Page 2 of Caught Stealing

Everywhere I go, I am accosted by people who can’t mind their own business. It isn’t that I’m against the attention from fans, but sometimes a guy needs some quiet time. I can’t help but wonder if things might have turned out differently if I had never pitched in the major leagues before coming down to the Sharks?

A three year stint in the majors was great for my career, but I missed the camaraderie of the minor leagues and asked to be traded back down. I got my wish, but things have been different ever since. For example, people recognizing me.

“You are, aren’t you? You’re Andrew Rossi! Oh my gosh,” the woman squeals and pulls out her phone.

I instinctively tense and shield my shoulder before nodding. I brace for impact while Evalina makes a gagging motion only I can see. It makes me laugh, which is probably a good thing since the woman coming apart at the seams in front of me is less than exciting.

“Oh my gosh! I knew it! Can I get your autograph?” The fan has turned into a teenager, clasping her hands and doing little jumps while barely holding in a squeal. I love my fans just as much as the next guy, but why women resort to this sort of behavior in my presence is beyond me. I’m happy to sign autographs, have pictures, even chat a while, but when they act like this, it’s not enjoyable.

“Sure,” I say, trying to seem happy to be bothered while I’m trying to have a snack.

She leans in and snaps a few selfies when another group of women enters the building. A round of squeals meets my ears before four more women surround me. These must be the first woman’s friends, which means I was pegged the second I walked into the shop.

Or I’m cynical and feeling extra cantankerous while in pain.

I sign shirts, napkins, and even cups for people in the drive through line—all while poor Evalina runs point like a pro assistant. I’m gonna have to give the poor woman a bigger tip, but to deny their requests feels ungrateful. Still, I sure wish I could catch a break. Go somewhere that no one knows me. Meet a woman who doesn’t care that I’m an athlete. In fact, a woman who doesn’t even know who I am would be even better.

By the time I dot the i on my last Rossi, my coffee is cold and my donut is stale. Evalina nods toward the back entrance. I wink, my cue that yes, indeed, I do want to implement a quick escape. I grab my things, smile to the ladies who are still going gaga over me, and make a mad dash for the back kitchen of the shop. The teen boys are still up to their antics so I make sure I’m not quiet about entering. It startles them and they get right to work.

Behind me, Evalina pushes through the same door and sighs. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how you are so patient with them.”

I shrug and immediately wince. “I’m used to it, but today is…you know.”

“Yeah. I got you. They went out the front, so you should be good. Lemme check.” She opens the rear door and peers out, then waves me over. “All clear, and if you hurry, you can make it straight to your truck from here.”

For crying out loud, all I ever wanted to do was play baseball. At no point did I sign up to be some woman’s eye candy. It was definitely those three years in the major leagues. I never should have moved up, but I did what I did and now here I am.

I wave to my fearless assistant and jog to my truck. Once inside, I let out a heavy breath. I’m in pain and grumpy, two things that make me a horrible person to be around right now. Driving home seems like the right thing to do, the only thing to do so I don’t lash out at fans. It isn’t like they’re everywhere, but there is always a chance one will pop up, and I don’t want to be a total jerk to someone. Besides, this pity party needs to end, and the best way to do that is to go chill out and call Owen.

My house sits at the top of a hill in a quaint subdivision just outside of Savannah. My neighbors lost the sparkle in their eyes for me long ago, and now I’m merely one of the people they wave to while walking their dogs or heading to the community pool. My neighbor to the right, Nancy, always does my gardening. I’m a black thumb, but her rosebushes win the neighborhood flower contest every year. When I pull up, she’s weeding my front beds and tossing dead shrubs into the drive.

“Nancy, what a sight for sore eyes.” I throw her a wink while slamming my truck door closed. She’s deaf in her left ear from a boating accident long ago, something I learned the hard way when I approached her last summer from behind. She’s got a killer swat for an older lady.

She grins and brushes her white hair back into her bun. “Andrew, these beds are a mess. I’m sorry it’s been a while since I’ve been over.”

I step beside her and glance at the pile of dandelions and other prickly plants she’s pulled. “Ah, it’s all right. I should have been out here plucking them myself. What are you planting this year?” I ask, instant guilt flooding me because I forgot all about keeping the bed neat so she could design something for the summer.

She taps a gloved finger to her chin and takes in the entire yard. “What would you say to some lavender? It’s a nice pop of color and fragrant. Drought tolerant and keeps the insects and weeds out. Easy for someone who isn’t home much.”

I shrug my good shoulder and pretend I have a clue what lavender looks like. “You’re the pro around here, Nancy. You just tell me when you need my credit card and have fun.”

Nancy beams and pinches my cheek, no doubt leaving dirt smudges on it. “A man who speaks my language. Some lady will be lucky to have you one day.”

“Oh no, I’m lucky to have you. Without you, I’m sure the homeowner’s association would fine me for having shoddy lawncare.”

She slips off her glove and swats at me. “I enjoy the work. Keeps me agile. It’s sure hot out here today though. I think I’ll finish up in the morning, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. Get some rest and cool down. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’m going to make some lemonade and do just that.” She waves and crosses my driveway and heads up into her yard. I make a mental note to do something nice for her. Sure, she loves gardening, but she goes above and beyond to make my yard attractive.

Goblin barks at me from the front window, reminding me he’s been cooped up almost all day. His black nose is pressed against the glass, waiting impatiently for his afternoon walk. Too bad for him, I don’t feel like it today. He’ll have to make do with a good run in the backyard.

The echo of the door unlocking is familiar, but oddly colder than usual. My home is sparsely furnished with white sofas, gold-legged black tables, and black lamps. There is the odd throw rug here and there that my sister insisted on for pops of color, but other than that, my life is monochrome inside and out.

Goblin grumbles and shoves his head against my leg. He’s needy for a German shepherd, but he’s also loyal and good company.

“All right, calm down big man. I’ll let you out.” I open the back door and he bolts to his favorite toy, a kids’ playset with a slide. It was there when I bought the house and I’d planned to tear it down, but after one ride down the slide, I knew I had to keep it for my dog.

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