ONE
“Whoooo! Struck him out, the stinkin’ loser!”
Elaine Sampson clamped her hand over her mouth and flopped back into her seat, horrified at her outburst. It didn’t matter that the crowd at Veterans Stadium was roaring its own approval as the Atlanta Braves batter walked away dejected from the plate, struck out by Philadelphia Phillies pitcher Curt Schilling.
“Mom!” her son, Anthony, exclaimed, staring at her with a thirteen-year-old’s complete mortification for his mother’s embarrassing action. His face was bright red as he glanced around to see if anyone was looking.
“Hot damn! Leave her be, sugar,” Cleo Burfield said to Anthony. The big black woman patted him on the back in commiseration. “First home game of the season and your mama’s ready for action.”
Anthony grinned at Cleo. If Cleo approved, it was cool.
“Never thought I’d hear that from you, Elaine,” Mary Ososa said, pressing her rosary beads one after the other in silent prayer as the next batter faced Schilling. Mary was as prim as Cleo was sassy, although she was grinning at Elaine.
“It’s about time we heard that from her, Mary,” Jean Keenan said, laughing. “We’ve been the Widows’ Club for nearly two years now, and she’s never lost it before at a game.”
“I’ve got to stop listening to the morning guys on WIP radio,” Elaine muttered, slouching down in her seat. She still couldn’t believe she had shouted like a fishwife. Her, a seventh-grade schoolteacher with a master’s degree, for goodness sake. But the Phils were the Phils. They had to win their home opener.
The two men in the row in front of her had turned around at her outburst, and she realized they were still staring at her. Their more formal clothes gave them away as businessmen attending the game, probably in their company’s block of seats, a business entertainment phenomenon of the last few years. “Suits,” the fans called the corporate types, because they just sat and did deals, barely watching the game. Certainly they never cheered for the team, either team. They never clapped for a player. And they always left before the eighth inning, to beat the inevitable traffic jam. Even worse, by getting season tickets to choice seats, they moved more fans to the upper levels of the stadium, out of the lower 100, 200, and 300 levels. Elaine felt lucky her little crowd still managed to get in their same 300-level row year after year when they bought their own season tickets.
One of the men in front of her, with the perfect hair pulled back in a tiny male ponytail, and with the perfect tan, and with a pierced hoop earring in one ear, glared up at her as if she had uttered absolute filth at him. She knew he was thinking she was one of “those” kinds of fans, abusive and without manners in general. The other man, although wearing an expensive suit and also sporting a perfect, if shorter, haircut, looked less urban-plastic than his companion. He was older, for one thing—around forty, she judged. His face was lean and rugged, with age lines beginning around the mouth. His hair was dark except for a few silver strands at his temples, just one or two, as if he’d earned them early rather than through the normal aging process. Elaine had noticed him before, when he had sat down. Throughout the opening innings, she had found herself catching glimpses of his profile, which had somehow piqued her curiosity and made her wish she could get a fall look at him.
Her wish had now come true. As the man stared at her, her heart beat at lightning speed, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her brain turned to complete mush. But her insides were swirling with a deliciously warm sensation that left her breathless. The intensity scared her, for she hadn’t felt like this in a long, long time.
His eyes held her own gaze. They were a deep brown, the same color as the eyes of a fawn she had once nursed to adulthood. Gentleness, though, wasn’t in the depths of these eyes. They were hard-edged … speculating … impossible to turn from.
Panic shot through Elaine as if she’d just found herself teetering on the edge of a cliff. The noise of the crowd faded to a vague mumble until the world seemed to darken and close in around her and the man. He glanced lower, his gaze traveling down and back up again, taking in her red Phillies cap with her ponytail poking through the gap in the back, her hooded sweatshirt, jeans, thick white crew socks, and sneakers. He couldn’t see much of her body, not with the way she was huddled in the molded plastic seat. But every inch of her felt the shock of his gaze. Here she was, a thirty-seven-year-old widow with one adolescent son, and she couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her like this. She ought to be flattered, but she felt as vulnerable as a rabbit under a wolf’s paw. She also wished she was ten pounds slimmer and in a strapless gown. Heck, this kind of male assessment came along once in a blue moon, and she ought to look good when it did.
