Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
Brooke
“I want to thank all y’all for coming tonight.” Jeffrey twists a large bedazzled ring around his finger while he talks.
I can’t get a good look at it, but my gut feeling is he didn’t get it from college. It complements his jersey and baseball pants, which are more suited for a player than a grown man running a parent information meeting.
“Me and Coach Bubba have a predicament with the eight-and-under boys this year.” He scans the small crowd spread across the gym bleachers.
Jeffrey turns to a man sitting nearby who’s dressed in gym shorts and a fishing shirt with a few too many buttons undone. I assume he’s Coach Bubba.
“We have enough for a solid team, but not two.”
“What are you implying, Coach?” Morgan shouts from the bleachers.
I drop my head as every eye turns our way. You’d think by now I’d know better than to sit with her at a school function.
“All I’m saying is we can’t have a team with fifteen kids. Wouldn’t give everyone fair playing time.”
Morgan opens her mouth, but Jeffrey holds up his hand to stop her. She grunts, and I swear a small stream of smoke comes from her nostrils.
“We have several on the wait list right now.” He makes a grabbing motion toward Bubba.
Bubba unfolds his arms and reaches for a sheet of paper on the table in front of him. Jeffrey takes it and clears his throat. “These people signed up last and are on a wait list. Timothy Marshall.”
“That son of a...” Morgan whispers.
I elbow her. “It’s okay. I wasn’t exactly sold on this anyway.”
She grunts louder.
“Jack Daniels and Charlie Daniels.” He turns to Bubba. “Are those real kids?”
“They’re absolutely real kids,” Maribelle calls loudly behind us.
Morgan pats her knee. “We got this, girl.”
She smiles at Morgan.
I pull my legs into my chest. It will only be by God’s good grace if we make it out of here without a bunch of mad mamas attacking Jeffrey.
“And an Angel and Precious. Last name on both says . . . Pending?” Jeffrey flips the page over as if he will find an answer.
“Custody crap,” Tami says from the corner of the gym.
I hadn’t noticed her until now. She must’ve come in late, because she’s hard to miss. Sadly, she’s as close to a celebrity as our town has thanks to her TikTok following.
Well, unless you count Nate with baseball.
I twist my mouth. I’d almost made it a full day without thinking of him.
“Why don’t you put your girls in softball, Tami?” Jeffrey asks.
“Why don’t you put your tongue back in your mouth, Jeffrey?” She widens her eyes and lunges forward, almost dropping the baby on her hip.
Jeffrey clears his throat and turns toward us. In his defense, Tami isn’t wearing much and often advertises that she’s on the prowl for a new baby daddy—in more ways than one.
“Anyway, that’s where we’re at in making a team.”
Maribelle raises her hand.
“Yes?” Jeffrey points to her.
“What can we do to get our babies off the wait list? I mean, my kids need something to do while my husband is working. Besides destroy our house.” She follows her comment with a long sigh.
“Get more people to sign up by Friday.”
“Then those new people and the wait-list kids will be a team?” I ask.
Jeffrey opens his mouth, but Bubba beats him to answering. “According to section A, item twenty in the rule book, we would then hold a draft.”
Jeffrey glares at Bubba, who pulls a tiny booklet from his shirt pocket and waves it to make a point.
“That’s right, Bubba. Jeffrey can’t stack a park-league team this year,” Morgan coos loud enough for Maribelle and me to hear.
“So we need like five or six kids by Friday?” Maribelle asks to clarify.
“Yes, and it’s already Tuesday. So I get it if that’s too much to ask.” Jeffrey’s voice is filled with fake pity.
“Nah. If I can get a thousand followers every new post, I can come up with a few kids to play ball.” Tami straightens against the door frame, giving Jeffrey a smug expression.
“You can’t do anything illegal to get kids, Tami.”
“Neither can you, Jeffrey.” She snaps her head, again almost dropping the baby.
I don’t know what happened between those two, and I’m good with that.
“So if I register more kids in this age group by Friday, say when school ends, we can draft teams?” Morgan asks.
“Correct.” Jeffrey has a begrudging tone, which makes her smile.
“Heck, we’ll have plenty by then,” Tami chimes in.
Jeffrey grits his teeth and cuts his eyes toward her before turning back to the bleachers. “If there’s no other questions, that’s all I have. Thanks for coming out tonight.”
He disappears somewhere in the back of the gym, leaving Bubba to fold up the table and chairs. He’s probably on the run from Tami, since she has it out for him. Or Morgan, or Maribelle. The man sure knows how to turn women against him.
As we’re exiting the gym, Morgan pulls me and Maribelle to the side. “We need a game plan to get more players. I want y’all to think of everyone who might want their kids to play ball.”
“What if we don’t like them?” Maribelle frowns.
“Then we hope Jeffrey drafts their kid. If y’all want your kids playing baseball here this year, we need warm bodies who identify as kids under eight.”
“I’m really fine with Timothy not playing this year. I think he’s not—”
My eyes cross and focus on Morgan’s fingers pinching my mouth shut. “That boy’s gonna play, and I’ll get him on Andrew’s team.”
I try and ask how can she guarantee that, but it sounds more like gibberish.
“Trust me, Brooke.” She lets go of my mouth. “See y’all soon. Text me names.”
Morgan disappears into the night toward her van. I wiggle my lips to try and rid them of that post-dental-work feeling Morgan induced.
“I guess we better get to it.” Maribelle gives me a tired smile.
“I hope it works out.” I give my best fake smile in return. “Good night.”
“You too.” Maribelle crosses the parking lot.
I shove my hands in my scrubs pockets and try to think positively. I wasn’t sold on the idea of Timothy playing in the first place. Maybe this whole wait list thing is a blessing in disguise.
