Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
Brooke
“Hold still.” Morgan licks her thumb and wipes at the corner of Andrew’s mouth.
He shakes his head out of her grip. She grabs him and wipes the end of her shirt across his face.
“Boy, I am not paying an extra five bucks to have the bacon grease photoshopped out of your photo.”
When Morgan finally releases him, Andrew grunts and runs in the opposite direction. “Don’t you get grass stains on those pants either!” she yells. She sighs and turns to me. “None of my other kids had a problem getting their ball photos made.”
“He’s young,” I offer.
“Says the woman with a calm kid.”
I follow her eyes to Timothy sitting patiently on the bleachers. I smile at him. When it comes to kids who mind and make life easy, I hit the jackpot.
A huge van pulls up to the park, slinging gravel when it stops. The tall roof and maroon paint make it creepy enough, but the bumper sticker sets it over the top. It’s a camera with the words “I Shoot People” in bold block letters.
Jillian jumps out with a coffee the size of a Stanley cup. She slings her long black braid over her shoulder and opens the back of the van, revealing an arsenal of equipment.
“Should we go help her?” I ask Morgan.
“Nah. She’s too particular. I don’t want to pay for a light reflector thingy because my fingernail accidentally grazed it.”
I nod.
“On the flip side, that’s part of what makes her photos so good.”
I watch in awe as lanky little Jillian loads her arms with anything and everything she might need to snap a few photos on a ball field. All while balancing her coffee cup.
Impressive.
“Maybe she should help us unload our stuff,” I say.
Morgan laughs. “Told you.”
She passes us and steps effortlessly onto the field. Then she meticulously sets up multiple lights and screens and her camera on a tripod.
Morgan whistles loudly, and the kids circle around. “We’re going to take a group photo first. Then individuals. After your individual, you can go to your parents until the game.”
She grabs Andrew by the arm and leads him to the field. Everyone else follows. Morgan moves them around a few times, first with the taller kids in the back. When she discovers Jack has huge mud streaks already on his pants, she puts him there too.
Tami’s daughters are wearing false eyelashes and their hair curled like this is an elementary scholarship pageant rather than Little League picture day.
“Here, Mama.” Timothy hands me his bat bag. I take it to the side and sit on a bleacher.
“No, girl, we gotta be in this too,” Morgan says.
I frown.
“You too, Aniston. You’re our number three.”
Aniston huffs and pushes herself off the fence. “If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been called someone’s number three,” she mumbles to me.
I snicker and join them behind the kids. Jillian swaps me up so I can be seen over Reece’s tall head.
“You.” She points to Reece. “Get rid of your gum.”
He stops chewing the wad in his mouth, digs it out, and hands it to her. She scrunches her nose.
“He doesn’t get out much,” Aniston says.
Jillian goes to her equipment and slings the gum onto a piece of paper. She wipes her hand down her pants and shudders before refocusing on us. “There. Now, everyone smile.”
She takes a crazy amount of photos in two minutes’ time.
“Great.” She checks her camera. “Let’s start with individuals.”
“Jack.” Morgan snaps her fingers. “You and your brother go first before you get any dirtier.”
Morgan snatches Andrew by the back of his shirt before he can run off. He pouts. “You’re next, buddy. Stay put.”
Jillian is every bit as loud as Morgan, if not more. She does a great job getting everyone’s attention and making the kids smile. She even helps reattach one of Tami’s daughters’ eyelashes when it falls off.
Jeffrey’s team is lined up waiting their turn when we exit the field. He’s wearing his fake sleeve, and all the coaches have on matching jerseys with their names. A little overkill, if you ask me. We settled for wearing our gray “Go Armadillos!” shirts.
The kids all have on eye black and fake sleeves too. Most them are also wearing gold chains with their numbers.
“I’ll email you when the proofs are ready,” Jillian says to Morgan.
“Thanks.”
“The real armadillos are here,” Jeffrey gloats.
He cozies up to Jillian, and she shrinks away.
That’s our cue to leave. Morgan motions for the kids to find their parents, and I help her make sure everyone has their bat and cap.
“I’ve got the rest of the birth certificates in my bag. If you can turn them in at the concession stand, that’d be great,” Morgan tells me.
“Why do we need those, again?”
She reaches in her bag for some chips and rips them open, grabbing a handful and chomping down before answering me. “This is our first big tournament to host that includes some travel teams. They’re real finicky when it comes to ages and making sure everyone is legal.”
“I guess that’s a good thing.”
