A collective groan went up from the crowd.
“SLIDE!” someone screamed in the crowd. It was Watson, Kristy’s stepfather. “SLIIIIDE!”
Kristy’s mother slid into third base just as the ball Jackie had somehow (miracle #2) managed to throw plopped into Matt’s glove.
Bart was there. He swept his hands out. “SAFFFFE!”
When the kids came up to bat, the moms were ahead 3–0.
The kids fought back. With Dr. Johanssen pitching and Kristy’s mom catching, Buddy Barrett hit a double. He stayed on second base while Jamie Newton popped out to Mrs. Rodowsky, who was playing first. Then Suzie Barrett got a walk. And Matt Braddock brought Buddy home with another double.
The score at the bottom of the first ended up 3–2, moms’ favor.
The crowd went wild.
“Home run, home run!” called the cheer-leaders. “Show that kids are number one!”
“I don’t believe this,” said Jessi, who was taking care of Jamie Newton’s baby sister Lucy. She settled Lucy comfortably in her stroller and sat down next to her. “This is amazing.”
Marnie had awakened and turned to stare at the sleeping Lucy. “Baby,” she said at last.
Stacey and Jessi looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Thanks to a Rodowsky family rally, with Jackie’s brother Archie hitting a triple to right field, the game was tied in the second inning.
Mrs. Rodowsky put her hands on her hips and pushed her hat back as the ball sailed through the air. She grinned, then frowned, then shook her head.
“Good hit, Archie,” she called. Then she turned to her teammates. “We’ll get it back,” she told them.
Sitting in the stands, Mr. Papadakis let loose with an amazing cheer, then stood up and tried to get a wave started. In no time at all, the parents and all the spectators were making their own mini-wave, back and forth, in the Stoneybrook Elementary School bleachers.
“This is awesome,” Mallory Pike said, coming up beside Stacey and Jessi.
“How’s the refreshment stand going?” Jessi asked.
“Claudia and I are selling out. We may have to go get more soda at the third-inning stretch.”
Stacey nodded her head with satisfaction. “This will be great for the BSC treasury.”
In the third inning, I actually caught a ball hit by Hannie Papadakis. It was a grounder, but I stopped it and kept Hannie from going to second base.
“Yeah, Shannon!” cried an unexpected voice. I looked over to see that Tiffany had inched closer to the field. I grinned and flashed her a victory sign.
A moment later, I heard Tiffany cheer again as Maria hit a solid single and moved Claire Pike from third base to home.
Tie game again. And it stayed that way through the third inning.
“Okay,” Kristy told her team as it gathered around her on the bench. “You were down but you’ve fought back. Keep up the good work.” Matt (who is deaf) had been watching Kristy’s lips closely. Now he laughed and signed slowly, so that Kristy could understand. She burst out laughing and some of the other kids who could read sign language started laughing, too. Kristy told the other kids what Matt had said: “These moms are killers!”
In the moms’ dugout, I listened in amazement as Kristy’s mom gave a pep talk that could have been written by Kristy herself. Like mother like daughter, I thought as Mrs. Brewer went through the points of the game. She concluded with, “You know, if we let these kids beat us, we’ll never hear the end of it.” The moms all put their right hands together and shouted, “Goooo, moms!”
It had turned into a real ball game.
I sat on the team bench and listened to the roar of the crowd. And also some of the talk.
“I used to play intramural sports in college,” said Mrs. Barrett. “I’d forgotten how much fun it is, being on a team.”
Mrs. Papadakis nodded. “I know. I used to be on a soccer team in high school. It’s a great feeling.”
Mrs. Rodowsky put two fingers up to her lips and gave a loud whistle.
Mr. Papadakis came over with Sari in his arms. He leaned over and kissed Mrs. Papadakis on the cheek. “You’re doing great,” he told her.
“I bet you say that to all the ball players,” teased Mrs. Papadakis.
Mr. Papadakis grinned. “You’re all doing great.”
Mr. Johanssen reached around the edge of the dugout and handed Dr. Johanssen a cup of soda. “Thank you,” said Dr. Johanssen.
The two Johanssens stood side by side for a moment, watching the game and watching Charlotte cheer. Dr. Johanssen slipped her hand into Mr. Johanssen’s as they stood there.
Then she said, turning toward the other players in the dugout, “I’m so glad I got to come today. I’m on call, but other doctors will be handling everything but emergencies for me. Sometimes I can’t work it out, but this time, I was determined to.”
Mrs. Papadakis said, “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything, either. It’s the perfect end to a good week. It makes me realize how lucky I am, family, friends … now if we just don’t lose this game!”
Everyone laughed.
And then it was our turn to go back on the field.
How can I describe that fourth inning? Otherworldly might be a good start. The kids rallied and took the lead. And they held on to it all the way to the fifth.
That’s when the moms really got tough.
Mrs. Papadakis hit a double and ran like crazy … and slid headfirst into third base.
The crowd went mega-wild, including Hannie and Linny in the outfield.
