Michael’s team won the game by one run. Savannah didn’t give her son credit for the win—he’d certainly made his share of errors during the three innings he played—but she was proud of his performance nevertheless. And she could tell from his smile when he looked at her through the wire that he was, too.
She knew he was thinking that he wished Kit could have been there to see him. It was a sentiment Savannah shared.
There was a rush to exit the park by spectators hoping to avoid getting caught in traffic. Savannah, Miranda and Ernestine waited a few minutes until some of the pandemonium had subsided before walking down the bleacher steps toward the field where Michael waited for them. Family and friends of Michael’s teammates had also gathered around the gate, congratulating the team on its win, talking brightly among themselves.
Savannah noted that Michael stood to one side of the crowd, surrounded by several other boys, Nick Whitley among them. Looking more closely at her son, Savannah tensed. She could see that her son’s adolescent temper was about to blow. She sent mental warnings to Michael not to let the other boys’ teasing get to him.
Apparently, his ESP wasn’t working that afternoon. Before Savannah could move to intercede, Michael flew at Nick with flailing fists. They tumbled to the dirt, wildly throwing punches while their teammates gathered around to shout encouragement. Ernie Whitley turned from a heated discussion with the coach and ran toward the brawling boys. Savannah groaned and hurried after him, aware that her mother and daughter were right on her heels.
A couple of fathers had jumped in to break up the fray. Michael wasn’t cooperating. He continued to yell at Nick, doing his best to break away from the restraining hands. Savannah and Ernie Whitley reached their boys at the same time.
“Michael!” Savannah scolded. “What in the world has gotten into you? You know better than to behave this way.”
His hand on Nick’s shoulder, Ernie Whitley snorted. “You’re the one who’s always acting like your boy is too good to hang out with mine. Like mine’s going to be a bad influence on him or somethin’. Well, it wasn’t my boy who just threw the first punch, and there are plenty of witnesses to that.”
“I’m sorry,” Savannah said, mortified at the very public scene and painfully aware of all the eyes upon them. “I don’t know what got into him.”
“Don’t apologize to him, Mom,” Michael said angrily. “You didn’t hear what Nick was saying about you. And his father’s been saying it, too.”
“I don’t care what he was saying,” Savannah retorted. “There is no excuse for this fighting.”
“He called you a tramp!” Michael’s infuriated shout carried clearly through the crowd that had gathered around them. Several people gasped.
Savannah looked involuntarily at Ernie, her eyebrows rising. “I—er—”
“Well, she’s carrying on with that Hollywood guy and everyone knows what they’re like, huh, Dad?” Nick said smugly. “Dad said any woman who’d have kids without getting married will probably sleep with anybody. Didn’t you, Dad?”
Ernie Whitley looked chagrined that his son had repeated his unkind remarks. “Shut up, Nick,” he growled, shaking the boy’s shoulder a bit too roughly.
“Well, it’s true,” Nick said, ignoring his father to glare at Michael. “You’ve been bragging like you’re such hot stuff ‘cause your mom’s been hanging out with Christopher Pace. You’ve been acting like he’s going to be your dad or something. Well, where is he now, huh? You said he was going to be here, but I don’t see him. He got what he wanted and then he went back to those Hollywood babes, just like my dad said he would.”
A ripple of murmurs went through the avidly eavesdropping crowd.
Coach Bettencourt stood between the boys, g
ravely shaking his head. “You boys know the team rules about fighting. Michael, you’re going to have to sit out the next game on the bench.”
“That’s not fair,” Miranda said with a gasp, stepping up from behind Savannah, shrugging off her grandmother’s restraining hand. “Why would you punish Michael and not Nick? Nick’s the one who started the fight.”
“Michael threw the first punch,” Bettencourt insisted. “He knows fighting is against team rules.”
“I bet you wouldn’t let someone talk about your mother like that,” Miranda snapped, throwing a disdainful look at Lucy Bettencourt. “’And she’s the worst gossip in town. She’s been talking about my mother, too, but it isn’t true. My mom’s the best, and Kit will be back. He promised.”
Savannah was trying to think of something to say that would effectively put an end to this humiliating debacle when she heard a familiar voice from close behind her.
“Yes, I did promise, didn’t I? And it looks like I got back just in time.”
Miranda whirled, her face lighting up. “Kit!”
Michael dropped his fists, his eyes going wide in his dirt-streaked face. “Kit.”
Savannah turned more slowly.
Kit was there, standing only a few feet away from her, his dark hair tousled by the summer breeze, his feet planted firmly on the packed dirt of the ball field, his hands resting on his hips in a true pirate’s stance. He didn’t look like a man to be trifled with as he glanced from Savannah to Ernie Whitley.
“Is there a problem here?” he asked softly.
THE SPECTATORS fell back, silently clearing a path between Kit and Ernie Whitley.