Fielder's Choice

  Only one car was parked out in front of the day care center when Matt arrived to pick up Sophie after the game. He walked through a front hall flanked with pegs for coats and lockers for the kids. The place was eerily quiet. He shoved open the double doors at the end of the hall and saw the center director sitting at her desk, chatting on the phone. She waved at him and pointed to where Sophie sat in a corner drawing on a sheet of paper bigger than she was.

  “Nice butterflies,” he said as he sat on the kid-sized stool beside her.

  “Almost.” She pointed to her book. “The wings are the hardest part.”

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s okay.” She tilted her head up at him. “You can make it up by playing your guitar at my new friend Sally’s birthday party. It’s on Saturday.”

  “Road trip on Saturday, honey.”

  Sophie’s face fell. She picked up a colored pencil and began studiously coloring at her drawing. It always made him feel rotten when he had to disappoint her. “But Grandma can take you. She’s coming Friday to watch you for a few days.”

  “I don’t need watching.” She handed him a colored pencil. “You can do the other wing.”

  He felt her eyes on him as he started to color in the wing of the butterfly. It was well drawn, and he felt a stab of pride.

  “Can we go back to the butterfly garden when you get back? I think they need our help. Especially that nice lady. Don’t you think she looks like the Sugar Plum Fairy?”

  “She’s a bit tall for a fairy.”

  “Well, they can change shapes you know. Can we go tomorrow?”

  “I’m picking up Grandma tomorrow. We can go another day.”

  “You always say that.”

  “And don’t we?”

  Sophie gave him one of those smiles that he was sure could charm most anything out of anybody.

  “Most of the time.”

  He looked over to where the center director still talked on the phone. “Wanna head out?”

  “Miss Ellis wants to talk to you,” Sophie said with a nod toward the woman.

  “Think we can slip out?”

  “See? You never want to talk to ladies,” Sophie said in a disapproving whisper. “Told you so.”

  When they got to his car, Matt had the feeling that he’d escaped an awkward conversation. Who knew what Sophie had told Miss Ellis? It wasn’t as if he were some kind of tongue-tied monster.

  He was just a ballplayer, a struggling father, and a man who might not be very adept at talking with the ladies, but who, against his better judgment, very much wanted to do something other than talk with one particular lady.