“Mom … Mom!”
The man turned forward again, finally breaking their locked gazes. Elaine blinked. She took a deep, cleansing breath, trying to regain her equilibrium. The world came back into focus.
The bright lights of the Vet blazed down on the field, illuminating the players. The crowd’s cheers were suddenly deafening, the salty odor of popcorn and the sweet scent of soda overpowering. People all around her were on their feet, screaming at the top of their lungs.
Curt had struck out another one.
She grinned at her son, who was cheering and hugging Cleo. She knew he would die a thousand deaths before he hugged his own mother in public. Cleo was different.
“Bottom of the fourth, and my boy’s coming up!” Cleo announced proudly.
“If Lenny Dykstra really was your boy, we’d have the story of the year,” Jean said, chuckling. She was tall and angular where Cleo was short and busty.
“I couldn’t be his mama!” Cleo laughed with glee. “Lenny’s Mr. Excitement. Whenever he’s at bat, he gives me that sexual high.” She belatedly put her hands over Anthony’s ears. “You cover your ears, baby, you’re not near ready for this. But, oh my, if my Luther were still alive, I’d be saying ‘Get ready, Luther, tonight’s your lucky night!’ ”
The three older widows erupted into laughter. Anthony grinned. Elaine, normally used to this banter, found her face turning red because of the man in front of her.
“You hush up and watch, Jean,” Cleo added. “We’re down one run, and Lenny is about to tie it up.”
“He better,” Mary muttered, the beads moving through her fingers at record speed. “If someone doesn’t break this game open soon, those you-know-what Braves are going to win.”
It was odd how she had come together with these women, all of whom were in their sixties, Elaine thought. They had met years ago right here in this row, when Anthony had been little. She hadn’t had an interest in the game at the time; she’d come for her husband’s sake. But they had become friendly with their seat “neighbors.” Mary’s husband had already passed on after a long illness, so Elaine had never met him. Jean’s husband had died from a stroke the year after they’d met, and four years back Luther’s heart had given out suddenly.
And then her own husband, Joe, had died, long before he should have. It had happened a little over a year and a half ago. Joe had gone out for bread and milk, and someone had run a red light on Route 70 when Joe had been crossing. She had been left with a house with a too big mortgage payment, a young son, and little insurance.
The women had been staunch support then, and she often felt she had been blessed with three extra mothers. Cleo, Jean, and Mary hadn’t given up their season tickets after their husbands’ deaths because they were true aficionados of baseball. Elaine had continued going to the games for Anthony at first, because the boy needed men to look up to, men who could show him man things, who could show him that hard work and dedication paid off. A baseball team he had idolized all his short life seemed a good place to start. She had had to learn the finer points of the game for her son’s sake, and slowly she’d become a true fan.
Jean had started calling them the “Widows’ Club, and Elaine had evolved into a chauffeur for them all. With this season opener at the Vet, she sensed something big about to happen with the team, and it had infected her. Baseball. Springtime with the all-American pastime. Somehow the combination had pushed itself into her soul, and at that moment, nothing was finer.
It had to be the game, she told herself, because it couldn’t be the man in front of her.
To her horror, Cleo leaned over and tapped both “suits” on the shoulder. “You boys better be watching this, or you’ll miss the play of the game.”
“But he’s down two strikes already!” the younger man said in disbelief to Cleo.
Cleo sniffed. “That’s just part of Lenny’s show. He’ll work that count to a full one and make that pitcher throw ten times, just trying to get him out. Wears those snotty pitcher boys down and gets them off the mound early.”
“Here endeth the lesson of the day,” Mary said.
“Amen to that!” Jean added.
Elaine looked for heavenly salvation herself, because mortification of the flesh was already guaranteed. Those three were in rare form tonight.
The younger man made a face. The older one just shook his head. Elaine resisted the urge to dump her soda all over them. Cleo was only being friendly, which was more than she could say for those two—even if one was sexy as hell.
