Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
Brooke
I never thought I’d stick my hand down a frog’s throat. At least it’s a fake frog. I ease my fingers into the ceramic mouth and fumble around until I feel something wiggle.
“Ahh!” I jerk my hand out and wipe it down my shirt.
“What’s wrong?” Timothy bends down and stares at the frog.
A small worm slithers out of the frog’s mouth. He laughs and picks up the creature.
“Let it go someplace else.”
He moves toward the grass with the worm in tow, while I untuck my T-shirt. I stretch the end enough to form a makeshift glove over my hand before going back in there.
Growing up at an apple orchard, I’ve seen my fair share of worms. I also have a dad and two brothers who like to fish and taught me how to bait my own hooks. But I’d prefer to see the worm before I feel it.
I cup my covered hand around a keychain and pull it out. My shirt is stained with pollen and dust, and the two keys look the same.
With only two, it shouldn’t be hard to find the right one. I walk to the garage and try both. Of course it’s the second one.
Smothering heat welcomes me when I step inside. The fluorescent lights make a slight buzzing sound as I flip the switch. First thing I do is cut on the air conditioner and realize I probably should’ve gotten here sooner than twenty minutes before everyone else.
All the equipment is in the usual locations and ready for use.
I fan my face and try to push the larger door up to let out some of the pent-up air. It’s even heavier than it looks. I grit my teeth and squat lower to give it an extra push.
After another shove, it lifts.
“Hello, darling.” Morgan grins at me from the other side.
“You showed up just in time.”
She laughs and crosses the threshold. “I could tell from the slight shaking it had to be your scrawny butt in here trying to lift it.”
“How do you know it wasn’t Timothy?”
She cocks her head toward the pool. I crane my neck and find him chasing something.
“He was trying to get a lizard with a worm in its mouth.”
“Well, that takes care of that.” I step back and scan the space. “Any plans for tonight’s practice?”
“Use all this nice stuff.” Morgan laughs. “But Ethan’s coming to help too, since he doesn’t have practice.”
I glance around the room as I fan my face. “We did hit the jackpot with this facility.”
“More like you hit the jackpot with the owner.” Morgan elbows me and winks.
My face flushes. We have one major kink to work out, but it is nice to know that Nate is back—especially back with me.
“What about him starting in the season opener?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sure he told you already.” She fans her hand dismissively.
No, he hasn’t told me.
“I saw the YouTube clip this morning.” She pulls out her phone and brings up a video.
It’s hard to tell much with her horribly cracked screen, but I can distinctly hear Nate talking to a reporter about the game.
“Morgan, this says he’s a probable starting pitcher.”
I take her phone and click to start the next suggested video. A younger guy talks to the same woman about pitching on Opening Day.
Morgan grabs her phone and shoves it under her bra strap. A little disturbing since I didn’t notice where she had it before. I possibly held Morgan’s boob sweat.
I wipe my hand down the shirt soiled with fake-frog-mouth dirt and worm slime just to be safe.
It’s hard not to think about Nate starting on Opening Day. That’s been his dream for as long as I’ve known him. Along with most every baseball pitcher, I imagine.
Although I want him here with us, I can’t let him do anything to jeopardize that. He’s not getting any younger, and he already survived one injury.
“So I’m thinking you in the batting cage with the tee, Ethan helping with form, Easton and Carlton helping with fly balls . . .” Morgan pauses.
I turn to her staring at me.
“You with me, Brooke?”
“Yeah, just thinking.”
She opens her mouth, but voices interrupt us before she can speak. I drop my shoulders and sigh in relief. Everyone else showing up for practice possibly saved me from Morgan’s meddling.
I can’t take another heart-to-heart about my feelings. Aniston already guessed what was going on between us. Although this is more about Nate pitching, the whole Timothy deal is still the underlying factor of everything.
If Morgan finds out, we may as well print it in the Apple Cart Weekly . It may take a week to come out, but that’s plenty of time for it to spread through the Pig and Adrianne’s hair salon.
Why do we still have a paper? We’d be better off letting Morgan be the town crier.
Georgia walks up, all smiles, rolling the golf bag behind her. “Ladies, how’s it going?”
“Where’s Carlton?” Morgan asks.
Her face falls, but she ignores the question.
“We’re good, Georgia. How are you?” I smile.
Then I slip Morgan a side-eye. It doesn’t work. She crosses her arms as if waiting for an answer.
“He had a medical emergency.”
“He’s a pharmacist,” Morgan huffs.
“Yeah, well some of the dishes for a bride’s china registry still haven’t arrived and her shower is this weekend.”
Morgan narrows her eyes. I swallow a laugh. Every large pharmacy in the South also has an even larger gift shop. Georgia often brags about the items they offer at her husband’s store, so I assume she’s the one making this a big deal.
“As urgent as that sounds, I planned on him helping with fly balls tonight.”
“I can help with that.” Georgia beams.
Morgan looks her up and down, then turns to me. I fold my arms over the stains on my old shirt. Georgia is dressed like a professional tennis player, but with high-heel sandals instead of tennis shoes.
She smiles at us and pulls a golf club from the bag. “I still have this driver in here. I can hit the balls up for them.”
Morgan lifts her hands in defeat. “Fine by me. I need to work with them on grounders, and you’d break an ankle trying that.”
