The Spring Tournament #2
Abby sighed. She swore she heard a phone chime and snapped her head to the bleachers.
“Strike two!”
She whiffed at a rise ball. She knew better.
The pitcher dug her toe in front of the rubber, whacked her glove against her thigh as she hurled another. Abby wanted to swing, moved her hips to swing, but kept her hands back as the ball dropped low.
“Good eye, Cruz!” Mick shouted.
Abby adjusted her batting gloves and helmet. She gazed at the field. The one she longed for in grief and belonged to since birth. She waited for it to wake something in her, to hear it, but nothing came. Her eyes shifted to Kate, ready to run on second base. She nodded at her, and Abby nodded back.
She committed to the swing before the pitch left the circle.
Her bat connected high, and the ball traveled on a rise.
She gritted her teeth as she ran to first, uncertain if it would be out three or drop.
The shrieks of her teammates answered, and still wheezy from her morning smoke, she continued to second.
“That’s Cruz with the double to score Hutchins. One–nothing Eagles.”
Abby sighed in relief as a run glowed on the board. It confirmed what never stopped being true. No matter how fucked the outside world got, she knew how to play, how to compete, how to be the best. Even if it was just going through the motions.
On defense, the same rang true. She charged the first grounder that cracked her way, throwing to Jill with time to spare. She accepted Kate’s high five, before the infielders whipped the ball around the horn.
“One out!” Kate called.
The only grin she managed that day was when it came time to turn two.
She snagged the ball on a dive, flipped it out of her glove to Kate, who appeared not a second too soon, caught it bare-handed, threw and jumped over the runner in one motion.
The team and crowd erupted. And while Abby finished the day with a triple, four RBIs, and an errorless outing at shortstop, Kate’s glint after the play was her favorite moment of the game.
The Eagles won 9–4. The team celebrated, but Abby observed as if separated by glass.
She nodded at their compliments, but her reactions strained as if bending iron.
And as she glanced at the bleachers she knew why.
Her mother wasn’t there, not that many parents made the trip, but she wouldn’t be a text or a phone call away either.
No matter how bad things got, no matter how far the game took her, Abby’s mother had always been that.
Now she was just a phantom ring in her ears that stole her sleep.
They had a doubleheader the next day, and while she lay on the rollaway that night, she decided she didn’t need it. Not like this. Ten minutes after Coach Whitley checked on them for lights out, Abby ripped off the covers and slipped on her sneakers.
“What are you doing?” Mick sat up in the dark.
Abby shrugged on a jacket.
“Abby, don’t,” Kate said.
If anyone could stop her, it would’ve been Kate. But Abby didn’t want to be stopped. The game might have been hers, she might’ve crushed the ball, but she didn’t feel it. She’d won, but it didn’t make her believe. So, she left the room, slammed the door, determined to find another way to feel.
Every morning and every night, Kate prayed. She never forgot or missed. Usually, she prayed for simple things. She gave thanks, asked for health and strength, for her family, friends, Blake, and the team. She prayed for Abby too.
She prayed for her when she learned of her mother’s death.
She asked God to grant her peace. She prayed for Abby’s safety when she jumped in the river.
She prayed for her health when she looked extra haggard during their study sessions.
She prayed she wasn’t alone on Christmas.
Lately, she didn’t have a specific reason.
She prayed for Abby so often that she became the last thing she thought of before sleep.
She did it again now, nearly whispering as she paced the room.
Dear God, please watch over her, please keep her safe, please bring her back. Back to me. The request droned on like a tape in her head, while she stared at the door as if she might conjure Abby by hope alone.
“It’s been three hours. I think we should call Coach,” Jill said from bed.
Kate glanced at her phone. One o’clock in the morning. She’d called Abby thirteen times, left a voicemail, and sent ten texts.
“She’ll come back.” Mick sat at the hotel room desk and flipped through a dated travel guide.
T.K.’s snores rippled through the tension. She slept with a silk eye mask and noise-canceling headphones. She was slated to pitch in the morning and, despite Abby’s untimely departure, insisted on her nine hours of beauty rest.
“Maybe we should look for her,” Kate said.
Mick shook her head. “Let’s give her one more hour. Bars close at two.”
“How do you know she’s at a bar?” Jill asked.
“Because it’s Cruz.”
Kate frowned. She regretted not doing something more. Abby clearly hadn’t been in a good place that morning. Kate thought she heard her in her sleep, but Abby was out the door before she could ask. She barely ate. While she played flawlessly, she wasn’t the same.