The tension in the stadium built to a fever pitch as Lenny Dykstra sent several pitches foul into the stands and passed on a few more, until his count was three balls and two strikes, just as Cleo had predicted. A few more pitches went foul as Mr. Excitement lived up to his name. Elaine forgot about the man sitting in front of her. She forgot about “suits” in general … and her name, her job, and other vital pieces of information as her exhilaration level built with each pitch. She squeezed her soda cup, threatening to overflow the contents, grabbed Jean’s hand with her free one, and thought her heart would burst through her chest as she waited for each windup and pitch. It was going to happen, she thought, feeling the truth of it in her bones.
The Sure Thing.
She suddenly understood Cleo’s need for Luther, because her whole body was thrumming with anticipation, her blood whirling hot along her veins. She was desperate for something to relieve the growing sensuality … for someone …
Her gaze dropped to the disturbing man in front of her. To her shock, he turned around at that very moment as if her body had called to his. If his first stare had sent her spiraling, this one catapulted her into dizzying heights as her body responded to the physical attraction she felt toward this man. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t focus on anything but him.
The man broke the gaze as the smack of wood against leather was heard over the stadium roar, as a ball was hit with tremendous force. Elaine looked up in time to see the little white ball sailing back … back … The outfielder ran to the warning track … his arm was outstretched … he jumped right at the wall …
The ball sailed over the right-field fence into the Phillies bull pen. A home run.
Elaine screamed and leaped to her feet, flinging her arms up with joy. Just as she did, she realized she was still holding her soda cup, and the soda inside was taking a leap of its own. She watched in fascinated horror as it moved in almost slow-motion time out of the cup and into the air, the dark liquid spreading out in a kind of wall twinkling with crushed ice. The soda hit the man in front of her with a solid splash, and the world, which had been frozen for that one terrible instant, suddenly returned again in all its loud noisy glory.
The man yelped and jumped to his feet, soda dripping down his head and the back of his suit jacket.
“Omigod, omigod!” Elaine exclaimed, grabbing up her napkins and rubbing at his hair and back. She could feel her face heating with embarrassment and wondered if she was getting psychic in her old age. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!”
He pushed her hands away as she rubbed the already soaked napkins to shreds. People around them were laughing and cheering, half for the batter jogging around the bases and half for the entertainment she had just provided. Her three female companions were roaring with laughter. Even her son was giggling.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to the man. Her face was burning now. “I feel awful. I’ll go with you to the rest room, where I can sponge the soda off.”
“You don’t put water on an Italian silk suit, you stupid idiot!” the younger man yelped, waving his hands. “I can’t believe you ignoramuses here. They ought to charge more for seats so we get a better class of people at the games.”
“Shut up!” Anthony burst out, stepping in front of Elaine as if to protect her. “That’s my mother and it was an accident!”
Tears sprang to Elaine’s eyes at her son’s action. She forced them away, knowing he’d be humiliated if she started to cry because she was proud of him.
“The boy’s right, it was an accident,” the older man said. To Anthony he added, “I’m sorry for what Ed said. Don’t worry about what happened.”
Ed looked about ready to swallow his teeth, every pearly one of them. “But, Graham …”He stopped and turned to Elaine, a look of disgust on his face. “I’m sorry.”
Elaine said nothing to him, wishing she could crawl into a hole. Anthony, too, had been made to look childlike with the adult interference.
“Thanks, Anthony.” She squeezed his shoulders gratefully. Her son was her height now, a fact that brought itself home to her in a poignant way even in this weird situation.
An usher showed up at the commotion, and the man Graham explained that some soda had been spilled, no problem. The usher left and people began to sit down again.
“Please,” she said to the man before he turned away. “At least let me have your suit dry-cleaned for you.”
“No. That’s all right.” He sat down, his back to her.
She couldn’t blame him. Cleo sniffed, while Jean made a face. Mary’s rosary clacked. Elaine took a deep breath and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, staring at her.
“Really, I want to make amends,” she said. “Let me take care of this for you.”
He shook his head and turned back.
