Page 4 of Wild Hit
Okay, I also care about my streak. I just have to pick it back up. My hand rises to the cross to soothe myself.
I nudge Marty with my elbow. “Vamos.”
Sighing, she unbuckles herself and opens the door. I turn off the car and show absolutely no sign of relief at the silence,instead making a quick circle around the car so I can take in her impression.
My daughter is a vault, though. She looks up at the house where we’ll live together for the foreseeable future like it’s the building version of me. Unimpressive.
Should I have bought one of the big ass mansions nearby? But I’ve always wanted her to grow up as normal as possible, even if her dad is an unmarried guy who plays with a ball for a living.
“Why don’t you go in to explore?” I ask her, producing the house keys from my pocket and offering them to her. Her little mouth is a downward arch even as she accepts the offering, and she stomps up the red brick walkway to the entrance.
Placing my hands on my hips, I drop my head with a sigh and wonder how to make things better. Do I need to buy her a freaking pony?
Thesold outsign catches my eye, the red of it in high contrast with the grass background. I would drag my feet if I didn’t care about marring the perfect green blanket, but even when I’m careful pulling the sign off it damages that area.
It’s another metaphor to my life. No matter how good my intentions are with my daughter, I inevitably screw up.
The noise of a door opening distracts me from my private pity party, but it’s not from Marty coming out of the house. Rather, a woman steps out of the duplex next door, in a long-sleeved pajama top like it’s not a million degrees and a hundred percent humidity. She yawns so wide that I can almost see her shoe size, and she scratches her head vigorously, making her mess of blonde hair even messier. If she notices the random 6 foot 4 guy staring at her from the yard next door, she ignores me.
I shrug. So what if our neighbor’s a bit quirky? As far as Florida Woman headlines go, one who wears long-sleevedpajamas in the middle of Florida summer ranks as the milder sort.
I tuck thesold outsign under my arm and head back out to my white RAV4 to get our suitcases out and put the sign away. A soft little grunt comes from somewhere behind me and I try to ignore it… until it comes again. Glancing over my shoulder, I find the neighbor in a one-on-one battle with her mailbox.
“You—friggin’—” She’s pulling at the mailbox’s door with all the power in her body and it doesn’t budge, but if she keeps going she’s going to get herself hurt.
“Excuse me,” I call out. “Can I help you?”
“I’m fine,” she snarls.
“Okay…” I hesitate for a second, but I’m starting to put my money on her and not on the mailbox so I return to my task. My daughter’s suitcases come out first and?—
Something snaps.
The Florida Woman squeals.
It happens in slow motion. The mailbox finally opens—that’s the snapping sound—exploding with more mail than the minuscule box should fit. She loses her grip on the handle and her bunny slipper slides off the edge of the sidewalk. Her arms helicopter around her but the outcome is inevitable. She’s gonna start her day with a bruised tailbone. Unless I catch her.
Before my thinking brain kicks in, the one that rules over every reflex takes over. I’m not far. I can catch her right before she hits the pavement. I stretch out my arms. She can’t see my heroics and keeps trying to save herself.
“Oof!” Me.
“Shit!” Her.
I see stars from one side as her flying hand lands a wild hit on my eye. Stunned, I don’t exactly succeed on my quest and she falls anyway—on me. And I’m the one who lands ass first on the pavement.
After a still second where my face throbs in tune with my butt cheeks, and the figurative dust settles, I run a quick inventory of the rest of my body parts and find: limbs, safe. Head, safe. Family jewels, safe. Pride, very much injured.
Neighbor gasps and scrambles off, finally turning to meet her failed knight.
And her jaw drops.
Not gonna lie, that’s what finally makes me panic. “Please don’t tell me that my eye is hanging out of its socket or something?” I ask, my voice an embarrassing octave higher.
She gasps. “You’re Miguel Machado.”
I snap my own mouth closed. I suppose she wouldn’t care about that if my eye was doing really bad. “Um, yeah.” I clear my throat, forcing my mouth back to normal. “Are you a baseball fan?”
“I, uh—S-Sorry.” She pushes off her hands to get back up, the fight completely gone off her body as she stands there for an awkward moment, clutching at her pajama top. From this close, what seemed like boring polka dots in a light green background are actually tiny bunny heads.