Headlights turn left and right as people leave. Soon I’m standing alone, except for Jeffrey in the distance checking his tires. Probably for slashes.
That’s my cue to leave.
* * *
Nate
The trailer beeps as Jeffrey navigates around the blackberry and blueberry bushes on my property.
I shake my head. Why in the world did I agree to this?
Mom steps beside me and smiles wider than the offensive bumper sticker on Jeffrey’s truck. That’s why I agreed to this.
“This is so nice. We’re going to be neighbors,” she says.
“Again, Mom, you could’ve just moved into my house. You literally wouldn’t have to see me unless you wanted to.” I thought she’d jump at the chance of moving away from the mobile-home park.
“Of course I want to see you.” She pats my cheek. “I just didn’t want to give up my own home.”
“So you had no problem moving, as long as you could take your actual home?”
“You finally get it.”
Shows how much I know about women.
She laughs and walks carefully down the steep hill on the side of the house. I hurry and catch up to her in case Jeffrey isn’t paying attention.
He doesn’t strike me as the most careful driver. On top of that, I don’t think he sets up many trailers in backyards. Or maybe he does. This is Apple Cart County. Not a lot of zoning and property restrictions in a place that shares a golf course with cows.
Mom takes a seat in one of my back patio chairs and watches Jeffrey like it’s free entertainment. In a way it is, except that I’m paying him to move her trailer.
“So you really love this old house that much?” I still don’t get the appeal in a nineties-model mobile home with plastic shutters. I’ve been after her to upgrade it for years.
“More what’s in it.”
“Mom, we could’ve moved your stuff.”
She wavers her head. “I know, but you already have an oven.”
“The oven?” I widen my eyes. “That’s what you didn’t want to leave?”
“Well, yeah. It took me some time to learn how long to cook everything in it to perfection.”
I can’t really argue with that.
Jeffrey’s truck backfires, and we stare across the yard. Luckily, Mom’s home is still in one piece.
He parks it in a nice little clearing, far enough away from my baseball shop to give her some privacy.
Once I’m sure it’s safe, we start toward the truck. A bigger guy and Jeffrey are securing it in place when we get to them.
“What about my porch?” Mom asks.
“I’ll build you a new porch.”
“That one was perfect for my wind chimes.” Her face falls.
“Mom, I tried, but the trailer park said it was there before us so it had to stay.” I put my arm around her shoulder.
“You mean modular-home neighborhood.” Jeffrey enunciates every word like he’s teaching me a new language. In a way, he is.
“Huh?”
“Our business is rebranding.”
“Oh, okay, then.”
The guy beside him pulls a rag from his back pocket and wipes sweat from every piece of skin showing.
“Would you guys like some water?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” the man answers.
“Give me a minute.” I hurry to the shop and grab two bottles of water from the refrigerator in my kitchen area. I don’t want to leave them alone with my mother for too long. Not that I think they would do anything to hurt her in a predatory way, but they might accidentally run over her.
They both thank me for the water. I notice “Bubba” sewn on the pocket of the other guy’s shirt. Makes sense. He looks like a Bubba.
“Thanks, Jeffrey,” I tell him.
“You’re welcome.” He chugs some water, then turns to Mom. “Ma’am, we tried to tie down the furniture best we could, but ran out of ratchet straps when we got to the spare bedroom. My apologies if anything is in shambles.”
“That’s okay. As long as the oven still works.”
I sigh. I’m beginning to think Mom loves that oven more than me.
“I know you paid me already, Nate, but I want to ask a favor.”
Dear God, please don’t let him ask that I put in a word for his kids.
I don’t know Jeffrey well, but I’ve already heard he’s one of those guys who thinks his kids are going pro. Even though they’re still playing coach-pitch and rocking baby teeth.
He disappears into his truck. I kick the ground awkwardly, afraid of what he’ll bring out.
“Is he okay?” Mom asks.
“I don’t know. He was with Misty for a while, so that might’ve gotten to him.”
“No, that man.” She nods toward the clearing.
I follow her gaze to Bubba lying on the ground with his cap over his eyes.
“I think he will be.”
Jeffrey returns with a shirt in his hand.
“If you don’t mind, Nate, I’d like you to sign this jersey for me.” He whips open the jersey. It looks vintage. I haven’t seen anyone with that style since I was a kid, and I certainly didn’t wear it. I’m already skeptical when he shows me the back.
“Uh, that’s not even my number.” I raise my brows as I notice “Jones.” “And it’s got Chipper’s name.”
“Yeah.” Jeffrey tosses it over his shoulder. “I know, but I promised a signed Braves jersey for my kids’ travel-ball raffle.”
“I could get you one with my name and number if you give me a few days.”
“No offense, son, but Chipper’s way more famous than you.” He pats my shoulder.
“Well, thanks for moving my mom’s home. Be careful backing out.” I turn to go back in the house.
“Wait, so you ain’t gonna sign it?”
I sigh and turn around. Jeffrey is holding a Sharpie he somehow pulled out of thin air. Or maybe his butt. Who knows with this weirdo.
Shaking off the butt hypothesis, I grab the pen and scribble my name right beside Chipper’s. That should show him.
“Thanks.”
“Mm-hmm.” I force a pleasant face. “Mom, let’s go inside so they can get out safely, then we can come work on your place.”
“Sounds good.” She smiles at Jeffrey. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.”
Jeffrey heads to his truck. He stops by Bubba and kicks him in the side. Mom and I both wince as Bubba moans and comes to life.
“Bless his heart,” she mumbles to me.
“Looks like they’ve done this before.”
Mom shakes her head. “I’m adding them to my prayer list.”
“Please do.”