Clutch Hit by Faith O'Shea (most popular ebook readers txt) 📗

There’s a place in Ipswich that has some of the best in New England. Dad used to take us there every Friday night after the baseball season ended. We had him home just a few short months before he was back on the beat. I loved that ritual.”

She dipped every clam belly into the tartar sauce that came with the meal before placing it reverently into her mouth. As soon as he’d tried it for himself, he understood why. It hit all the right notes, tangy and sweet. Her French fries seemed to be an afterthought because she didn’t touch them until all the clams were gone.

He let her enjoy her meal in silence, and it was only when she began picking at the potatoes that he asked a question he really didn’t want to know the answer to.

“Did you love him very much?”

She pushed her plate away, laid her arms on the counter, and said with a resigned sigh, “I don’t think I loved him at all which makes it even more important I stay away from commitment.”

Her answer was not what he’d expected, and it threw him off.

“I don’t understand.”

“If he could destroy my trust in people, just imagine what a man I loved could do. I’m not willing to find out.”

She rose from her chair and began collecting the remnants of their meal. He gathered she didn’t want to say any more on the subject, so without speaking, he lent her a hand, thinking of ways he could tempt her to give them a chance.

When the last of the dinner was cleared, she grabbed an accordion folder, along with her briefcase, and said, “Come on, let’s sit at the dining room table and I’ll go over your financials.”

He joined her, a beer in hand, and poured the contents into her almost empty glass. She gave him a smile of gratitude, took a sip before emptying a manila envelope onto the oaken surface. There was a leather cover, papers, and a couple of plastic cards. She reached down to her briefcase and pulled out a thin silver laptop and placed it within reach.

As soon as he sat down beside her, she got right to business.

“We’ve invested most of the money as you requested. The rest is in a savings account tied to your checking. You can make on-line transfers from one to the other any time you want. Your rent, credit cards, and your mother’s monthly stipend will be automatically paid when due, so there shouldn’t be many times you’ll have to use a check.”

“Please don’t refer to it as stipend. Too many bad memories associated with the word.”

“How about consideration? I don’t like thinking of it as an allowance.”

He didn’t, either.

“Consideration is good.”

She opened the cover and said, “This is your checkbook. Have you ever used one before?”

“No need.”

“That’s what I thought.”

She showed him how to pay by check if the need ever arose, explaining every part of the check to him—routing number, account number, date, pay to the order of —and explained it was the written amount that was the legal binder, accuracy of that more important than the numeric amount.

She set it aside and asked, “Ever use a debit card?”

He shook his head.

“You can use it like a credit card, but instead of getting a bill at the end of the month, the money is automatically taken out of your account. I’ll take you to one of the branches and show you how to make cash withdrawals if you find yourself short.”

She handed it over and said, “Put this in your wallet.” Handing him another slip of paper, she told him that it was his password, or access code. “You’ll have to key it in every time you use the card. It’s set up that way to prevent theft.”

She fingered the cards next. “I applied for both an Amex and Visa card. And as the commercial says, you’ll never want to leave home without them. They’re the gateway to your purchase power. You can use them any time you see something you want to buy. All within reason. You can’t charge, say, a Maserati or a Picasso.”

“I don’t want a car like Rique, and I have no need for Picasso.”

“Picasso was a painter, artist, and his work can go for millions.”

“What does he do with it all?”

“He’s dead so it’s not an issue for him.”

“Who gets the money?”

“Whoever bought it prior to the sale.”

“These paintings can be bought and sold?”

“Yeah, just like real estate. Most everything here can be purchased for a price. Even things that aren’t for sale.”

“This will take me time to get used to.”

“I’m beginning to think it’s not in your nature to overspend on things, but you don’t have to be frugal anymore.”

Even knowing the amount of money, he had in his account, he couldn’t see himself spending much. In contrast to some of the other Cuban players who’d hit the jackpot with mega-watt contracts, he wanted very little by way of material goods. If he had clothes and food, he’d be a happy man.

After she pulled the laptop so that it sat between them, she said, “This is yours. I had it set up for you so you have virus protection, Word, and I purchased a protection plan so if you drop it or something breaks, it will be replaced at no charge.”

When she opened it up, he saw a picture of Harborside.

“I can change the wallpaper if you want something different. I love the place myself and this is the screensaver I use.”

It was a nighttime shot, with lights blazing and the steel gleaming.

“I like this. It is a good reminder of where I’ll be playing.”

“I’m going to connect you to the internet so you can Google for information, access any websites you might need.”

He watched as her fingers tapped the keyboard. “The code I’m entering will work here but nowhere else. At other places, like a coffee shop or hotel, you’ll need to sign on to the Wi-Fi