The Setup and the Substitute by Jiffy Kate

Chapter 2

Owen

Thankfully,Ryan is just happy to see me and oblivious to the turmoil inside my head. After spending practically every waking moment with them from October to February, I miss them so much when I’m away. I loved it, but it made being away from them even harder.

And now that we’re back to being nanny-less, there’s an intense feeling of despair oozing its way through me. That dark cloud that floated in when Lisa left had started to dissipate, but in moments like this, it easily creeps back in.

With my fight-or-flight reaction in overdrive, I start making a mental list of what I need to do first as Ryan recaps his week without me.

The first thing I need to do is call my mom. She or my sister will be my best bet for last-minute childcare. They’re the only two people I’d trust on short notice. With the next away series only six days away, I’ll have to act fast.

The second thing I need to do is jump back into the nanny search.

Fuck.

I don’t say it out loud, because my kids are in that stage where they repeat everything I say. But the expletive runs over and over in my mind until I’m banging the palm of my hand on the steering wheel in frustration.

“Are you okay, daddy?” Ryan asks from the backseat. When I glance in the rearview mirror, I can see him craning his neck to see the road ahead. “Is someone being a jackass?”

Case in point.

“That’s not a nice word,” I say, biting back a smile. I know I shouldn’t laugh when my kids say bad words, but it’s really hard not to. “And everything is fine, buddy.”

“Are we going to Molly’s school?” Ryan asks.

Checking my side mirror, I change lanes and nod. “Yep, and then we’ll go get a treat. How does that sound?”

“Great!” he exclaims, pumping his little fist in the air. “Can we have ice cream?”

Smiling, I nod my head. Ryan loves sweets, but I can’t blame him. We have the best ice cream shop and it’s not too far from Molly’s school. It became a frequent haunt for us during the off-season.

“One scoop,” I tell him, wondering for the millionth time over the past months if I’m doing the right thing.

Will letting my kids have a scoop of ice cream before dinner ruin their appetites?

Are they eating enough fruits and vegetables?

Do they get enough vitamins?

Am I screwing them up by living such a hectic lifestyle?

Did I mention the guilt is strong?

“Were you good while I was gone?” I ask, trying to piece together the events that led up to Marie quitting.

“I was good.”

To say Ryan is truthful is an understatement. He’ll never be the kid who sneaks around or lies because the truth gnaws at him like a flesh-eating amoeba.

“Was Molly good?”

“She didn’t want to go to bed,” he says with a sigh.

“Oh, really?” I hedge, knowing he’ll eventually spill the beans.

“She cried.”

Of course, she did. She’s cried off and on ever since Lisa left, especially at bedtime.

Maybe I should get her a therapist?

I thought she was getting better, but if she’s back to crying at bedtime, that feels like a sign. She could probably use someone to talk to—someone who can help her work through the ramifications of her mom leaving. Even though she was only six, she remembers everything, so much more than Ryan. And it doesn’t matter how many times I tell her it’s not her fault, she knows I’m her dad and that I would say anything to make her feel better.

Abandonment does bad things to kids.

I’ve read books and blogs and everything I can get my hands on, but I’m just a struggling dad who has an insane schedule to keep up with.

“Did you cry?” I ask.

Every time I called to say goodnight, both kids sounded relatively happy. But I know Molly, in particular, puts on a brave face for me. She’s wise beyond her years and she knows how hard it is for me to leave them.

“Nope,” Ryan says.

Glancing in the rearview mirror I catch his proud grin. Most days, it seems like he’s three going on thirty—so smart and witty. One thing I’m grateful for is that Lisa’s desertion didn’t seem to impact him as hard as it did Molly.

“We’re a little early. Let’s park here and wait on her at the bench,” I tell him as I find a parking spot on the street a block or so from the school. “We’ll surprise her.” And maybe we’ll just walk to the ice cream shop from here. I hate sitting in the long-ass line getting back out on the main road.

“Yay!”

