’t get it. You’re strong and fast. You can throw. You know the game better than any kid I’ve ever met. You’re a good athlete, Max.”
“Yeah, tell that to Broadbent.”
“You practice constantly with your dad.”
“That’s not the same as actually being on the field. I hate getting yelled at every freaking minute.”
“Let me get this straight. You love the game but you’re bad at playing it.” The expression on his face confirmed it. “If you love something, then you find a way to enjoy it. Don’t let your coach or teammates take that away from you. What does your father think?”
“He doesn’t give a sh—a darn,” Max said.
“Somehow, that doesn’t sound like your dad.”
Max shrugged. “I spent the last two games on the bench. Since I’m not playing, I might as well quit.”
Watching him, Nina felt that most fiery and elemental of emotions—maternal outrage. No, she was not his mother, but he moved her, this boy trying so hard to be brave and not disappoint his father. And Broadbent. He was older than dirt. Older than rock itself. And apparently he was just as disagreeable now as he’d been with her brothers. Nina was itching to pick up the phone and let him have it. A woman would suffer all the hurts in the world when they were aimed at her. But a child in distress turned her into a bear. Wait, she told herself. Wait.
“Max, how are you at bats, stats and water?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not like it’s hard or anything.”
She sensed a lot more to the situation than he was telling her. She knew perfectly well there was nothing wrong with his athleticism or skills. This was a different issue. Max’s father was preoccupied with Daisy. Max had just returned from a less-than-happy visit with his mother. Nina suspected he’d opened the vent at practice.
She glanced at her watch. She had thirty things to do in the next twenty minutes; she didn’t have time for this. Then she looked at the fragile set of Max’s chin and heard herself say, “Let’s go. There’s someone I want you to meet.” She didn’t mean to reward Max for having a tantrum, but he needed to see how a real team worked, that it wasn’t driven by rage.
He scowled and balked, and she reminded herself of that lengthy to-do list. “Now, Max,” she said, and she could tell the sharpness in her voice startled him into compliance. He followed her to the car.
As she drove, a familiar stirring of sentiment passed through her. Max made her feel like a mother. She couldn’t help herself. He roused that fierce, protective instinct in her and it felt good and clean and right, even though she told herself she was beyond it and didn’t want to feel it.
They drove in silence to the ball fields at the edge of town. In the gravel parking lot, she stopped, shut off the car and turned to watch Max’s face, a mixture of caution and eagerness.
“Come on, I want you to meet Dino.”
“Dino Carminucci? Get out.”
Nina couldn’t help smiling. His mood was so mercurial. “Let’s go,” she said.
“You know him?” Max asked, incredulous. “Like, personally? I can’t believe you know him.”
Dino was, in actuality, the biggest political favor of her career. Thanks to something her father had done twenty years before, Dino had brought his team to town. Nina was about to call in another favor. She stopped and turned to Max. “Listen, I want you to know, it’s not okay for you to lose your temper like you did today. Everybody gets mad, but throwing things isn’t the answer. You could hurt someone, or yourself, or you could break something, and that’s not okay.”
His face was soft with remorse, but he maintained eye contact. “You’re right.”
“I’m just making sure you know, this is not a reward for you having a tantrum.”
“Who had a tantrum?” asked Dino, coming from the dugout. “I bet it was just a bit of excess energy.” This was his gift, his instant understanding of a boy on fire. She knew Max was in good hands.