4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
I hurry home to change and grab some provisions for the game—three refillable bottles of water, a protein bar, a banana, and an apple. Dinner of champions? No. Dinner of a thirty-one-year-old who’s about to play softball for the first time in twelve years? Yes.
Arriving at the park, I make my way to the ball diamond, saying hello to people I know along the way.
My cousins Whitney and Jackson are on the Lightning team, so I’m excited to play with them.
I find my parents sitting with my aunt and uncle along the first baseline. Yikes. They’ll have their eyes on me when I’m standing in right field, praying no balls are hit towards me.
“Hi, everyone!” I yell as I approach. You have to yell in this family if you want to be heard. My sister Chloe is sitting between cousins Whitney and Glenn.
There’s a resounding chorus of “Hi, Pheebs!” and “Hi, Phoebe!" and even, “Hi, Bebe!”—that comes from my cousin Annie; she’s called me Bebe since we were toddlers.
I should mention that my aunt and uncle are huge fans of eighties music. They named their kids after famous singers—Whitney Houston, Annie Lennox, Glenn Frey, and Jackson Browne.
Our parents preferred rhyming names, hence Phoebe and Chloe. Too cute for my taste.
Mr. Curtis approaches, and I hope he’s come to tell me I don’t have to play tonight, but he puts a Lightning T-shirt in my hand and tells me to get dressed pronto.
Walking into the public restroom is like walking into a sauna. I change quickly and get out of the sweatbox.
Rushing out of the restroom, I run smack dab into Hunter. I don’t know where he came from; I didn’t see him until I hit him. Unfortunately, he’s carrying a cup of water from the concession stand, and it drenches my T-shirt and my pants.
“Oh, my goodness,” he says, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“Obviously.” I shake my head. “It’s okay, I didn’t see you either.”
Thinking on the positive side, maybe this will get me out of playing softball. I could tell Mr. Curtis I can’t play with this much water in my left tennis shoe.
I hear an extremely loud whistle blow and look towards the bench. Mr. Curtis is motioning for me to hurry.
“Ugh, gotta go,” I say to Hunter.
“Break a leg,” he replies.
“You only say that to actors!” I cry. “This is softball. I could break a leg! ”
He laughs, a deep chuckle that I feel in my knees even though he’s two feet away from me.
I’m batting ninth. I’m secretly hoping that means I won’t bat until the third inning. No such luck. Our team has this pitcher’s number and hits singles and doubles in quick succession. Mr. Curtis looks at me when it’s my turn to bat.
“Ready, kid?”
“No. Are you sure someone else can’t play?” I plead.
“You’ll be fine. Get out there!”
I grab a bat and practice swinging it before approaching the batter’s box. I hear my family cheering loudly, “Go, Bebe, go!”
Now they’re all calling me Bebe? Great. The whole town will probably pick it up. I’ll have to change my name tag at work.
I kick the dirt in the batter’s box. Hope that makes me look like I know what I’m doing. (I don’t.)
Hoping muscle memory kicks in, since I played this sport in grade-school and high-school PE, I bend my knees and place my hands up, ready to swing.
I squint at the pitcher. He looks familiar. Just as it occurs to me that I dated the guy once during our junior year, the ball rushes towards my head, and I jump back.
“Strike one!” the umpire yells.
“What?” I ask, turning to the ump.
“Straight down the middle,” he replies.
I could have sworn that ball was going for my earlobe. I settle in and get ready for the second pitch.
Just as I lean back on my back leg, I hear Hunter yell, “Let’s go, Phoebe! You’ve got this! ”
Why is he here?
The pitcher releases the ball, and, against my better judgment, I close my eyes and swing.
I feel the impact before I hear the hit. Contact!
I open my eyes and start running for first base.
Hunter yells, “Run, Phoebe, run!”
My foot hits the bag before I even look around to see where the ball is going. Can I make second? The left fielder is standing close to the line, and I watch the second baseman catch the throw. Better stay on first.
I got a base hit! Yeah, me!
I glance towards the sideline, and my entire family is standing, cheering. Hunter is sitting next to my mom, and she is beaming up at him.
This can’t be good.
The rest of the game flies by. Only one ball made it towards me in right field, and I caught it. Wee!
I strike out in the next two at-bats. Each time I did, I heard Hunter yell, “That’s okay, Phoebe, you’ll get it next time!”
After the game, I join my family on the sidelines to celebrate the Lightning’s 11-4 victory over the Bybee Bumblebees. My cousin Jackson punches me on the arm and tells me I still stink at softball. Chloe gives me a big hug and says, “Yes, you stink.”
“Thanks, sis. It’s ninety degrees out, and I was running around.”
“You haven’t run since the first inning,” Annie says.
“Glad you were paying attention,” I reply, rolling my eyes. This family. They’re mean. And yes, I love them and can dish it right back. “When was the last time you played softball, Annie?”
Annie laughs. “Don’t know. Eighth grade?”
Aunt Dana suggests we all meet at the Dairy Barn for a treat. I think about how early I need to be up and the fact that I need a shower right now and beg off.
Hunter raises an eyebrow at me. “If anyone deserves an ice-cream break, it’s you. You’ve got to go. I’ll treat.”
Why is he being so nice to me? I don’t know this side of Hunter.
“Well, if you’re paying, I’m in.”
The Dairy Barn is only three blocks away, so we walk there. Chloe falls into step with Hunter and me.
“So, Hunter,” she begins, her eyes shining. “How long are you staying in town?”
“At least a week. I promised my mom I’d help her repaint her kitchen.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Chloe says. “Taking a week of vacation to help your family out.”
“I’m not on vacation next week,” he replies. “I’ll work remotely during the day and help her out in the evening.”
“You can do that?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
“Yep. Benefit of a desk job. Have laptop, will travel.”
“How often do you go into the office?”
“It’s not mandatory to go in at all. Except for a few meetings with the big bosses.”
“That’s nice,” Chloe says.
“What do you do, Chloe?” Hunter asks.
“I work for the county park district,” Chloe replies. “I arrange classes, activities, and trips.”
“Cool.”
As they talk, I listen closely to Hunter’s responses.
There’s an undercurrent in his answers. There’s more to his story than he’s sharing.
I want to ask more questions, and I hope that I’ll have the opportunity at some point this weekend.
Sure, mysteries are fun, but I want answers. Hunter’s a puzzle to solve.
When I first saw him this morning, I thought this was going to be the worst weekend ever.
But now that the shock has worn off and I’ve seen him in action, cheering me on, helping customers, and whatnot, I’m intrigued to learn more.
His arrogance and drive to be the smartest guy in the room have mellowed since high school.
I’m finding this new Hunter to be charming and handsome.
Completely unexpected, yet a welcome distraction from my financial worries. I’ll take the reprieve.