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“Is there any way I can talk to your mom then?” Maybe the woman would be more reasonable than her husband. “Maybe I could meet you somewhere after school.”
“I don’t know. Dad usually picks me up after school." She shrugged. “Although, you can talk to her when she gets here. It’s her weekend to have me.”
“Perfect,” I said, and I joined her by taking a seat next to her. “Guess we’re both waiting for your mom then.”
“Yeah.” She scuffed her toes on the ground and frowned doubtfully as though she were worried about something. “I don’t know if she’ll be late. Sometimes, if she works the night before, she shows up a couple of hours after she’s supposed to.”
“Then I’ll still wait. For as long as it takes.” I leaned on my arms and turned to the side to look at her.
She smiled shyly at me and looked down, watching her knees instead. Sydney was the introverted type, so I didn’t try to force her into a conversation. I just enjoyed a comfortable silence until we saw a Tesla ambling toward us from the top of the hill.
When it reached us, a perfectly poised blond woman got out of the car, holding a briefcase and typing on her phone as she moved. Sydney jumped up to her feet, and I followed her to meet her mother. The woman looked up when we were standing right in front of her.
She raised an eyebrow at me and then rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me he’s started bringing floozies around my child.”
It took me a second to realize what she was talking about, after which I held my hand out defensively.
“No, no. I’m not a floozy, much less your husband’s floozy,” I explained. “My name is Charlotte. I’m your daughter’s basketball coach.”
“Oh,” she said. “I wasn’t aware she had basketball practice at home.”
“She doesn’t,” I said. “I was just in the neighborhood to do…never mind, that’s not important. What is important and what I wanted to talk to you about is to plead with you to re-enroll your daughter in basketball practice. Look, Sydney really loves basketball, and she’s one of the best players on the team.” I glanced at the little girl as I said it, watching her blush. “I think it would really be a shame if she just stopped.”
“Who said she stopped?” Sydney’s mother frowned at me.
Before I could answer, the door swung open again, and Sydney’s dad stood there in his pajamas, his eyes glaring daggers into me particularly.
“I told you that you would be in trouble if I saw you again.”
He stormed toward me, but I didn’t step back. Something happened when he was halfway to me. He froze in step, his eyes darting toward Zane’s door as if expecting a monster to come out. When nothing and no one came out, he swallowed and lowered his hands, quickly composing himself.
“I told you that my daughter was not going to be a part of your stupid team anymore,” Sydney’s dad grouched.
“And who gave you permission to pull her out without rolling it by me first?” her mother countered angrily. “Last I checked, it’s called co-parenting, which means we both make the decisions.”
“Please,” he sneered at her. “As if you give a damn about her. All you do is work.”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”
I nearly whistled to get their attention as I do on the basketball court, but I restrained the urge. I clapped instead.
They both glanced at me. “Sorry to interrupt, but all that is not important right now. Whatisimportant is your daughter. I know you both might not realize it, but some of her happiest times are on that basketball court.” I looked at Sydney, who seemed tired of this. “Taking that away from her would be a crappy thing to do.”
Her mother turned to Sydney. “Is that true, sweetie?” Her voice softened. “Do you want to be on the basketball team that bad?”
Sydney glanced at her father carefully before she nodded.
Her mother nodded, then turned to me. “Expect her there on Monday.”
Her father opened his mouth to say something, but his ex-wife cut him a glare. He bristled in silence instead as he seemed to recognize that he was outgunned. Then, he threw his hands up in exasperation and stormed away.
* * *
I was expectingWorld War Two once I got home.
I just wasn’t expecting a blowout quite like this.
“Who is he?” My mother accosted me the minute I crossed the door, getting right up in my face.