She reached into her hip pack and took out a twenty. She tapped the man on the shoulder again. He whipped around. She waved the money in his face. “Here. This should cover it.”
The younger man snorted, clearly indicating that what she offered was far short of the price the cleaning would cost. Elaine wondered just how much one paid for an Italian silk suit to be cleaned. Did the silk from Italy have some special property that defied normal dry-cleaning methods?
“Thanks for the offer,” Graham said, “but I can take care of my own dry cleaning.”
His voice wasn’t unpleasant, she mused. In fact, it sent a slight chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the April night air.
“No. I insist.”
“Lady, look, it’s not necessary.”
“It is.” But short of stuffing the money into his pocket—and that thought made her fingers tremble—she didn’t know what else to do. Then an idea occurred to her. She dug into her hip pack again, while saying, “I have a friend who owns a dry cleaners in Malvern. She can handle your suit, I’m sure. She does a lot of executives out that way. Here’s her address.” She finally dug out one of the business cards she carried for her friend’s establishment. Taking the pen Jean was using to keep score and ignoring her squawks at being robbed, Elaine scribbled on the back of the card before holding it out to him. “Nancy owes me a favor, so she’ll be glad to do your suit for you. I’ll call her tomorrow and let her know. The address and phone number are on the card, and I put my address and phone number on the back in case you have a problem, but you shouldn’t Really, I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t take care of your suit for you. Please let me do this.”
The man stared at her for the longest moment. Elaine had an awful feeling she’d just grown a second head. He had a great ability to skewer people with his gaze, she thought. So had Dracula. And just like Dracula, he exuded a subtle sensuality. She could feel it swirling through her, as if he were actually undressing her. More years than she cared to count had passed since the last time she’d felt this way with a man. Other women could handle themselves sexually, but after fourteen years of marriage she was out of practice. Way out. And the game was so different at thirty-seven than it had been at twenty.
She shoved the card at him to break the trance. He took it reluctantly.
She smiled in relief. “Nancy does nice work. You won’t be sorry, I promise.”
He turned forward at last Elaine slumped in her chair, feeling as if she’d just been let out of prison. She resisted the urge to fan herself. Poise was a better defense.
Opening day was full of surprises, she thought, and not all of them with the team.
Graham Reed sat in misery. Cold soda had wormed its way under his jacket and shirt, chilling his skin. The cool night air didn’t help. Worse, the liquid left a sticky feeling on his scalp and neck. He, a basketball man, was at a baseball game, a sport for the unskilled as far as he was concerned. Ed Tarksas squeezed him in on his right, and a complete stranger continually rubbed against him on the left.
And behind him sat a beautiful maniac.
Maybe “beautiful” wasn’t the right word, he thought. He had been aware of the woman sitting behind him ever since he’d taken his seat, but hadn’t bothered to turn around until her screaming outburst. And then he hadn’t been able to look away.
She wore a Phillies baseball cap low on her forehead, and the way her ponytail swept along her shoulders, curling just at the ends, so dark in color it was almost black, reminded him of a young girl’s. His fingers had ached to touch it, to feel it twine around his hand with its own vitality. Large hoop earrings of thin gold hung elegantly from her ears, combining with the cap for an incongruous look that somehow worked on her. Her face wasn’t model thin, yet her cheekbones were noticeable and her skin was smooth, creamy, with a touch of color from the night’s chill. Her lips were full, intriguing, and he’d found himself wanting to taste them, to see if they would meld perfectly with his. Her figure was covered up in a sweatshirt jacket and jeans, but he could tell it was an attractive one. He judged her to be in her mid-thirties, a time in life that gave her maturity and experience … and a latent sensuality. He could sense it, he could see it, and he felt as if he’d been walloped by a two-by-four just from looking at her.
The boy alongside her was enough like her in coloring and features to mark him as her son. And although he didn’t need anyone to pay for his dry cleaning, he had to admit he liked her insistence on making amends. That said a lot about her as a person. And he liked the way the boy had come to her defense. She had stared him down, and stared down Ed, so she was hardly in need of any defending, but the child’s gesture said a lot about her as a parent.
