Mendoza's Return. Susan CrosbyЧитать онлайн книгу.
league could make an exception if they wanted to, given that the family hadn’t moved in yet. Elliot and his parents showed up at a practice, hoping to talk one of the coaches into taking him on, but it didn’t go well.”
“In what way?”
“The coach was pushing the players hard, berating them, even ridiculing them. Elliot, who only knows how to comment honestly on what he observes, told the coach he was mean.”
“Kids—and parents—often think a coach is mean,” Rafe said. “Did he know about Elliot’s condition?”
“Not at that point, and if Elliot had left it at that, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, but he added that the coach was fat. Elliot doesn’t distinguish between a compliment and an insult. He was stating what he saw was a fact.”
“What happened?”
“His father intervened. He explained privately about Elliot’s condition, and then told the coach how the only way Elliot can learn about team play is by being on a team. There aren’t any special-needs teams in town, only in San Antonio, and Elliot probably doesn’t belong on that kind of team, anyway.” She paused. “I’m gathering that Angie didn’t tell you who the coach is.”
“No, but I’m going to guess it’s Beau Bandero.”
“Yes.”
Rafe got off the couch and moved to the window, looking out as she had earlier. “He built that sports complex with his own money. He owns it.”
“He’s the king, all right.”
“Which means he sets his own rules. And he’s a bitter man. Always has been, even in the days we played together. But after his injury knocked him out of the majors, he probably got worse.” Rafe faced her. “So, what did Beau do next?”
Melina clenched her fists in her lap. “He let Elliot get up to bat, then he hit him with the first pitch.”
“Intentionally?” He looked at her in shock.
“Who knows? Another coach happened to catch it on video, but it’s impossible to know the truth. People with Asperger’s often don’t feel pain to the same degree that others do. Elliot just stood there waiting for another pitch, like he does when his dad pitches to him. Beau chewed him out for not running to first, called him too stupid to play. Elliot told him he didn’t know that rule because no one had hit him before.”
“And that wasn’t good enough for Beau, I guess.”
“He told Elliot it was too late to join the team this year. He’d missed four practices already, and he needed more practice than the average kid.”
“The schoolyard bully grown older but unchanged.”
“Elliot’s probably been called stupid before, and weird, and all sorts of other names,” Melina said. “He’s probably been bullied by kids his own age who don’t understand why he’s different. But for an adult to do it? Consciously? That’s criminal.”
Rafe leaned against the window jamb, his arms folded. He couldn’t remember being angrier at Beau—and there’d been plenty of anger in high school, even fistfights. The competition between them had been fierce, producing a natural enmity. “What’s your job in all this, Melina? How did you get involved?”
“Occupational therapists are experts in the social, emotional and physiological effects of illness and disease. We plot a different course of treatment for each patient, depending on their needs.” She crossed her legs and relaxed against the sofa. “I help stroke victims so that they can get back to living their lives. Children with autism need self-help skills. In Elliot’s case, my partner and I hit a dead end with attorneys being able to help, especially given the narrow time frame.” Her voice grew stronger, more insistent. “Elliot can’t afford to miss the practices, Rafe, and the season starts in a few weeks. He may be a great batter, but he needs to learn about teamwork.”
Silence deadened the air for a few long seconds as he weighed her words. He’d hoped she’d come to him to open up a discussion between them, to settle things, that maybe she was feeling the same as he was—still trapped in the past and all that never got said between them. But obviously she’d come to see Rafe the lawyer, not Rafe the man.
“You want to pursue legal action against Beau?” he asked.
“We don’t see an alternative.”
“And you want me to handle it.” Not a question but a statement of fact. She wouldn’t have come to see him except that she was fighting for this little boy and didn’t have anyone else to turn to. It was the second time since he’d moved back to Texas that he’d been sought for skills outside his specialty.
“Please,” she said.
“Mel, I haven’t done anything but corporate work since I finished law school. The Americans with Disabilities Act is way outside my expertise. I’m not even sure this is an ADA case.”
“You always were a quick study.”
He almost laughed. The idea was ludicrous. And yet here she sat all calm and businesslike, except for the fire in her eyes, as if daring him. Like in the old days …
She stood, her eyes gone dull. “Never mind. Apparently you prefer making more money for already rich tycoons than helping one little boy with an almost impossible dream.” She glanced pointedly at a glass case on the wall filled with baseball trophies from his days as a player, T-ball through college. Nothing she said could speak more loudly to him than that one look.
She walked to the door, grabbed the handle.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “Or at least, I’ll see if I can do anything. I need to research a few things first. But maybe even more important, Melina? You need to consider that my getting involved could work against what you’re looking for. You know my history with Beau.”
“If I had other options, I would use them.”
He reached behind her and opened the door to the waiting room. “Vonda, how does my schedule look for tomorrow?”
“You’re free after two o’clock.”
Rafe looked at Melina. “I’d like to meet the Andersons. Do you think they could come in tomorrow at two?”
“I’m sure they’ll move heaven and earth to be here. I’ll call you if they can’t, but I don’t think that’s likely. Should Elliot come, too?”
“Yes. I need to see him for myself.”
“They don’t have much money,” she said quietly.
“Okay.”
“Thank you. Listen, I’ve got a ton of material on Asperger’s. I could drop off a couple of books at your house. Leave them on your porch sometime today, if you want,” she said as they headed to the entry door.
“That’d be good.”
“Angie said you bought the old Dillon house.”
“It needs work, but my dad and brothers are helping when they can.” They stepped into an empty, quiet hallway, the door shutting behind them.
“I didn’t think you’d ever move back,” she said.
“Me, either.” He didn’t elaborate on his reasons. “So, Beau’s gotten fat, huh?” he asked.
Her brows went up at the change of subject, then she nodded. “Beer belly.”
“Drowning his sorrows.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rafe,” she said, then left, the unfamiliar perfume he’d smelled on her at the wedding trailing enticingly in her wake.
Rafe returned to his office and closed the door. He couldn’t read her. If she hadn’t needed someone to plead Elliot’s case, would she have contacted him?