Page 3 of Draft Pick
Ready for this meeting to be over, I mask those thoughts and stand of my own accord. “I’ll be sure to look into those. Any way to support Addie, I’ll do it. Thank you again for meeting with me, Dr. Mayweather. And Mrs. Sheffield.” I hold out my hand. “Thank you for seeing the best in my daughter. She thinks the world of you.”
Mrs. Sheffield returns the gesture, and her caring smile comforts me, knowing who Addie spends her school days with. An older woman, likely in her sixties, with time on her side. Time—from what I can tell—is spent pouring into children and helping build their confidence. I’m grateful for that, considering the struggle we’re facing.
“Always, Mr. Briggs. We will be in touch. Please feel free to contact me with any concerns or questions you may have.”
“Will do,” I tell her, turning to exit the room. I stop short the moment Mrs. Sheffield’s voice calls out for me again. “Oh, and Mr. Briggs?”
I look over my shoulder, finding her standing closer with a white paper in her hand. It’s covered in every shade of the rainbow, and I instantly know the creator. “Yes, ma’am?”
She hands me Addie’s drawing, and I almost crumble to my knees. “Have a great season. You’ve got a proud little girl rooting for you.”
Looking down, I don’t find just an ordinary picture. I find the role model I am to my daughter. The safe place I am to her. Because there I am with my glove in the air, jumping for a fly ball at Makers Park. Out secured—if I might add or selfishly request.
But that’s not what makes my heart burst. It’s the little girl beside me, wearing a poofy princess dress and crown, Trolli—her tarantula stuffed animal—on her hip, and stars in her eyes. Smile wide and beaming at her daddy.
That’s the pride I feel for her every day.
My little girl. My whole world.
It’s always been just the two of us on the right side of the moon.
Although things haven’t exactly been easy, they’ve been perfectly imperfect. And now we’ve got a bit of an obstacle on our hands, but it’s nothing we can’t handle together.
Not with the bond we share. Daddy and his little Doodle.
We hammer away and never give up.
1
JUNIPER
One Year Later
“Serious question.How many pairs of scrubs does a doctor actually need? Asking from one doctor to another.”
“That depends. Is said doctor working with children who poop their pants and eat their boogers? Or do they work with grown adults who do the same?”
My best friend since college, Valentina, scrunches her face in disgust before tossing a pair of rainbow-handprint scrubs back into a box. “I’m not sure that’s the answer I was looking for or wanted to hear, for that matter.”
“Then why ever did you ask?” I coo, reveling in her disturbance. It’s not like Val isn’t accustomed to scrub life. We graduated in the same class from medical school, my fellowship specializing in pediatrics and hers in obstetrics and gynecology.
It didn’t take long for us to hit it off as friends, and the rest is history.
Taking a break from unpacking, Val reaches for her wine glass and throws herself onto the mattress that’s temporarilystationed flat on the bedroom floor. “Guess I wanted a justifiable reason for the hundreds of cartoon character scrubs you’ve got, Junip. I thought wearing pink every day would get boring, but shit, girl, I was wrong. Pretty sure I’d have to abandon my calling if it meant Disney World profited from all my scrub spending.”
I take a cardboard cutter to the last and final moving box I have to unpack and slice it down the center fold. “Pays off when those itemized deductions come around during tax season. Besides, the kids love them.”
“Right. Just how I’m sure they love putting their grimy little hands all over you while you wear it.”
“You’ve become a bitter old woman with age, Valentina Bales.”
“You know I’m not a kid person. Never have been and never will be. I can only handle those little gremlins in small doses. You, however, are an entirely different story. Love you for it, but no thank you.”
I’m positive that loving and caring for children is my greatest calling in this world. Always has been, since I was a little girl. I take a moment before responding, gathering my black boot collection and meticulously organizing them in my closet. “I really hope I made the right choice.” I don’t need to clarify. Val knows I mean this move. This job. The fear that comes with moving away from the only home I’ve ever known.
“You’re allowed to question it. But you aren’t allowed to let it affect what you make of being here. I won’t allow it.”
Easier said than done. “I won’t. At least, I’ll try not to. I just worry about her, you know?”
