Last Chance Book Club(14)
Author: Hope Ramsay

“In my case, all the scouts predicted that I’d make it to the Baseball Hall of Fame. But instead I ended up in the Hall of Shame. And you were the golden girl who could do no wrong. You were expected to be anything that you set your heart to be.”

“Dash, please. Stop.”

He shook his head. “No. You listen. I arrived in Last Chance with a chip a mile high, and I guess I must have left here with the same chip, even though Uncle Earnest tried his best to knock it off some. See, he always expected me to grow up to be more than just a great ball player. He wanted me to be a good, strong, kind man. Uncle Earnest was a man like that. He was the only one in this town who expected anything from me, and I promised myself I would never let that man down. Unfortunately, I ended up doing just that. Many times. And I’m not like him in any way that matters.”

She lost the battle against her emotions the minute Dash started talking about Granddaddy. Her eyes filled up with tears, and her throat felt so tight she didn’t think she could breathe for the longing Dash raised in her. Oh, God in Heaven, she missed Granddaddy. His absence was like a hole in her life; and it seemed like Dash felt the same way.

She looked down at the book. “So this is about Granddaddy, then.”

“No, ma’am, it’s about you.” He took a deep breath and let it out softly. “Savannah, if it’s your dream to run a dinner theater, then you should pursue it like nothing else in this world, no matter what I say, or your momma says, or what anyone else in the world says. That’s what it means to believe in your dreams.”

She looked up, losing the battle with her tears. “But it’s beyond me. What if I fail—”

“Hush now.” His finger brushed over her lips, sealing the doubts inside. “Babe Ruth used to say, ‘Never let the fear of striking out get in your way.’ I believe no truer words were ever said.” He managed a soft smile, so much more intimate than the grin he usually gave her. His thumb rode back over her cheek again, knocking away teardrops. “I declare, Miz Savannah, you look like some kind of refugee from a flour factory. I guess that means there will be pie for dinner?”

Good Lord, what on earth was she doing? His comments about pie pulled her right back into the real world where she had more problems than just a business plan for The Kismet and her growing appreciation for her cousin Dash.

She had a mother who was on the warpath. Ex-in-laws who were unhappy with her. An aunt who was losing her grip on reality. A son who needed discipline and exercise. And if that wasn’t enough to keep her busy, Reverend William Ellis—who seemed like the kind of sane and well-adjusted man any right-minded woman should adore—was coming to dinner in less than two hours.

She took a step back, putting much-needed distance between herself and Dash, breaking the physical connection that had so clouded her senses. She sniffled and wiped the tears away with the palm of her hand. “Look at me. I’m a mess. And I promised myself years ago that I’d never let you make me cry again.”

He leaned his shoulder into the porch column, his gaze narrowing. “I can see you’re never going to forgive me. And I probably deserve your resentment. You and I are like oil and water. We’d make terrible partners. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t follow your dreams. There are lots of ways to raise money. You just need a business plan first.”

And with that, he turned away from her and went back to his table saw. She headed toward the door, opening it and hollering up into the darkness at the head of the stairs. “Todd, where are you? Dash is down here waiting for you. We’ve got company coming, and the porch step needs to be fixed before dinner.”

For some reason, Aunt Mim put Dash at the head of the table. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable place for him.

Bill ended up sitting in Dash’s regular seat. And then Savannah put the bouquet of bright pink flowers that Bill brought right in the middle of the table. Those bright blossoms mocked Dash the way a sixty-mile-an-hour curveball mocks a serious power hitter. Dash felt like the lesser man. Even if he was seated at the head of the table.

He tried to focus on the dinner Savannah had cooked. The food was unbelievably good. But it all turned to ashes in his mouth when Bill took one taste of Savannah’s biscuits, closed his eyes as he chewed, and then pronounced: “This is the bread of angels.”

Savannah blushed to her hairline, lapping up the compliments like a hungry cat laps milk.

Dash took up his knife and attacked his roast. Damn it. Savannah’s biscuits were like manna from Heaven. And for some immature reason, Dash didn’t want to share them with Bill.

Bill started talking about the building committee down at the church, and how Hettie was helping with their fund-raising efforts. The church was in desperate need of more Sunday School space, what with all the new folks moving into the area because of deBracy Ltd.

Bill was a relentless fund-raiser, and Dash had already contributed generously—because Hettie had asked him to. Dash begrudged the time Hettie spent with Bill. And if he were a smart or devious man, he would probably try to encourage this thing between Savannah and the preacher. Maybe if Bill was busy eating Savannah’s sweet buns, Hettie would have more free time. Maybe Dash could screw up his courage and ask Hettie to go out riding with him one afternoon.

He rolled this idea around in his head and decided that it wasn’t going to work. For one thing, he hated the idea of Bill and Savannah being together, even though they probably deserved each other. And for another, the idea of asking Hettie to go riding scared the bejesus out of him.