Georgia grins and turns, pulling her bag with her. I watch her ponytail swish as she trots toward everyone else.
Morgan shakes her head, then turns to the crowd clogging up the garage door opening. She lets out a loud whistle, and kids and adults all stand to attention.
My phone rings on my way to the group. I veer off and go toward the pool when I see Nate’s name. I answer it and sit in a patio chair.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey, how’s your day been?”
“Good, but tiring. I’ve got another workout, but wanted to call real quick and make sure you got in.”
“Yeah, we’re about to practice now.”
“Good. Just keep those keys with you if you want. Nobody else should need to get in before I’m back.”
“I can do that.” I stare at my shirt in relief at not having to reach in the frog again.
“Good. I’ve got to do some more strength training tonight. If everything keeps going so well, they may start me Friday.”
“That’s awesome!” I try and sound surprised enough to make him think this is new news, but not so surprised to make him think I don’t think he can start.
“I’ll call y’all later. Love you.”
“I love you too.”
He hangs up and I stare at the phone for a beat before standing. Morgan is splitting people into groups across the yard. This probably looks like a three-ring circus compared to whatever Nate is used to at the Braves.
He must really love me to want to come back.
* * *
I rush around like a chicken with my head cut off, making sure Timothy has all his baseball gear.
Tonight is the first game in the season-ender. We play against the other park team our age for the title of Apple Cart County 8U Baseball Park Champs. Not the most coveted title, unless you’re an eight-year-old boy going up against Jeffrey’s stacked travel-ball players.
We’ve practiced Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights for this. Our kids have improved plenty, and it’s been several weeks since we’ve faced Jeffrey’s team.
As stressed as this makes me, Aniston is worse. She made Morgan sign an agreement saying she won’t have the kids roll the ball. She claims Angela Basset, a local lawyer in town, signed it too. I think she’s bluffing, but she did give Morgan a warning glare.
My phone rings, and Timothy answers it. I glance at the clock on the kitchen oven. It must be Nate.
“It’s Nate.” He grins.
I nod and smile. He’d called me earlier and said he wanted to FaceTime Timothy before his game.
Timothy plops down on the couch and talks to him. I hear bits and pieces of the conversation as I rush back and forth, packing waters and wiping up crumbs from Timothy eating a snack.
The way these tournaments work is the first team to take two out of three games wins. We play one game tonight and in the morning for sure, then possibly a tiebreaker after that.
“Mama, Nate wants to talk to you.”
My stomach buckles for a split second. Surely he isn’t wanting to talk about that over FaceTime. Just in case, I snatch the phone to where Timothy can no longer see him.
“Hey.”
“Hey, I mentioned a penny I got when I was Timothy’s age. I want him to have it for good luck.”
“Now?” I glance at the microwave.
We really need to leave in a few minutes.
“It’s in my bedroom on the dresser. Not hard to find. Use the other key on that ring to get in.”
“Okay.” I look at Timothy. “Grab your bag so we’ll have time to get the penny.”
“Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks.” I glance at the stairs, where Timothy is running toward his room. “I gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you too.” He smiles.
I smile back and end the call.
My mom mode kicks into high gear as I pack a Bogg bag with all the things. Then I dig in my purse for Nate’s keys I stowed away. When Timothy comes downstairs with his ball bag, I’m armed and ready to go.
Without saying anything, we rush to the car and drive to Nate’s. I park and leave the car running for Timothy to have air. “This will only take a few minutes.”
He nods, and I hurry up the path. I unlock and push open the heavy wooden door. It’s much thicker than most doors and has a lot of carved detailing that I’m sure adds to the weight.
My biceps pulse as I shove it closed behind me. Nate’s master suite takes up one whole half of the upstairs. I hope the penny is where he said and easy to spot. Too bad it’s one of those souvenir pennies from a machine. Otherwise, I’d be tempted to pull one from my purse.
I take the stairs two at a time, which isn’t easy with short legs. I’m out of breath by the time I reach Nate’s room.
It’s dark and big, but more lived in than the only other time I’ve seen it. When he gave us a tour of the house, there were basic furnishings and curtains. He’s now added a large area rug, some lamps, and a few wall hangings.
A slight flutter skips in my heart at the thought of him making this place home. The thought of him making Apple Cart home.
I cross the room to the dresser. Sure enough, the penny is front and center, as if he left it there for me to find. As I’m reaching for it, I see something in the mirror above.
Is that?
I drop my hand and go to his bed. There is a nightstand with a lamp on each side. One table also has a small picture of us at senior prom, as well as a plate.
The plate .
It’s a dingy white restaurant plate with a faint kiss mark at the bottom. Above the lip print is “Brooke’s Home Plate” in my handwriting.
I stand frozen, staring at the plate. It’s on a small easel. How long has he had it on display? Did he do this hoping I’d find it today?
Either way, the fact that he kept it in pristine condition after all this time with all his moving around leaves me in awe.
“Mama!”
I jerk my head toward the open door. Timothy’s voice calls from downstairs, “Did you find it? We need to leave.”
“Yep, coming!” I yell back.
I shake my head to try and shake the shock and dash toward the dresser. A minute later, I’m jogging downstairs with the penny.
But all I can think about is the plate I gave him the last time we were together.