“I should’ve followed her,” she said.
“No. Then we’d be worried about both of you,” Mick said.
“At least we’d be together.” Kate subtly clasped her hands, repeated her prayer, nearly moved her lips with it.
“She’s not your responsibility.”
“She actually is.”
“I know Coach said that, but I think this is beyond tutoring her.” Mick stood and stopped her pacing. “She’ll be okay.”
“I think we need to tell Whit,” Jill said. “If something happens, and we didn’t say anything, we’d feel horrible. Plus, if Coach knows about this, you’ll get to start at shortstop, Hutch.”
“I don’t care about shortstop,” Kate muttered.
Jill shrugged. “I’m just saying. I like Cruz too, but this whole time you guys have been duking it out, when all along she was going to self-destruct. I mean, some people are just wired that way.”
“Don’t say that.”
Mick frowned. “We’re both just trying to say that you can’t hold yourself responsible. Abby is going to be Abby.”
Kate hated such an assessment. Hated them talking about her like they knew her.
They didn’t know her like Kate did. Didn’t see her like Kate did.
Didn’t care about her like Kate did. Like her chest might collapse or expand based on where Abby landed, on what she felt, on what she said at any given moment.
When the door beeped a few minutes later and the handle turned, the trio jumped to their feet. Abby stumbled in, steadied herself on the wall, and hiccupped.
“Where were you?” Mick asked.
“I’m just-just getting my cigarettes,” Abby slurred.
“You’re not going back out.”
“Y-yes.” She grabbed her lighter. “I am, Mickey.”
“We have a game tomorrow,” Kate said.
“No, no, no. You have a game tomorrow.” Abby pointed at her. “That makes you starting shortstop. You’re great at it. Waste to have you at second.”
Her belligerence turned Kate’s spine to stone. “Don’t leave.”
“You’re sweet, but you need to let me go. You’ll learn that eventually.” She hiccupped again. Kate grabbed her arm and Abby jerked away. “Don’t.”
Mick snatched Abby’s other arm. “Don’t do this, dude.”
“Stop.” Abby grunted, somehow staggering despite their efforts to restrain her. “Guys, come on. Let me go!”
“Stop it! Shupe, help!” Mick wrapped herself around one of Abby’s legs. Kate clung to her torso as Jill secured an arm. Despite Jill being the tallest, Mick the heaviest, and Kate the fittest, it took all three of them to wrestle Abby to the carpet. T.K. never stirred.
“God, she turns into the Hulk when she’s drunk.” Mick heaved as they piled on top of her.
“Get off!” Abby bellowed.
“What do we do with her now?” Jill asked as she pinned Abby’s arms.
“I think she needs to cool off,” Mick said.
Kate’s mouth dropped. “Mick, don’t.”
“Yeah, come on.” Mick and Jill hauled Abby off the floor and dragged her to the bathroom.
“Let me go! Let me fucking go!” Abby shouted hysterically. “I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here anymore!”
Kate’s throat constricted. “Guys, be careful.”
Jill turned on the shower as Mick tore off Abby’s shoes.
“Just let me go. I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t.” Abby slackened out of Mick and Jill’s hold as water splashed into the tub. She released a mournful cry. “Just let me go. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
The three of them stood stunned. Despite her melancholy, Abby always appeared stoic. Never a tear. Never a word about what she’d been through. Perhaps it was because of how she played, but this crumbling didn’t seem possible.
“Hey, dude, it’s okay.” Mick widened her gaze at Jill and Kate. “We won’t put you in.”
Abby slinked to the corner until she hit the wall with another sob. “I should’ve been there, you know?”
“Been where?” Jill asked.
Kate cautiously eased to Abby, who swayed but didn’t run.
After all their time together—the studying, the competing, the bickering, the silences, stares, and rare smiles—she felt like the only one who could.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. Her hand trembled as she touched her shoulder. “Abby, it’s okay.”
“I can’t. I can’t stop hearing it. I just want it to stop. Please. I can’t.”
Abby covered her ears, clamped her eyes shut, and cowered at something none of them could see.
Unlike Mick, who backed away, and Jill, who blanched, Kate inched closer.
She whispered assurances that Abby likely couldn’t hear but said them anyway beneath her incoherent pleas.
And as Abby shielded her ears and rocked, Kate reached out and covered those same hands with hers.
She didn’t tell her that there wasn’t a sound to be heard.
She helped Abby cover her ears, not in understanding, but faith.
To not only whisper it to her, but show, “I’m with you. ”