As we walk hand-in-hand up the sidewalk, he starts rattling on about his latest cartoon fascination. Sometimes, he starts talking so fast I only understand every other word or so, but it’s enough for me to comment here and there so he knows I’m paying attention.

“What kind of ice cream are you gonna get?” Ryan asks, his feet swinging, as we sit on the bench and I try to just be in the moment, letting all the other bullshit fade into the background.

“Rocky Road,” I answer swiftly. It’s my favorite with the perfect mixture of chocolate, nuts, and marshmallows. And since I’m not three, I might even splurge for a drizzle of hot caramel because this day calls for something a little stronger than one dip of ice cream.

“I’m getting birfday cake,” he says, smiling up at me with a wide grin.

Slipping an arm around him, I pull him close and squeeze him, making him laugh. “Well, I’m probably going to have to steal a bite,” I tell him, nipping at his cheek and making him laugh harder.

Is it bad that I hope he never learns how to say birthday correctly?

I’d also like him to never get too big for me to pick up and carry around.

Molly already feels like she’s on the cusp of becoming a preteen. She just turned six and will be starting first grade next year. It feels like it was just yesterday when we brought her home from the hospital. She was so tiny and seemed so breakable.

I was afraid of everything when it came to her—diaper changes, feedings, burping. Lisa was a little better than I was, but not much. I remember on my first road trip after Molly was born, I tried to get Lisa to travel with me, bringing Molly, but she decided to stay home. On my first night away, she called in a panic, saying Molly wouldn’t eat.

Lisa was in tears and I felt completely helpless. But after we talked for half an hour, she finally calmed down. And once that happened, Molly miraculously started taking her bottle.

Then, with Ryan, it was learning everything over because what they say is true—every kid is different. What works for one doesn’t always work with the other.

When we hear the bell signaling the day is over, Ryan and I stand and walk over to the set of doors Molly usually comes out of after school. In a flash, there’s a horde of children flooding the sidewalk. Some walk over to a line to board buses while others file into another line for car pickup. That’s when I see her.

Pigtails.

Bright blue backpack.

And the signature Thatcher scowl. I wish it wasn’t hereditary, but it is and she is basically me in female form. From her dark hair to her chocolate brown eyes, and even the shape of her nose, it’s all me.

That used to drive Lisa crazy, but I love it. And now that Lisa’s gone, it helps to not have a carbon copy of her staring me in the face every day. But even if she did look exactly like her mother, I’d love my daughter just the same.

“Molls,” I call out, lifting a hand in the air to help her see me better.

Her face lights up and she quickly tugs on a teacher’s sweater to get her attention. With a nod of recognition, she sends Molly on her way. In a half skip, half jog, she bounds down the sidewalk and then practically leaps into my arms.

According to the force of her hug, I’ve been gone to war instead of on a six-day road trip.

“I missed you too,” I say with a chuckle, squeezing her just as tight.

She giggles when I blow a raspberry on her neck, but still doesn’t let go. Times like this is when I know she’s still my baby girl. She may talk like she’s six going on sixteen, and she may want to dress like someone twice her age, but she’s still willing to give her daddy a bear hug on the sidewalk in front of her school.

“Are we just going to stand here hugging all day or are we going to get ice cream?” I ask, glancing down at Ryan, who on cue yells, “ICE CREAM!”

Molly wiggles out of my grasp and slides down until her feet touch the ground. “Ice cream, definitely,” she says, wiping a wisp of hair out of her face.

Taking Ryan’s hand, I reach my other hand out for Molly. “What do you say we walk?”

“Yay!” she exclaims, latching onto my hand and starting into an inquisition. “But where’s Miss Marie?” Why didn’t she pick us up? She said you would be home by dinner…. Oh, and we’re having lasagna. She made it last night—”

“Molly,” a voice calls out behind us.

Turning, I see someone jogging to catch up with us, waving something in the air.

“Oh, Miss Callahan,” Molly says, letting go of my hand and taking off back down the sidewalk.