Morgan swallows more chips. “Yeah, especially with shady folks like Jeffrey around.” She pulls a large envelope from her bag and hands it to me. “There’s a park board member stationed in the office beside the concession stand today. Take those and Timothy’s to her.”
“Okay.” We part ways and I head to my car.
A copy of Timothy’s birth certificate is in my glove box. I printed it last week when Morgan said we may need it. The crisp piece of paper stares back at me when I take it out. In particular, the section that is left blank. Nate is not listed on Timothy’s birth certificate.
Shame and embarrassment run through me as I add it to the envelope. We have a few single mothers on our team, but every birth certificate at least names a father.
Except for my son’s.
Even worse, I know the father and have full confidence he would love and support my son.
I swallow the lump in my throat and shove Timothy’s birth certificate in the envelope. I’ve kept the truth hidden from everyone all these years. Several times I almost told my parents, because I didn’t want them thinking I was the one-night-stand type. Especially since the timing of it meant I would’ve cheated on Nate.
Sometimes I suspect they know the truth. However, they’ve never pushed me for an answer. I’m forever grateful for that—and them.
I climb out of my car and head for the concession stand. The envelope grows heavier with every few steps. The office door is open, and Luanne sits behind a desk. All I know about her is that she makes the best bundt cakes in three counties and her husband is the local taxidermist. That makes it a little easier to hand over such demeaning information.
She looks up from a stack of schedules and smiles.
“Hi, here are some birth certificates for the eight-and-under league. We’re the Gray Armadillos, head coach Morgan Archer.”
“Thanks.” She reaches for the envelope. “I’ll take care of these.”
I suck in a breath and slowly let go of it, symbolic of letting out my darkest secret. Although it isn’t really. Everyone in this county knows I’m a single mom and always have been. On more than one occasion, I’ve heard people refer to Timothy’s dad as “Bruno” because my family never talks about him.
That never bothered me until Bruno came back to town and flipped every switch of emotion I’d worked so hard to hide.
* * *
Nate
I spent the last few days in Atlanta with PT and doctors. It didn’t go like I wanted, but for reasons other than my shoulder.
My pitching looked good, and they still wanted to see me on the roster despite some younger guys showing promise in the preseason. But every pitch I threw made me think of the Armadillos. Not when I played for them, but Timothy’s current team.
In a short time, I’ve gotten attached to those kids. Of course, I’ve gotten reattached to Brooke even more.
I left town this morning on good terms, letting everyone assume I’m headed to spring training soon. The funny thing is the whole time I was there, I thought about Brooke and being in Apple Cart. When I’m in Apple Cart, I rarely think about playing ball in Atlanta.
Maybe I’m done.
The four-hour drive gave me plenty of time to think things through. I came to the conclusion that if I have a shot at Brooke, I’m taking it.
After a quick shower and plenty of caffeine, I head to the ballpark. I have no idea when they’re playing, because it’s a tournament. As long as Jeffrey lets me in the park, I’ll be fine.
When I turn toward the ball fields, cars are parked in the ditch on both sides. I stop at the school and decide to walk rather than chance finding a spot. Morgan’s and Brooke’s vehicles are near the entrance, which means I haven’t missed all their games.
“Nate!”
I jerk my head to Becki Douglas. At least I think it’s still Douglas.
“Becki?”
She nods.
“Hey, I haven’t seen you since right after high school.” I give her a quick side hug.
She smiles. “Good to see you too. You may or may not know, but I’m head writer for the Apple Cart Weekly now.”
“That’s fitting, congratulations.”
“Thanks.” She clears her throat. “I wanted to see if I might could interview you for a feature story sometime.”
“That’s very thoughtful.” I snap my fingers. “I could get you some game tickets and let you interview more of the guys too. Really make a good overall story you could share online.”
“Uh, actually, I wanted to write a story about you moving back and reconnecting with Brooke.” She winces.
“Wait, what?” I tilt my head.
“I know it sounds cheesy, but I’m a sucker for a good love story, and—”
I shake my head. “Good to see you, Becki.”
I hurry toward the gate, more than a little ticked. Either we’re really getting older, or the desire for gossip has trickled down a generation. I expected this crap from the old ladies at church, but not a former classmate.
A teenager at the gate takes my five bucks, and I walk inside. Jeffrey’s team is on the field, and Bradley is umpiring again. I’ve taken maybe three steps inside when Aniston finds me and slaps my arm.
“Everyone is this way.”
I follow her without saying anything. Carlton is adjusting a tent, and I help him move it.
