Since I was already in a shit mood, my temper flared and I argued it, getting in the guy’s face, poking my finger against his chest, asking him if he was fucking blind or just stupid.

Of course, he threw me out of the game, and I called him some other names I regret, because then he started threatening to ban me from the league.

From behind the plate, Beckett pushed his catcher’s mask up and came jogging over to first base. “Hey, hey,” he said, pushing me back from the ump. “That’s enough. What are you doing?”

“This guy’s a fucking asshole,” I said. “He can’t throw me out of the league.”

“Wanna bet?” said the ump, going toe to toe with me again.

Beckett pushed me back again and stepped between us, facing me. “My guess is that he can, Griff, so just calm down, okay? This isn’t like you. Smithy’s gonna come in and cover first. You go sit down.”

“No. Fuck this guy.”

“I said go sit down.” Beckett glared at me, and since I didn’t want to get in a fight with him too, I tugged my cap lower on my forehead and shouldered past both of them. After striding over to the dugout, I threw my glove to the ground, and plunked myself onto the bench next to Cole, who was sitting with a plastic bag of ice on his shoulder. He said nothing as the game started up again, which pissed me off.

“What?” I said angrily.

He glanced at me. “I didn’t say anything.”

“The guy was out,” I stated as if Cole had argued with me.

“Okay.”

“That ump is a fucking moron.”

Silence.

“What, you don’t agree with me?”

“I don’t know if that guy’s a moron or not. But I know my daughter is in the stands watching this game.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, feeling guilty for the first time.

We watched as the Mavs scored two more runs, and we struggled to get to two outs.

“We look like shit tonight,” Cole said, shaking his head. “We’re just not playing good ball.”

“The calls have been against us all night,” I insisted.

“Maybe. But we’re making a lot of mistakes too. We’re just not on.”

“Yeah.” Watching Moretti blow an easy throw to first, I shook my head. “Maybe you’re right. I know I’m off tonight.”

Cole readjusted the pack on his shoulder. “I heard Blair left town yesterday.”

“From who?”

“A few people.” He was silent a minute. “You gonna see her again?”

“I already told you. No.”

“That her choice or yours?”

“It was a mutual decision,” I lied. “And I’m done talking about it.”

“Okay.”

The game ended five minutes later when the Mavs’ biggest hitter homered with two guys on.

“At least our record still gets us into the championship game,” said Cole as we packed up.

“We better get our shit together by next weekend.” I glanced at his shoulder. “Rest that arm.”

“I will.”

The guys all wanted to go drown their sorrows at the pub, but I decided to call it a night. I wasn’t in the mood for people, even my friends. Instead, I offered to take Mariah out for ice cream and told Cole I’d drop her off at home afterward. “Is that cool?”

“Yes!” Mariah jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “Say yes, Dad!”

Cole shrugged. “I guess it’s okay.”

“Good.” Then I tugged one of Mariah’s braids. “I’d have taken you no matter what he said.”

She grinned. “Can we go to the place by the water with the waffle cones?”

“We can go anywhere you want.”

“Why don’t you come by the pub after you drop her off?” Cole asked.

“Nah,” I said. “I don’t feel like it tonight.”

Twenty minutes later, I was walking along the pier next to Mariah, who was doing her best to devour a massive amount of Mackinac Island Fudge ice cream in a waffle cone. The sun was going down, but it was still hot out, and rivulets of chocolate were running down her face, the cone, and her hands.

“We should have gotten more napkins,” I said. “You’re a mess.”

“I don’t care.” She licked the inside of her wrist. “I saw you get mad during the game.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“You said cuss words.”

“I did. Sometimes I do that when I get mad. But it wasn’t very nice.”

“When Daddy says those words, Grandma says she’s going to wash his mouth out with soap.”

I laughed. “She’s been threatening to do that since your dad was your age.”

“Did you know my dad when he was my age?”

“I did.”

“What was he like?”

“Hmm, let’s see. He was a fast runner—but not faster than me—and a great swimmer, and he loved Power Rangers and magic tricks—although he wasn’t very good at them.”

Mariah giggled. “He still isn’t.”

“But he was the nicest guy in the class, and everyone wanted to be his friend.”

“What did you guys like to do during the summer?”

I thought back to those hot, sticky, sunny summers of our youth. “We played a lot of baseball. We rode our bikes. There used to be a treehouse in my backyard, and we spent a lot of time in there.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t even remember. Talking about baseball and trying to keep out the girls.” I paused. “Until we wanted them to notice us.”

She was quiet for a minute, trying to keep up with the melting ice cream. “Did you know my mom?”

“I sure did.”

“What was she like?”

I remembered what Cole had said about Mariah being curious about her mother and afraid to ask him. My heart ached as I thought for a moment, trying to remember all the best things about Trisha. “She was really cool. She was a softball player, and we used to joke she could hit better than your dad. She was crazy smart and teachers loved her. She was our class president. And she was a really good nurse too. One time, I cut myself on something at work and she came over and stitched me up.”

“She did?” Mariah looked impressed.

“Yes. And it didn’t even hurt.”

“Grandma says I look like her.”

I glanced down at her and smiled. “I agree. And that’s a very good thing because your mom was cute but your dad looks like a grumpy old troll.”

She giggled. “Sometimes he acts like one too.”

We walked a little longer in silence. Mariah finished the cone and licked her fingers, palms, and wrists. Even so, she was a mess when I dropped her off at Cole’s house—chocolate ice cream like a beard on her face and all over the front of her pink shirt.

“Sorry,” I said to Mrs. Mitchell at the door. “She’s a little chocolaty.”

Cole’s mom laughed and patted Mariah’s head. “That’s okay. She’s going straight into the tub. Did you have fun, sweetie?”

“Yes!”