Glancing up, I get my first real glimpse of Miss Callahan and she’s… well, she’s beautiful. Her long, blonde hair is flowing in waves around her gorgeous face and when she shades her eyes to look up at me, I’m struck with the most stunning baby blues I’ve ever seen.

Definitely not Molly’s teacher.

Nope, I’ve met her teacher and she could be this woman’s mother.

And the most remarkable thing about her is that she even caught my attention, because these days I barely notice people who aren’t in my orbit. Between being a father and a professional baseball player, I don’t have time for anything in between.

Especially women.

“Hi,” she says, breaking me out of my trance and reaching her hand out toward me. “I’m Sophie Callahan, Molly’s teacher… well, substitute teacher. I’ll be here for at least a few more days while Mrs. Smith is recuperating.”

Finally, I take her hand and shake it, trying not to think about how soft it feels or the slight zip of electricity that travels from my palm and through my body.

No, that didn’t happen.

That never happens.

Not to me, at least.

“I’m, uh,” I say, slowly letting go of her hand before I make things awkward… or more awkward. Clearing my throat, I glance down at Molly and then back up at Sophie… Miss Callahan. “I’m Molly’s dad, Owen.”

If I thought she had my attention a moment ago, when she smiles, I can’t look away. Our eyes meet for what feels like a second… or an hour. It’s hard to tell, but then she laughs nervously. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Thatcher.”

“Owen is fine,” I tell her, although Mr. Thatcher coming from her doesn’t sound too bad.

Good God.

I should stop.

“We should go,” I blurt out, pointing over my shoulder.

“Oh, your jacket, Molly,” Sophie says, helping my daughter slip off her backpack and then put the jean jacket on, before readjusting the backpack on her shoulders. When she pulls her into a hug, my chest feels weird. “Have a great weekend!”

“You too, Miss Callahan,” Molly says, waving as we start to walk. “See you Monday!”

“She’s nice,” Ryan comments, breaking the silence after we’ve walked for a block or so. “And she’s pretty.”

“So pretty,” Molly agrees.

So pretty.

Twenty minutes later, while Molly and Ryan are debating the greatness of their choices in ice cream, I sit and enjoy the company of my children. After being on the road for six days, this is a welcome reprieve from the clubhouse and chaos. Don’t get me wrong. I love the game and the guys I play with, but it’s hard to be present there while worrying about what’s happening here.

It’s draining, to be honest.

I don’t even want to think about the next road series, which is only six days away.

I definitely don’t want to think about the exhausting process of finding a new nanny.

But I have to.

It’s my job.

My most important job, above being a pitcher, is being Molly and Ryan’s dad—watching out for them, providing for them.

Once again, I’m crushed under the weight of guilt and questioning.

Am I doing right by them?

Am I screwing them up in the process of trying to provide the best life for them?

“Where’s Marie?” Molly asks, darting her tongue out to lick ice cream off her cone before it drips to the table. “Why isn’t she having ice cream?”

My stomach churns with the truth, but I can’t lie to my kids. “That’s actually something I wanted to talk to both of you about.” After one more bite of Rocky Road to coat the bitterness of my worry, I brace my elbows on the table. “Marie isn’t going to be with us anymore.”

“She quit, didn’t she?” Ryan asks, sounding much wiser than his almost four years.

Glancing over at Molly, I see she’s focused on the ice cream and not making eye contact, so I answer Ryan. “Yeah, buddy, she did,” I say honestly. “It wasn’t working out for her. But she did want me to tell you that she will miss you both and she enjoyed her time with you.”

After a couple minutes, when Molly still won’t look at me, I tap her foot with mine. “You okay?”

Shrugging, she twists her lips and then takes another lick of her ice cream. I was afraid of this, that even though she wasn’t that attached to Marie, she would take her leaving the hardest. Her silence says more than her words ever could and I don’t know what to say to make it any better.

Just when I’m getting ready to try, the bell above the door chimes and in walks the last person I expected to see at the ice cream shop.

Sophie.

