Page 6

Chapter Six

Cat

The surprise on David’s face when he learned I would be the person ‘harassing’ him about his social media was like a punch to the gut. He covered it up with a joke, but something was lingering in his eyes that made my stomach sink.

Why did Logan have to be the one to let the cat out of the proverbial bag?

It’s not like I did anything wrong by not telling him, but this isn’t how I wanted him to find out.

I had planned to talk to Travis first so I could get a better understanding of what the organization wants from the players they selected.

More specifically, from David. That way I had a game plan when I approached him with ideas and suggestions.

It’s easy to see why the Smokies picked Logan Miles as one of their players to spotlight. His smile could charm the pants off anyone, plus he’s easy-going and a straight shooter. The anchor of the team, they say. Not to mention, he enjoys the social interaction.

I haven’t met Evan Hanson or Justin Ingram, the Smokies’ first baseman or center fielder, but from a brief perusal of their social media accounts, they approach it the same way Logan does.

But David was picked for a very different reason. Like Logan, he’s easy on the eyes; unlike Logan, he has a compelling backstory that pulls people in.

Where Logan is all smoothness and ease, David is distant and closed off.

Logan is single and ready to mingle. David is a committed father and widower, there to get a job done.

He needs a careful approach—one that addresses the grief but doesn’t live in it. We need to share his story in a way that brings all he’s accomplished to life despite the tragedy he’s experienced.

This is the strategy I wanted to take before I knew it was the David James I grew up with. Now that I know he’s ‘my’ David, the ‘how’ I get this done is even more important to me.

I can’t imagine losing your wife when your daughter is a toddler and you’re at the height of your career. Then, not only do you continue to play, but you become one of the best players in the league on both sides of the ball.

I understand grief and what it can do to a person.

My life was upended when my parents got divorced, and I moved from the only home I had known.

It took me years to pull myself together and feel normal.

My Aunt Dottie was the light in my darkness when it felt like my parents abandoned me. I had her.

Who would I be today if she hadn’t been there? A shiver runs through my body gripping my gut.

Tears prick the back of my eyes knowing she’s gone. She’d be the first person I’d call to bounce ideas off about all of this. And I know she’d give me some wise words that would make everything better.

My throat tightens. “Gosh, I miss her.”

Like David, I’ve lived through grief, and I know what it can do to you. That’s why I want to be clear on what the team wants from him. He needs a special touch and a careful plan if this is going to be successful.

And it has to be. My job depends on it.

I just need to make sure we protect him and Scarlett while highlighting their life together. Their adding a dog to their family could help with where we focus.

The corner of my mouth tugs up when I think of Scarlett. She left an impression. It’s possible she could even be a bigger draw than Logan when people get an inside glimpse.

Her and Emmy together? We might just have something magical on our hands.

Hitting the call button on my steering wheel, I say, “Call Travis Foster.”

The phone rings through my speakers a few times before Travis’s playful voice picks up. “I was wondering when you’d call after Logan spilled the beans.”

“I had planned on waiting till tomorrow, but you know how I am.”

“I’m learning,” Travis laughs, his voice turning serious. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you know about David’s wife, Fiona, and her illness?” Knowing more will help me form a game plan.

“Very little,” Travis explains. “I wasn’t here when all of that went down. I started with the Smokies a year or two after her death, and by then he was back to the same level of play before they found out she was sick.”

Well, I guess talking to Travis isn’t going to be as helpful as I had hoped.

“Finn Mitchell, David’s agent, is probably who you’ll want to talk to for any of that information.”

“Finn Mitchell,” I slowly roll the name off my tongue, knowing it sounds familiar but drawing a blank as to why.

“Yeah. His name probably sounds familiar because he’s been in a local gossip column with a few of his other clients.” Travis’ voice carries a hint of humor.

“Wait! Finn ‘The Matchmaker’ Mitchell?” I sputter.

“That’s the one!”

I’m intrigued already. “I’ll double-check with David to make sure he’s comfortable with me talking to him. But I definitely think Finn’s perspective will be helpful.”

My heart flutters at the thought of spending time with David, alone. Well, alone with Scarlett and Emmy. I huff a laugh, and the corners of my eyes crinkle. Those two girls are probably driving him crazy.

The moment my gaze connected with the frazzled man running his hand through his hair, I knew I wanted to get to know him better.

“You work fast!” Travis’ voice pulls me back to our conversation.

“You hired me to do a job, and I have no intention of doing it half heartedly.” Even if my heart might be more involved with my work than usual. “Hey, I gotta go. Thanks for picking up, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Call anytime,” Travis chirps.

Three beeps spill through the speaker as I pull into the medical center’s full parking lot. My pulse races, and without thinking, I park in the first space available. Opening the email confirming my appointment, I refresh my memory for Dr. Carlson’s suite number.

When I get to the building entrance, I run up the last three steps and hold the door for an elderly couple.

“Thank you, dear.” Smiling, I let them walk out before stepping in and reading the list of names on the bulletin until I find Dr. Carlson’s name on the list.

When I reach his office, the door swings open in my face. I back up to let the person coming out through before putting my hand on the door and stepping over the threshold.

Elevator music plays through the speakers, and I cringe. I know it’s supposed to be relaxing, but I personally hate it. Laughter rings out from behind a glass divider, and I turn to find an older woman saying something to one of her co-workers before she turns her welcoming smile to me.

“May I help you?” Her sparkling green eyes are warm, and I immediately feel the knots in my stomach loosen.

“I’m Catherine Bailey. I have a five-thirty appointment with Dr. Carlson.” She picks up a clipboard with paperwork and a pen and slides it across the desk.