“Thanks. The sun is shifting.”
“You’re welcome.”
We settle the tent, and I notice Brooke on the other side. She’s spraying sunscreen on kids, and she’s wearing shorts. I take a moment to appreciate her legs, which I haven’t seen since the day she jumped the fence in a bathrobe. She always got cold easily and has worn pants until today.
Morgan gives me a look that communicates she knows what’s up. I press my lips together and give her a firm glare.
I soften my features when I get to Brooke. “Hey.”
She smiles. “Hey, I thought you were in Atlanta.”
“I left this morning.”
“Hey, Nate!” Timothy waves from his spot on a quilt next to Carter. A few more kids sit around them with a stack of Uno cards.
“Hey, buddy. Have y’all played yet?”
“Yes, sir. One game. We lost, but we get to play again.”
“That’s cool.”
I’m preparing to sit beside them when Brooke brings me a chair.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She grabs another chair and sits beside me. “We play the next game. We’re now in the bottom bracket, but can still ‘win’ something.” She makes air quotes around the word “win.”
I chuckle. Like me, Brooke was always competitive. I’m glad to see she didn’t let motherhood turn her into one of those participation trophy people.
“We have snacks if you want anything.”
“I’m good for now, but thanks.” I smile at her, then lean toward the kids.
“Want to play the next round?” Carter asks.
“Sure.”
“Easton plays with us a lot, but he’s at the hospital today.”
I nod. “I haven’t played in a while, but I think I can handle it.”
Carter half smiles. He shuffles and passes out the cards, adding a stack for me. I take them one by one and watch the boys interact.
This is the best part of baseball, being with your ball family. Whether elementary age, high school, or beyond, the friendships are what make it most special.
In the past few years, I’ve had a lot of friends come and go from the team, whether through trades, cuts, or retirements. That gives me more reason to settle down in a place I plan on living forever.
One of the boys plays a card that makes me take ten cards, and I groan. They laugh and keep playing all the crazy cards on me. Before long, I have more than I can manage.
“What are you doing here?”
I look up to Jeffrey. His game just ended, and he came over here? “Shouldn’t you be giving a coach’s speech to your kids?”
“No time for that on tournament days. Besides, we won ten to two. What’s left to say?”
“Not that it matters to you, but I’m playing Uno.” I fan my massive stack of cards.
“I told you to stay out of the park.”
Brooke stands so quickly that her chair falls. She steps across me and squares up with Jeffrey. Well, best she can for someone a foot shorter than him.
“Nate is doing nothing wrong. He is here to watch and support, not coach.” She clenches her teeth like a dachshund trying to intimidate a UPS driver.
As someone who walked a tiny dog for extra cash back in the day, I find the comparison almost identical.
“How can I know he won’t be throwing up hand signals or something?” Jeffrey counters.
“Because an Atlanta Braves pitcher would rather watch paint dry than coach a bunch of kids,” Bradley booms from the field. He’s propped on the fence, scowling at Jeffrey.
I appreciate the defense, although that’s actually not true. But Jeffrey believes it, because he growls and walks away.
“That’s what I thought,” Bradley says. “Now let’s get back to some ball.” He pulls the umpire mask over his face and marches toward home plate.
Morgan is already on the field. She pitches to Bradley to warm up. Brooke turns to the boys on the quilt. “If anyone has to go to the bathroom, now’s the time.”
Half of them jump up and run toward the concession stand. Jack takes a few steps away from our spot and drops his pants.
“Whoa!” I jump up and stop him. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t wait that long in line.”
“Come on.” I make him pull up his pants, then help him find the tree line, away from the crowd.
We return a few minutes later. Maribelle shakes her head at him, then twists toward me. “Thanks for that.”
“No problem. When you gotta go, you gotta go.” I look at Jack. “And you gotta go warm up now.”
He nods and takes off.
“You’ll make a great dad one day, Nate,” Maribelle says.
I sigh. “I hope so.”
“I know so, trust me.”
The boys take the field in their positions. I settle in a lawn chair near Carlton and Georgia, keeping an eye out for Jeffrey in case he tries something stupid. I don’t trust anyone over thirty who isn’t a real athlete but wears a jersey.
He stays away from us the remainder of the game. Maybe it’s Bradley’s warning, or even Brooke getting mad. Whatever did it, I’m thankful.
I’m also thankful the boys are having a good game. Who knows? I may be good luck. And if things keep going the way I want them to, I may soon give Jeffrey some competition for park board president.