Page 62 of The Hard Hitter

“It doesn’t seem to be helping.”

“You’re right. I think I should probably make an appointment.” She blinks and shakes her head. “It passed.”

“You sure you don’t want to go back home and lie down?”

“Mom would kill me if we didn’t come.”

“If at any time you don’t feel well, I’ll take you home, Okay? You just say the word.”

She nods, takes the three steps to the front door, and I pull open the screen door and follow her into her parents’ home. I smile as I take it in again. I’d only gotten a fast glimpse when I’d given Mary a ride home. The place is warm, cozy, with lots of pictures of Sam when she was young. This is the kind of house every kid deserves to grow up in.

“Don’t look at those,” she says as we go down the hall toward the kitchen, where I hear a bunch of women talking and laughing. The sound fills my heart with warmth.

“Look, Daisy. That’s Sam when she was your age.”

Daisy giggles, and Sam shoots me a warning glare. I laugh and follow along, and all heads turn our way when we enter the small kitchen.

“We’re here,” Sam says.

“About time,” her mother says lovingly, then her eyes turn to Daisy and me. “Zander, so nice to see you again.” She walks up to me and puts her hands on either side of Daisy’s face. “And who is this precious girl?”

“This is Daisy. Daisy, say hello to Mrs. Peters. Mrs. Peters is Sam’s mom.”

“Oh, phooey, you call me Mary,” she says, and Daisy touches her cheeks, and squeezes them together in guppy manner. Mary laughs and makes guppy faces, and Daisy giggles.

“You look like Andi!”

“Andi is her goldfish,” I explain.

“I love goldfish,” Mary says. Then, taking me by surprise, Daisy holds her arms out for Mary to take her.

The second she does, an instant bond is created between the two, one so strong I feel it all the way to my core. My throat dries as Mary fusses with my girl and carries her to the table, where many of the others are seated and prepping the food. As Mary offers Daisy a small cookie, tells her about the children outside who can’t wait to meet her, I try to breathe, but can’t seem to pull any air into my lungs.

“Zander, you okay?” Sam asks, her eyes moving over mine.

“Fine,” I say, pulling myself together. “Hey everyone, I’m Zander.” I glance at Daisy, who is lost in conversation with Mary, telling her some story about Scotty—and that’s when it really occurs to me that she no longer has a lisp.

She’ll no longer need visits with Sam—which means our time together is up.

“I’m Sam’s boyfriend,” I blurt out.

A brief moment of silence ensues—save for Daisy telling Mary a dramatic story about something Scotty did at daycare—and then a million questions are thrown at us, like how we met, how long we’ve been together, what our future plans are, and if we plan to have children. These women hold nothing back, and that actually amuses me. Sam has good people in her life, people who truly care for her and her well-being, and that makes me happy.

Sam holds her hands up to cut everyone off. “He’s not here for an interrogation. No more questions. Let the poor man breathe.”

“The guys are outside,” Mary says, gesturing toward the patio doors. “Make sure your father is sitting down before you introduce Zander, we don’t need another emergency trip to the hospital.” Mary turns her attention back to Daisy. “Now Daisy, would you be a dear and help us bring the food outside?” Daisy nods, her curls bouncing. “Do you like hot dogs?” Mary asks.

“With ketchup,” Daisy says.

“Perfect,” Mary says as she beams at my child.

“She’s fine here with mom,” Sam says. “Want to go meet the guys?”

I reach for her hand, a public display of affection—something we don’t ever do, except for the time I gave her a comforting hug at the hospital—and she seems surprised at first, but then she softens beneath my touch, likely remembering the rules. But I can’t say for sure I’m holding her hand because we need to touch for show. No, I’m pretty sure seeing Daisy with Sam’s mother, a woman who would dearly love grandkids and would be so amazing with them, is gutting me from the inside out.

Daisy is missing out on so much.

Sam leads me through the back patio door, and the men are joking and laughing. Some are playing horseshoes, or tossing bean bags with the younger kids, and others are standing around the barbecue, talking sports. Sam’s father—and I only assume he’s her father because he’s in a cast—is alternating between flipping food on the grill and drinking a beer with his free hand.

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