“Take a seat over there and fill these forms out.” Following her finger, I see some empty seats lined up against the wall. “Bring them back when you’re done.”

Heading in the direction she pointed, I sit down and place my purse on the empty seat next to me. Giving the form a cursory glance, I recognize it’s identical to nearly every other one I’ve completed over the last few years.

A short time later, I hand the clipboard back to her. “Here you go.”

“Perfect.” Her soft gaze is like a shot of calming juice and another knot loosens. “One of the nurses will call you from that back door when they’re ready for you.”

“Thank you.” I look over my right shoulder at the door in the corner, nod, and walk back to my seat. Before I settle in, I hear my name called.

“Catherine Bailey?” I glance up to find a different woman looking over the room.

When I meet her gaze, she smiles, and gestures for me to come to her.

I head the short distance and we walk into the back of the office.

Turning right she ushers me into the first room.

“You can make yourself comfortable. Dr. Carlson will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you so much.” My phone rings and I rip it out of my purse, notice the unknown number again before silencing it. “Sorry.” I give her a sheepish grin.

The door closes, and I look closer at the number calling me. It’s the same one as before. Whoever this is is persistent. Hopefully, they leave a voicemail. I drop the phone in my purse just as the doctor comes through the door.

“Catherine,” Dr. Max Carlson is all ease and warmth, just like Dr. Hall said he would be. “It’s so nice to meet you. Mike, I mean, Dr. Hall and I talked about your case extensively, so I’m all caught up.”

My mouth curls up. This man has a way about him that makes a person feel like they’ve known him for years.

“How have you been feeling?” I fill him in on the episode I had the other day at the shelter.

His forehead draws together as he flips through my medical records.

Once he finds what he’s looking for, his face relaxes.

“Looks like Mike, sorry, Dr. Hall started you on the highest dosage of Levothyroxine for your body weight because of how low your thyroid hormone levels were. It was effective, but not necessarily how I would’ve handled it.

Luckily, that's something we can easily adjust. How have you been feeling otherwise?”

“Honestly, I’ve been feeling great.”

Three years ago, I found myself lacking energy, depressed, and having trouble remembering things. Aunt Dottie had just gotten sick, and I was spending a bunch of time taking care of her and assumed that was the reason.

When I went in for my annual visit, I told Dr. Hall about my symptoms. Like me, he thought it was just the stress from everything happening.

But to be on the safe side, he ordered some bloodwork.

The results came back normal. A year later and still complaining of the same symptoms, with a few more added to the list, Dr. Hall did additional blood work.

Once he started looking at the TSH and the Free T4 and T3, we found that the root cause was hypothyroidism.

“My energy levels are back to normal, the achiness is gone, and I can remember things again.” A smile crosses his face, and he chuckles.

“So I won’t have to worry about you remembering my name?” Dr. Carlson quirks a brow making me chuckle.

“No worries about that at all.”

“Wonderful. Let’s try this. I want you to cut back your prescription from 125 mcg to 120 mcg. And let’s see if that tiny switch helps with the dizziness.”

He scribbles on a prescription pad before handing it over to me. “Schedule another appointment in eight weeks, and a few days before you come in, you’ll need to stop at the lab for some bloodwork.”

“Sounds good.”

“Just go up front, and Sue will get you all set.” Dr. Carlson leads me into the hallway and points to a door about five feet away. “Oh, and is it Catherine or Cat?”

“Catherine, but my friends call me Cat,” I say, a smirk creeping up my face.

“Cat it is,” Dr. Carlson smiles back.

On my way home, the phone rings again with the same unknown number. Staring, I debate whether or not to pick it up. It’s the third time they’ve called in almost two hours. Chewing my lower lip I hesitate before curiosity wins out.

“Hello?”

“Catherine Bailey?” A calm male voice asks, causing my heart rate to spike.

“Yes?” I answer, hesitantly, gripping the steering wheel, trying to figure out if I recognize the voice.

“This is Anthony Rossi, Dorothea Lambert’s probate attorney. I’m reaching out to you about your Aunt’s will. Is now a good time to talk?”

“I’m sorry.” My brows knit together. “Did you say probate attorney?”

“Yes,” he responds kindly. “And I’m so sorry for your loss. Dottie was a wonderful woman.”

“She was.” My throat tightens, and the back of my eyes sting. “I’m driving at the moment. Is there any way I can call you back?”

“Sure.” I hear the rustle of paper and can only assume he’s flipping through a paper calendar.

My cheeks pull up. Of course, Aunt Dottie would only work with someone who still wrote things down.

“I am heading out of the office shortly, but I’ll have time tomorrow, earlier in the day. Does that work?”

“I can call you before I head into the office. Will that be enough time?”

“Most likely, unless you have more questions than the norm.” A door opens, and muffled talking follows before he comes back on the phone. “Sorry about that. My daughter is reminding me that we’ll be late for her practice if I don’t hurry up.”

A wide grin crosses my face. Mr. Rossi is younger than I initially thought. That will teach me to judge a person’s age by a paper planner. “Well, then I will let you go. I don’t want to keep your daughter waiting.”

“No, we don’t.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “That would not be a good thing.”

“Well, you enjoy practice and I’ll call you first thing tomorrow. Thank you, Mr. Rossi.”

“Please, call me Tony. And I will be here to go over your aunt’s will and answer any questions. Without distractions.”

“Great. Thanks again. And have a good night.”

Right before I disconnect, I hear a teenager yelling ‘Dad!’ loudly in the background. An image of a teenage girl with red hair pops into my head.

Huffing out a short breath, I shake off whatever that image means.

My relationship with David is strictly business. Even if he does still cause butterflies to swarm in my stomach and has a daughter who’s completely enchanted me.