Still, a child. He and children didn’t mix well, so he avoided women who had them. Of course, it didn’t matter in this case; she had to be married.
A trickle of melted ice made its way under his shirt and trailed along his shoulder. Graham adjusted his shirt collar and pushed at the wetness, trying in vain to shift it off his body. The wet stickiness around his neck was suddenly unbearable, so he got up and went to the men’s room on the concourse below.
The room’s cleanliness surprised him, and nobody did more than glance at him as he stripped off his suit jacket and shirt, then rinsed off his hair and shoulders as best he could in one of the sinks. The air was cool inside the building, swirling around his bare arms and chest and raising goosebumps. He toweled off with paper towels, then pushed the electric hand dryer on and held his wet clothes under its already hot nozzle. He frowned as the dark stain grew more pronounced as the clothes dried. His maniac had nailed him good.…
“Excuse me.”
Men standing in front of the open urinals yelped at the female voice coming from the doorway and began frantically adjusting clothing. Graham started and whirled around. His maniac was standing in the open doorway as if he’d conjured her up. The two-by-four hit again, with even more force.
She was half turned away, averting her gaze, but that didn’t stop the consternation caused by a woman on the edge of invading the last of male refuges on the planet. Neither did it stop Graham from suddenly feeling too warm and too conscious of her presence. She looked even better standing up than she did sitting down. Way better …
“If you dry it without washing the stain out first, it may set,” she advised.
He found his voice—and his reason. “Are you crazy? This is the men’s room!”
Men bleated in horror behind him, like a Greek chorus, and that seemed to move her finally. She dipped out of sight behind the outer modesty wall. The men subsided, but they glared at him as if he were at fault for the near breach.
“I’m sorry,” she called out. It seemed her voice wasn’t disappearing. “But I got worried when you were picking at your collar and then left. I thought I better check and see if I could help. Do you want me to take it and wash it in the ladies’ room?”
“No thanks,” he said quickly, having a vision of himself standing outside the ladies’ room half naked. He shoved his clothes under the still-running dryer, muttering, “Come on, come on …”
“I forgot that getting silk wet was bad. Are you drying it again? You shouldn’t.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he said, wondering what she’d thought when she’d looked in and caught him topless. Probably that he ought to be ten pounds thinner and work out regularly, he decided, then wondered what the hell he was doing wondering. His chest was acquiring a gray hair or two, as well, among the dark brown …
“I’m Elaine Sampson, by the way. You’re Graham, right?”
He blinked in confusion and answered automatically, “Yes. Graham Reed.”
“Nice name.”
There was a long silence. Graham could think of nothing to say, so he said, “Thanks.”
“I hope you’ll take me up on my offer, especially now if the stain’s set You’ll really need a good dry cleaner. I’m a widow, and I have a young son. You saw him …”
Her voice trailed away and he realized he needed to answer. “Yes, I did.”
“With his father gone, it’s doubly important for me to set a good example for him. Are you a parent?”
Heads turned. Graham swallowed and said to no one in particular, “She spilled soda on my suit.”
“What did you say?”
“No, I’m not a parent, not even married,” he called out. “Could we have this conversation later?”
“Yeah,” a guy in a stall yelled. “Could we have this conversation later?”
“Oh. Yes, of course, but if I don’t fix your suit, then he’ll think it’s okay not to fix things he’s damaged.”
“Lady, I do understand and admire that,” Graham began, shaking his jacket and shirt to quicken the drying process. The dryer turned off in a complete lack of cooperation. He slapped the start button, then realized he might have better luck if he put the shirt outside the jacket, rather than have it tucked inside because it was easier to hold. He switched it around, cursing himself for being seduced into accepting Ed Tarksas’s invitation to the ball game, just so he could listen to the man’s advertising campaign pitch for Graham’s chain of pizzerias. Cove Pizzerias couldn’t afford the slick TV, radio, and print ads Ed wanted to blanket over the Delaware Valley. Graham only owned twenty places in the state of Delaware, the most profitable in the coastal resort towns, so he wasn’t sure a huge campaign would be cost-effective, despite Ed’s intense sales pitch all during the game.