Mr. Papadakis could be heard cheering in the next country, practically, as Mrs. Papadakis got up and brushed the dirt off her hands.
Dr. Johanssen struck out, and left the plate shaking her head.
Mrs. Rodowsky got to first base on balls.
Then Mrs. Barrett came up. She looked down the third base line. She looked down the first base line. Then she actually pointed her bat down the first base line as if to say, “That’s where it’s going.”
Was she bluffing?
A sudden hush fell over the crowd.
Strike one.
The bat stayed on Mrs. Barrett’s shoulder.
The next pitch was a ball.
The next pitch was a “Strike,” called Nannie.
And the next pitch — was a screaming line drive down the first-base line.
Mrs. Barrett drove in two easy runs.
The kids had another inning. But they just weren’t tough enough to beat their moms. The kids went down one, two three. The game was over. The moms had won, 6–5.
The teams shook hands while the crowds poured onto the field and mobbed the players. The moms and their families actually hoisted Mrs. Barrett up in the air on their shoulders, cheering her. Then they did a cheer for Mrs. Papadakis and then for the whole team.
Then they did a cheer for the kids.
“Hey, moms!” Vanessa Pike shouted. “Thank you for your cheer! Wait till next year!”
Gradually the two teams drifted apart and became parts of families again. I overheard snatches of conversations as they went to their cars, or started walking home: “Victory dinner, my treat,” I heard Mrs. Papadakis say. Other families laughed and talked and made plans for the night and the next day. Everyone seemed to have such busy, full lives.
We helped Claudia and Mallory pack the refreshment table and leftover refreshments in the back of the Kishis’ car. Then Mal ran over to join her family, who was waiting for her in the two Pike family station wagons, crammed with cheering, noisy, cheerful Pikes.
Claudia waved and climbed into the car beside her father and they headed home for dinner.
“I told Nannie we would walk home,” said Kristy.
“Great,” said Mary Anne, who was sleeping over at Kristy’s. “It’s such a nice night.”
It was, too. The warm day was turning cool as the sun went down. Tiffany, Maria, Mary Anne, Kristy, and I walked slowly down the streets.
Through the windows, I could see people getting ready for dinner, or to go out. Kids were playing basketball with their mothers and fathers using hoops attached to the sides of garages. People were walking dogs together, or finishing up yardwork, or just sitting on porches or steps and talking.
Families. All kinds of families doing all kinds of things.
Together.
Our house was quiet when we returned home. Dad still hadn’t gotten back from work, and Mrs. Bryar didn’t come on Saturday. I pulled out some leftovers and we made dinner.
Nobody talked much, but it was a peaceful silence, not the tense silence that often fell over us when one or both of our parents were there.
As we finished dinner, I noticed Maria’s head nodding.
“Go on to bed,” I told her. “I’ll clean up in the kitchen. You too, Tiffany.”
“Thanks,” said Maria and slid off her chair.
I smiled at my reflection in the window over the sink as I rinsed the dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher, remembering how the meter reader had scared me the first day I’d been in charge of the house. Now the week was almost over. In less than forty-eight hours, Mom would be home. My job as a stand-in mother was done.
It had been a good day, and a good week.
I knew I’d done a good job, too. I wanted to see Mom again, of course, but I was kind of sorry the week had to end.
Sunday morning after breakfast I drifted from room to room, trying to look the house over with a critical eye. Was there anything that needed fixing, straightening, moving, mending? Was I not seeing things that needed doing that my mom would point out the moment she got home tomorrow?
But I couldn’t see anything. The house looked good. The dishes had stayed clean, Mrs. Bryar had come on schedule. Even the leftovers were all in neat little containers, with the contents and dates written on labels on top. I’d done some of the grocery shopping and meal planning, but I hadn’t had to — Mrs. Bryar could have done it. I’d just wanted to, because it had made me feel like I was in charge.
Like I was useful and doing something.
I’d finished the Sunday paper and left it out for Dad when he got back from the golf course (where else?). I was tired of reading. There was nothing on TV. And with school out, I didn’t have any studying to do.
It was too early to call anybody. I wondered what Tiffany and Maria were up to. Tiffany was probably in her garden. Maybe I’d just go out there and …
My thoughts came to a screeching halt.
My mom. This must be what Mom felt like! This must be why she’d gotten so overly involved in my life.
Because she didn’t have anything else to do. The housework was taken care of. Dad was hardly ever around. We were growing up and didn’t need her so much anymore. Her job description as a mother had changed. And she didn’t have any other job, except running the house.
I remembered all the lists I’d made before I’d taken the job over. I didn’t need those lists now. In one week, I’d mastered what I needed to know.
Oh sure, there hadn’t been any major disasters. But that was true most of the time. My week had been easy. And fun because the experience was a new one. But now the novelty was a new one. But now the novelty was wearing off. And it wasn’t fun anymore. It wasn’t a challenge.
It was just plain boring.
Poor Mom.
