Evan's
teammates, and just by chance saw a clump of little girls, maybe five, six
years old, leaving another, smaller field. The one in the lead, a cute kid with
a bouncy dark ponytail and skinny legs enveloped in too-big shin guards, was
walking backward and talking to friends. Something about her tugged at Connor's
memory. Big eyes he guessed were dark, a small heart-shaped face and an air of
gravity noticeable even from this distance.
He felt a peculiar thump in his chest, and he immediately
scanned the crowd, looking for someone else. Zofie Stavig's mother.
He found her, walking with another mother, each carrying a
lawn chair in one hand and a cooler slung between them. Even looking at the back
of her head, he was sure it was her.
"Excuse me," he said abruptly, shot to his feet
and was halfway down the terraced slope to the soccer fields before he could
think about what he was doing.
He caught up with the women and said, "Here, let me
carry that."
Their heads turned; Mariah's eyes widened.
"Detective!" she exclaimed.
Now the other woman's gaze was surprised and curious.
"Connor McLean," he said. "I'm with the Port
Dare PD. I can't get Ms. Stavig here to call me by my first name."
She blushed, looking both annoyed and relieved that he'd
gotten her off the hook from having to explain why she knew a cop.
"Lynn Kowalsky."
He and the other mother shook hands.
"I can carry that," he said again, patiently. When
neither woman moved, he grabbed the cooler from them. "Your day to provide
snacks?" he asked.
"Mine," Lynn Kowalsky said. "Mariah was nice
enough to help me struggle across the field. After all, I couldn't watch the
game without my coat, mittens, scarf and chair, too."
He lifted the cooler to his shoulder. "At least it's
sunny."
They walked slowly, a woman to each side of him. He kept
stealing looks at Mariah. She looked … different. Younger, lighter-spirited,
less weighted by the sadness he had sensed in her every time he saw her. She
was even prettier this way, whether because of mood or because of her casual
Sunday clothes: blue jeans, white athletic shoes and a crimson WSU sweatshirt.
Her hair was caught in a ponytail that bobbed at her nape as jauntily as her
cute daughter's did.
On the other hand, Mariah had yet to say a word past that
first exclamation.
Her friend glanced at her, apparently decided she wasn't
going to contribute and chose to play nice. "Do you have a child in
soccer, too?"
"Believe it or not," he said with what he hoped
was a charmingly rueful smile, given to both women in turn, "my niece and
nephew and brother and I brought a picnic to the park today."
Mariah was startled into saying incredulously, "A
picnic?"
"My brother and his wife—they've only been married a
year—went to Victoria for the weekend. My younger brother and I inherited the
kids. My niece plays select soccer, doesn't have a game today, but she likes to
hang out here and watch anyway. My nephew and I have been throwing the
football."
"You don't, um, have kids of your own?" Mariah's
cheeks were still pink, and she sounded shy.
"Nope." But lately he'd realized that he wanted
them. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was cooing over babies, but once in a
while he'd watch John with his kids, or see a father passing with a toddler on
his shoulders, and feel a physical pang of … envy. "I'm not married,"
he added helpfully.
"Oh. I didn't know…" She stopped in apparent
confusion.
"Is that Zofie up there?"
Her gaze followed his. "Yes. She's a first-grader
now."
He didn't let her think about the last time he'd seen Zofie.
"Did your girls win their game today?"
"Three to two," said the other mother with
satisfaction. "Zofie is a dynamite goalie."
"And Susan kicked the winning goal."
"Your daughter, I take it," Connor said.
She nodded to a freckled, sturdy redhead trailing Zofie.
"Before you know it," Connor said in a portentous
tone, "those girls will be playing select soccer, and every weekend you'll
get
teammates, and just by chance saw a clump of little girls, maybe five, six
years old, leaving another, smaller field. The one in the lead, a cute kid with
a bouncy dark ponytail and skinny legs enveloped in too-big shin guards, was
walking backward and talking to friends. Something about her tugged at Connor's
memory. Big eyes he guessed were dark, a small heart-shaped face and an air of
gravity noticeable even from this distance.
He felt a peculiar thump in his chest, and he immediately
scanned the crowd, looking for someone else. Zofie Stavig's mother.
He found her, walking with another mother, each carrying a
lawn chair in one hand and a cooler slung between them. Even looking at the back
of her head, he was sure it was her.
"Excuse me," he said abruptly, shot to his feet
and was halfway down the terraced slope to the soccer fields before he could
think about what he was doing.
He caught up with the women and said, "Here, let me
carry that."
Their heads turned; Mariah's eyes widened.
"Detective!" she exclaimed.
Now the other woman's gaze was surprised and curious.
"Connor McLean," he said. "I'm with the Port
Dare PD. I can't get Ms. Stavig here to call me by my first name."
She blushed, looking both annoyed and relieved that he'd
gotten her off the hook from having to explain why she knew a cop.
"Lynn Kowalsky."
He and the other mother shook hands.
"I can carry that," he said again, patiently. When
neither woman moved, he grabbed the cooler from them. "Your day to provide
snacks?" he asked.
"Mine," Lynn Kowalsky said. "Mariah was nice
enough to help me struggle across the field. After all, I couldn't watch the
game without my coat, mittens, scarf and chair, too."
He lifted the cooler to his shoulder. "At least it's
sunny."
They walked slowly, a woman to each side of him. He kept
stealing looks at Mariah. She looked … different. Younger, lighter-spirited,
less weighted by the sadness he had sensed in her every time he saw her. She
was even prettier this way, whether because of mood or because of her casual
Sunday clothes: blue jeans, white athletic shoes and a crimson WSU sweatshirt.
Her hair was caught in a ponytail that bobbed at her nape as jauntily as her
cute daughter's did.
On the other hand, Mariah had yet to say a word past that
first exclamation.
Her friend glanced at her, apparently decided she wasn't
going to contribute and chose to play nice. "Do you have a child in
soccer, too?"
"Believe it or not," he said with what he hoped
was a charmingly rueful smile, given to both women in turn, "my niece and
nephew and brother and I brought a picnic to the park today."
Mariah was startled into saying incredulously, "A
picnic?"
"My brother and his wife—they've only been married a
year—went to Victoria for the weekend. My younger brother and I inherited the
kids. My niece plays select soccer, doesn't have a game today, but she likes to
hang out here and watch anyway. My nephew and I have been throwing the
football."
"You don't, um, have kids of your own?" Mariah's
cheeks were still pink, and she sounded shy.
"Nope." But lately he'd realized that he wanted
them. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was cooing over babies, but once in a
while he'd watch John with his kids, or see a father passing with a toddler on
his shoulders, and feel a physical pang of … envy. "I'm not married,"
he added helpfully.
"Oh. I didn't know…" She stopped in apparent
confusion.
"Is that Zofie up there?"
Her gaze followed his. "Yes. She's a first-grader
now."
He didn't let her think about the last time he'd seen Zofie.
"Did your girls win their game today?"
"Three to two," said the other mother with
satisfaction. "Zofie is a dynamite goalie."
"And Susan kicked the winning goal."
"Your daughter, I take it," Connor said.
She nodded to a freckled, sturdy redhead trailing Zofie.
"Before you know it," Connor said in a portentous
tone, "those girls will be playing select soccer, and every weekend you'll
get
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