Page 110 of Holding On To Good

“In the morning,” Willow clarified as Verity chomped on her chip. “I thought the concession stand sold breakfast sandwiches.”

“You don’t eat breakfast sandwiches at a ballgame,” Verity told her with just enough teenage disdain to remind one and all that her oft-repeated rallying cry of I’m an adult wasn’t exactly true. “You eat hot dogs and peanuts and popcorn.” She picked up another chip. “And nachos.”

If ever Verity had ever uttered a statement that proved she’d been raised by five brothers, that was it.

“I’ll stick to coffee,” Willow said, reaching for the large caramel macchiato she’d picked up at Sacred Grounds on the way to the park. “But thanks.”

Verity shrugged and lowered the basket. “Suit yourself.” She turned to her right and leaning forward, held the basket out to Miles who sat on Toby’s other side. “Want some?”

“Yeah,” Miles said, setting his own cup of concession stand coffee between his feet. “Thanks.”

“Get that crap out of my sight,” Toby grumbled.

Which, of course, only made Miles take his sweet time picking out a chip.

“Relax,” Verity told Toby. “They’re not going to attack you and force you to swallow their delicious, cheesy goodness.”

“That’s not cheese. Real cheese doesn’t come in neon.”

“It may not be real,” she said while Miles helped himself to another one. “But it’s tasty. Oh, there’s Kat.” Verity stood. Waved her free hand. “Kat! Up here.”

Katarina glanced up, a pair of aviators on, the sun glinting off her hair, making the black of it seem blue. But she must have been looking at them because she returned Verity’s wave. Men either openly stared or sent furtive, appreciative glances as she made her way up the bleachers in her skin-tight, faded jeans, loose, pink, scoop-necked shirt and high heeled peep-toe booties, her long braid swaying down her back.

Women sneered or pointedly pretended she didn’t exist.

Halfway up, one side of Katarina’s top slid down, exposing a golden shoulder. Large, gold hoops dangled from her ears.

One of these moms was not like the others.

Katarina made her way down the bleachers in front of them, stopping to accept Verity’s cheery good morning and warm hug before stiffly returning the rest of their friendly greetings and sitting in front of Verity, shoulders rigid, back ramrod straight, attention firmly on the field.

Willow had long ago given up trying to befriend her. Although it had taken a couple of years before she got the message: She and Katarina were not going to be having sleepovers, braiding each other’s hair and sharing secrets anytime soon.

What could she say? She was a middle child, through and through. She wanted everyone to like her.

The players raced into the dugout then returned to the field a minute later to line up along the first and third baselines, caps in hands, covering their hearts as the National Anthem played over the loudspeaker. When it was done the kids, along with eighty-three-year-old Larry Regis, the announcer, and most of the spectators, shouted Play Ball!

Miles helped himself to another chip, dropping cheese onto Toby’s jeans.

“Shit,” Toby muttered, grabbing a napkin from the pile next to Verity to wipe the offending non-cheese away. “Watch what you’re doing.”

Two rows down from them, a gray-haired woman turned to glare at him.

“Good morning,” Verity said to her joyfully. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

The woman literally harrumphed and turned around.

“Small towns,” Verity said around a mouthful of chips. “So friendly.”

Miles reached for another chip and Toby shoved his arm away. Then, because Willow figured it was physically impossible for him not to, he shoved his brother again, this time with both hands so that Miles almost toppled off his seat.

Eyes narrowed, Miles straightened. “Knock it off.”

And he gave Toby a responding shove, aiming it so that Toby leaned back and not into Verity from its force.

With a maternal sounding sigh, Verity stood and sent them both a fierce, scolding frown. “Swear to God, you two are worse than a couple of toddlers.” She stepped over Toby’s legs. Pushed on his shoulder. “Move over.”

He scooted closer to Willow and Verity sat between him and Miles, an effective—although temporary—buffer.

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