Now Graham wasn’t thinking about anything other than this woman who wouldn’t leave him to set his soda stain in peace. If she wanted to talk, he could think of better, more intimate places …
“Then you’ll go to have your suit cleaned?”
“If I don’t hang myself first,” he muttered.
“Nothing!” he shouted, wondering if she could read thoughts. Now, that was scary.
He heard a commotion outside, a boy shrieking and a woman’s voice raised in annoyance. Now what was she doing? Mugging kids?
“What are you doing?” he called out, feeling his shirt. It was definitely drying.
“Just a minute. We have a rebellion going on out here …” To someone else, she said, “I don’t know this man who’s in there at all, really, but I spilled soda on him and he was nice about it. Maybe he can watch your son. Mr. Reed?” Her voice rose again. “There’s a little boy coming in to use the rest room. Could you keep an eye on him for his mother?”
Graham looked down at his bare chest, looked at the men milling around and who were looking at him as if he’d been swallowing flaming swords. He felt as if he were in a nightmare that would never end. Face it, Reed, he thought, it couldn’t get any more bizarre.
“Uhh … send him in.”
A boy of about five or six walked into the bathroom, too young for the men’s room alone but too old for the ladies’ room with Mom. The kid looked sullen and Graham couldn’t blame him. He smiled at the boy encouragingly, saying, “Moms are right to be concerned, but they don’t understand, do they?”
The boy didn’t answer, just went about his business with quick efficiency while the other men grinned at him. Graham sighed, seeing the usual result of whenever he tried to be friendly with a child. Kids didn’t like him. He was uncomfortable around them, he always had been. On the rare occasions he had familial and paternal stirrings, he put them aside, knowing his business took all his time and knowing he wouldn’t be a very good parent.
The boy headed for the exit door on the opposite side of the rest room, and Graham called out dutifully, “Okay, he’s coming out now.”
The boy turned and stuck his tongue out at Graham. Several of the men chuckled. Compounded evidence on his incompetency with kids, Graham thought.
He put on his shirt, not caring that it still had a damp spot or two. After buttoning it, he finally left the men’s room. The jacket he’d live with. It was only damp now, at least, rather than soaked.
Elaine was still waiting for him out on the busy concourse. She. smiled at him, and although the mother and the boy were gone, she said, “Thanks. That was nice of you. The boy refused to go into the ladies’ room with his mother and threw a tantrum about it.”
“I don’t think he was too happy with the compromise,” Graham said, smiling ruefully. “He stuck his tongue out at me.”
She shook her head. “Kids. Still, public rest rooms are a problem when you’re a mom out alone with your son. Anthony was about the same age when he insisted he was old enough to use the men’s room. How’s the shirt and jacket?”
“Dry enough.”
“I feel really bad about spilling soda on you.”
“Don’t.” He grinned. “Actually, it was an adventure.”
As she smiled back, he had an odd urge to reach for her and kiss her. Her smile faded, as if she sensed the attraction he felt for her.
“This is trouble,” she said in a low voice.
“I’m not trouble,” he assured her, feeling suddenly dangerous and impulsive, two sensations he never had.
“Yes, you are,” she said. “You have eyes like a little deer I raised when I was a kid and lived in upstate Pennsylvania. But yours are …”
“Are what?” He had to know. He was thirty-seven years old, and he had to know.
“Are more intense,” she finished.
She didn’t know what intense was, he thought The way she was looking at him shook him down to his feet. That was intense.
Someone bumped into him, and he realized they were standing in the concourse, traffic traveling around them. The physical attraction snapped off as if by a switch, and he immediately felt awkward, like a schoolboy talking with a girl for the first time.
“Ah, I better get back up there,” Elaine said.
He nodded. “Me too.”
“I’ll get fries to cover my trades.” She smiled slightly as she began walking over to the nearest concession stand.
He followed her. “Why do you have to cover your tracks?”
“Because my friends are nosy and my son usually is mortified by me. He’s thirteen. Kids embarrass easily at that age.”
“Oh.”