He chewed his roast and pushed these sour thoughts to the back of his mind. He looked up and turned his attention to Todd, who sat to his right. One glance at the kid told Dash that Todd wasn’t paying any attention to his dinner or the minister. When that boy ignored his mother’s pot roast with gravy and biscuits, it had to be a sign of trouble. The kid was looking down at something in his lap.

At first, Dash thought it might be the dog. But Champ had been left in the mudroom off the kitchen, seeing as the puppy was not quite housebroken.

It was probably the infernal PSP.

Dash speared a bite of potato. He ought to do something about Todd’s behavior, but heck, Bill was so boring Dash understood why the kid had tuned him out.

Just then the biggest, most sustained, practically melodic fart erupted from the kid’s general direction.

Everyone turned to look at Todd. The kid started giggling, tears in his eyes, his cheeks pink.

“What in the world?” Miriam said.

Another fart erupted. This one was high and tight enough to classify as a soprano fart.

“Todd Avery White, what do you have in your hands?” Savannah descended on her child like an avenging angel. She snatched away the iPhone the kid was playing with.

“Did you take this out of my purse?”

Todd shrugged.

She looked down at the phone, and her face got deliciously pink. It was kind of fetching. “What is this?”

“It’s a fart app,” the kid said, barely constraining his mirth.

Dash bit his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. He failed, and Savannah rounded on him. “You. You have a lot of nerve laughing at his bad behavior after what you said this morning. Honestly, this is just the kind of stupid and immature thing you used to do.” She turned toward Bill. “I’m sorry, Reverend. The two of them are incorrigible.”

“The rod and reproof give wisdom: but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame,” the minister intoned. It was truly irritating the way Bill could come up with Bible verses on command.

Savannah turned and glared at the minister. Boy howdy, she was some kind of protective mother.

“I don’t agree with spanking,” she said in a quiet voice. She had told Dash much the same thing this morning. And she’d shamed him with her disapproval. She’d made him think.

And Dash had come to the conclusion that Uncle Earnest’s approach was way better than his grandfather’s approach had ever been.

Right now, she was giving the minister the same evil eye she’d given him this morning. It evened up the score a little bit.

“Contrary to the prevailing opinions at this table, I do believe in discipline,” she said in a strong, tough voice. She turned toward Todd. “You are excused from the table, young man. Go to your room and write a sincere apology to the minister. It had better be at least five hundred words.”

Dash had to give the kid credit. He didn’t argue with his momma. He didn’t complain. He simply got up and sauntered from the room. There was an unmistakable bounce in the kid’s stride. And he gave the minister the stink eye behind his back.

Good for Todd. Dash didn’t much like Bill either.

Savannah watched Todd leave and then turned toward Dash with another royal glower. Dash had no doubt that she would have sent him to his room, too, if she could have gotten away with it. She sat down, offered Bill another biscuit, and asked him to continue his discussion of the church’s expansion plans.

An hour later, Dash found himself sitting in his regular easy chair in the living room trying to read the Sunday sports page while Aunt Mim watched Miss Marple solve another murder on Masterpiece Theater.

Savannah and the preacher were sitting together out on the porch. Every once in a while, the preacher’s high-pitched laughter made its way through the front windows. The preacher had the goofiest laugh Dash had ever heard in his life.

Dash struggled to pay attention to the article he was reading. But he was antsy. He couldn’t shake this terrible feeling that Savannah’s arrival was pushing him out of the only home he’d ever known. And that scared him. Because he loved Miriam. And losing her would hurt.

Todd came clumping down the stairs. He had a piece of paper in his hand. He sidled up to the chair and leaned on the back. “Any news about the Orioles?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be grounded in your room?”

Todd waved the notebook paper in his hand. “I’ve written my apology.”

Dash squashed down the urge to take the note from the boy and read it. “I hope it’s sincere.”

“I guess.”

“You know if you rile up your momma any more, she’s going to blame me.”

“I noticed. In my apology, I made sure the minister knew that you had nothing to do with the fart app.”

Somehow, the boy’s words calmed Dash’s sudden anxiety. What was it about the kid, anyway? Dash apparently had an ally. It was an odd feeling.

“I really appreciate that, Todd,” he said. “And I gotta say, that whole fart app thing was brilliant, if you ask me. I surely do wish they had had something like that when I was a kid. There were a couple of teachers at Davis High I would have loved to have interrupted.”

This earned him a real smile. Something deep inside Dash’s chest let go. He smiled back.

“I’ll have to show it to you sometime,” Todd said. “But for that, I’ll need to borrow Mom’s phone, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to keep it locked up now.”

Dash pulled out his own iPhone. “Here. Load that app up for me. I can think of a whole lot of uses for it.”