No, Miss Callahan.

Or is it Mrs. Callahan?

I didn’t see a ring on her finger, but I guess there’s a chance I might’ve missed it, seeing I was so preoccupied with her other features—stunning eyes, beautiful face, slender figure with curves in all the right places...

When she notices the three of us sitting at the table, her smile nearly steals my breath. With a wink, she walks over and leans down, whispering into Molly’s ear, “Unicorn ice cream is my favorite.”

My daughter’s expression turns from sad and pensive to surprised and happy as she turns and wraps Sophie in a one-armed hug. “Miss Callahan! What are you doing here?”

“This just so happens to be my favorite ice cream shop,” Sophie says, turning to wave at the older guy behind the counter. “I’ve been coming here since I was your age.”

“Really?” Molly’s tone is laced with incredulity, which makes Sophie laugh… and then Molly’s laughing and their combined joy is music to my ears. It’s also kind of amazing to watch how fast my daughter went from shutting out the world to a ball of glorious energy in a matter of seconds.

Kids are resilient. I have to remind myself of that from time to time.

Sure, today might be hard, but this is a moment and it will pass. Watching Molly and Sophie talk about something from school today while Ryan chimes in with his two cents worth makes the bad stuff not seem so bad.

Marie might be gone, but we’ll make it.

“Our nanny quit,” Ryan says out of nowhere.

Sophie’s eyes meet mine and go wide. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

I shrug and run a hand through my hair. “Just wasn’t a good fit.”

“Aren’t you on the road quite a bit?” she asks, walking over to a stack of napkins and grabbing a few to help Ryan with some ice cream that dripped on his shirt.

It’s such a motherly thing to do and I’m hit with a wave of longing, not so much for Lisa, but for that role in my kids’ lives. A simple act like that shouldn’t affect me this way, but it does… literally steals my breath for an entirely different reason. Thankfully, my talkative kids fill in the gap and keep me from looking like an idiot.

“He plays baseball,” Ryan offers, lowering his chin to watch Sophie dab at the spots on his shirt.

“He does, does he?” Sophie asks, glancing back over to me with a smile.

I shake my head as Ryan continues to tell her my life story.

“He used to play in Detroit. Do you know where that is?” he asks but doesn’t leave time for her to reply before he continues. “Then he played in New York. That’s where I was born. And now we moved here.”

“Yes, and he plays for the Revelers,” Molly adds matter-of-factly.

Sophie’s eyes go wide. “Wow, that’s impressive.”

“It’s not rocket science,” I say, fighting the urge to hit her with a smile, because this is my child’s teacher, or at least her substitute, and I’m not going to flirt with her teacher. But somehow that restraint falls flat and I drop my voice low and add with a smirk, “Or shaping the minds of our future generation.”

When her cheeks tinge pink and our eyes lock, I realize she’s even prettier than I initially thought. Those blue eyes that captured me from the get-go are almost translucent, and her nose is covered with light freckles, making her even more endearing.

“You should be our nanny,” Molly says, latching onto Sophie’s arm and looking up at her with pleading eyes—the ones I have the hardest damn time saying no to.

I give Sophie an apologetic smile for my daughter’s lack of boundaries. “Molly, Miss Callahan already has a job.”

“She can be my teacher and my nanny,” Molly says, still holding on for dear life. “Right, Miss Callahan?”

“Well,” Sophie begins, kneeling to get at eye level with Molly and brushing a piece of hair behind her ear, her expression so tender and gentle. “I’ll actually just be filling in for Mrs. Smith for a few more days and then I’ll be off to another assignment.”

When Sophie glances over Molly’s shoulder and our eyes meet again, there’s something else there, like she might want to say yes and take my daughter up on her job offer. But that’s crazy.

She doesn’t know me.

I don’t know her.

My vetting process for nannies is rigorous. There’s no way I’m hiring a substitute teacher on the spot in the middle of an ice cream shop.

Especially one who looks like Sophie Callahan.

That would be a recipe for disaster.