She got her fries in a large cup. She offered them to him, and because they smelled good and salty, he took one. It was fat and long—and hot.
“There goes the cholesterol, right through the roof,” she quipped, before taking a bite of one herself.
The fry tasted as good as it smelled, the salt melting in his mouth. He grinned at her. “They’re good.”
“The best.” She cleared her throat. “Maybe you want to go up ahead of me. Otherwise they’ll think I’ve been nagging you and will tease me.”
“And your son will be mortified.”
“Because he thinks I’m a nag too. I’m actually a worrier. Really, though, use my friend for your suit. She’ll do a good job, and I’ll feel better.”
“I suppose if I don’t, you’ll spill french fries down it.” The card she’d given him was burning a hole in his jacket pocket. That he wasn’t wearing the jacket at the moment didn’t matter. He knew the card was there, like a lure.
She laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a woman laugh. He liked the sound of hers. He liked the nagging. Or worrying. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had worried over him, either. It was nice.
He left her on the concourse, reluctantly, but with a small smile as he entered the stadium proper. He slipped on his slightly damp jacket and climbed the concrete steps to his seat. The small contingent above him, he saw, noticed him immediately. He realized he still had no idea who these three older women were and what their relationship was to Elaine Sampson. Nice name, he thought. Her son glanced at him, then looked back to the action taking place on the diamond. She was setting a fine example, he thought, because the boy seemed well mannered. He wondered what the father had been like.
He settled down next to Ed again. “Did I miss anything?”
“Just another homer, honey,” came a voice behind him.
He turned slightly to see the black woman better. She was grinning knowingly at him. “Thanks.”
He turned back around in time to see Elaine stroll out of the concourse entrance. She was munching on her french fries as innocently as any teenager. And she looked so damn good.
“She bought french fries!”
Howls of indignation went up behind him, along with vows to make Elaine share her goodies. Graham found himself smiling smugly. He’d gotten one first, when it was still hot.
All of a sudden he heard a loud smack. The crowd was up and screaming. Graham stood more out of curiosity than interest. Another home run by one of the Phillies. He had to say the team was giving the fans their money’s worth tonight.
He glanced over some heads to the aisle, expecting to see Elaine still making her way up the stairs. Instead, to his astonishment, she was standing in the middle of the aisle, next to a stranger, doing some kind of dance.
As her hips rocked from side to side, she pointed her forefinger above her head, then brought it down diagonally across her body and up again, in counterpoint to her swaying hips. She did it with such abandonment that all kinds of images rocked through his brain, most of them requiring two bodies in a horizontal position. The people all around him started chanting, “Whoomp! There it is!” over and over as they did the same strange dance as Elaine.
She was like no other mother he had ever known. Somehow she had roused an entire group into whatever ritual they were doing, and she hadn’t spilled one french fry in the process.
He liked her for that too.
Elaine knew exactly the moment when Graham Reed and his companion “suit” had left at the start of the eighth inning. It was as if a hard wall suddenly crumbled around her. She didn’t know why she was disappointed that he hadn’t stayed for the end of the game, nor did she understand why she had pushed so hard for him to take advantage of her offer. It was true that she needed to ensure Anthony learned to correct his mistakes and treat other people’s property with respect, but maybe she’d been too extreme this time.
More important, Graham Reed was dangerous. He was too sophisticated for her, too smooth, too corporate. Even in the rest room he’d been composed, never showing anything beyond initially being startled. And afterward, when they’d stood together on the concourse …
She wasn’t ready to think seriously about men again. Granted, there hadn’t been anyone about whom she could think seriously. Bill Voss, who taught eighth-grade math, was single and nice, yet he had never caused a ripple of attraction in her. But this Graham Reed, he could light fires without moving a muscle. That sort of man didn’t instill notions of stability in a woman. Elaine told herself she should be grateful he thought she was a klutzy nut.
“Strike three!” Cleo shouted. The fans roared to their feet as the last out of the top of the ninth inning was made. The Phillies had won. Elaine’s attention went back to where it belonged.
She rose, applauding with the rest of the members of the Widows’ Club.