Perfect Pitch by Mindy Klasky Page B

of the back row and lean against each other for the entire movie.”
    “Sounds like fun. But I can do without the ice cream today.”
    “What’s your favorite flavor?”
    “Butter pecan,” he said. “But for years, I just ordered a mint chocolate chip for Trey and ate what he couldn’t finish.”
    They talked about ice cream and movies and childhood memories until she couldn’t disguise her yawns anymore.
    “Sweet dreams,” he whispered. They counted to three out loud and hung up at the same time.
    * * *
    The second night, she was apprehensive. The Rockets had played a miserable game, huddling in the dugout, pulling their coats close whenever they weren’t forced out into the field. Chicago had won, eight, zip.
    DJ sounded tired, but he answered after the first ring. “Tell me your day was better than mine.”
    “I’m sure it was,” she said. “I went grocery shopping. And I did my laundry.”
    “Tell me about your laundry,” he said. “What color are your panties?”
    “DJ!”  
    He laughed wearily. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”
    “I just might,” she said tartly. And then, because she was afraid to let the conversation linger there, she said, “Come on. Tell me about your best day ever.”
    “Ever?” She heard the surprise in his voice, and there was silence as he obviously considered her question. “Best day ever,” he said. “Had to be when I got The Call. The day Coach told me I was going to play in the majors.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    And he did. He seemed to remember every detail—where he was, how it felt to hear the news, the fellow minor league players who congratulated him with a mix of joy and jealousy. “Okay, sweetheart,” he said at the end of his story. “I showed you mine. You show me yours.”
    His endearment was casual, tossed off in keeping with the comfortable tone of their chat. But she couldn’t deny that his words warmed her from within. She swallowed hard before she said, “My father took us to Disney World, in Florida. He was about to be deployed, and we were changing bases stateside. But we had two whole days to spend in the park, from Sleeping Beauty’s castle to the Pirates of the Caribbean. The last thing Dad did as we left was buy me a giant sucker, one of those swirled things in every color of the rainbow. It was as big as my head, and I refused to take it out of its plastic. I kept it in a box under my bed for years. Until I went to college, actually.”
    “And the ants didn’t get it?”
    She laughed. “You’re such a romantic! No, the ants didn’t get it. I never really thought about that. I guess I just knew it would be safe. It had to be, because my father got it for me. Unconditional father love, or something like that.”
    * * *
    DJ heard a thousand conversations in the tossed off words: Something like that. Sam’s laugh seemed designed to ease the sting of her poignant thoughts. She continued to talk about her father, about the man who had dragged his family halfway around the world, time and time again. It had to be a pain in the ass to move so often, but Sam didn’t seem to hold it against him. Instead, apparently loved her father. Respected him.
    He sipped from his glass of bourbon and willed himself to relax in the faux leather armchair. He rarely raided the hotel minibar, but this night felt like a celebration. He’d spent the entire day looking forward to calling Sam. He’d imagined her voice, sweet and dark, like the whiskey he now swirled around ice cubes.
    Sure, the team had blown it that evening. Yeah, he had to pitch tomorrow, with his arm a little tight after eighteen complete innings in his last two starts. Of course, Pop hadn’t bothered to call, hadn’t deemed two complete games worthy of picking up the phone. Only one of those games had been perfect, after all.
    But none of that mattered when he pictured Sam on the other end of the line. He fed her another question, asked for more details, anything to keep her