Did she think that because we didn’t need her the way we had when we were babies that we didn’t love her anymore? Or as much? Was that why she kept calling me Shanny and treating me like a baby? Double wow.
In another minute, I’d made a decision. We were going to give Mom a special welcome home party.
I went out to the garden and got Tiffany, who followed with surprisingly little protest. Then I went upstairs and got Maria. I told them my plan.
We decided to make a welcome home dinner from the ground up, instead of using things that Mrs. Bryar had made. We pulled out the cookbooks and flipped through them until we found something we thought we could handle: roast chicken and salad and steamed carrots with parsley butter and mashed potatoes. And a cake. That sounded good and plain to us. After a week of French food, maybe good and plain would sound good to Mom, too.
This time our trip to the grocery store was pretty straightforward — no detours into Twinkieland (although we did get ice cream to go with the cake). We bought just enough for dinner, so we could carry it home on the bus, and not have to wait for a delivery.
(I was learning!)
We decided to start the cake. And to get everything ready for cooking the dinner tomorrow. Tiffany read the instructions for the cake aloud while Maria and I wrestled with the pots and pans and utensils.
“Place the chicken, breast side down, in a shallow baking dish,” Tiffany read.
We pulled open half a dozen drawers. “Which dish is the right shallow baking dish?” asked Maria.
I didn’t know the answer. I just knew that we had a very well-supplied kitchen.
“Here’s a picture of the chicken in the baking dish!” Tiffany exclaimed. All three of us studied the picture. We finally picked out (I think) the correct baking dish and put it out to use the next day.
We started the cake. We sifted flour and added ingredients and stirred things together.
We got flour and cocoa powder all over everything.
“You should see your face,” Maria said, laughing at me. “You look like Shannon the Snowwoman.”
“What about you?” I said. “Check it out, Maria. You are covered with cocoa powder.”
Tiffany said, “Tomorrow we should start the chicken first, then the carrots and the potatoes. The carrots only take twenty minutes. That’s not nearly as long as the chicken.”
“Good call, Tiffany,” I said. “We might have ended up with carrot mush.”
At last we got the cake in the oven.
Tiffany made a face. Then she slid off her chair. “I’m going to go get some flowers for the table while the cake bakes,” she announced.
“And I’m going to make welcome home decorations,” said Maria.
“I’ll make a welcome home card,” I said.
Soon Maria was hanging up paper chains while Tiffany arranged flowers in a vase to go on the dining room table. I’d just stuck the card in the envelope and put it where Mom would sit and was about to start setting the table when a voice said, “What’s all this?”
“Oh, hi, Dad,” said Maria. “Mom’s coming back tomorrow. We thought we’d surprise her.”
“Oh — how nice!”
“Dad!” I pulled Dad out onto the back porch. “You haven’t forgotten that Mom’s coming back tomorrow, have you?”
Looking indignant, he said, “No, of course not, Shannon.”
“We’ve missed Mom,” I said.
Dad nodded. Then he said, “Not that you haven’t done a good job, Shannon. I’m proud of the way you took charge.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t that hard. The house practically runs itself, especially with Mrs. Bryar taking care of it.”
I drew in a deep breath. Should I tell my father what I’d figured out? How much would he understand? Crossing my fingers for luck, I went on, “In fact, I think I sort of understand why Mom seems so, well, lonely.”
I let my voice trail off as a look of pain — or possibly guilt — flashed across my father’s face.
“I know,” he said, as much to himself as to me. “I know.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Then Dad reached over and patted my knee. “You did a good job,” he said again. “I’m proud of you. Of all of you. My girls.”
He jumped up and cleared his throat. “Now. What about going out for dinner? Maybe the Chinese restaurant. Would you girls like that?”
“Super!” I said.
Dad laughed and stood up. “Let me go change out of my golf clothes. And you guys better, uh, wash some of that cooking you’ve been doing off your faces.”
Ooops! I’d forgotten about the flour.
&nbs
p; I went back inside and told Maria and Tiffany we were going out for dinner.
We finished decorating the dining room and took the cake out of the oven and set it out to cool.
As I washed the flour off my face, and went back downstairs to join my family, I wondered if it was possible that my family — and my mother and father — cared more about each other than I realized? That they’d just gotten locked into patterns that kept them from saying so, from showing it?
And if that was what had happened, maybe it wasn’t too late to change.
Feeling suddenly hopeful, I went outside and sat on the front step. The smell of the cake still filled the air. Upstairs, I could hear, faintly, Dad’s footsteps as he moved around, the sound of water running as Maria washed cocoa powder off her face.
A person looking through the window of our house would see a family, like other families, getting ready for dinner, getting ready for the evening, getting ready for jobs and family activities and the work of the evening and the next day.
Maybe it was possible that what they were seeing wasn’t such an illusion after all.
Mom would be home in the late afternoon.
Maria and Tiffany and I finished decorating the dining room. We set the table. Tiffany added fresh flowers to the arrangement she’d started the day before.
We started the chicken right after lunch. Mrs. Bryan confirmed that we had chosen the right roasting pan and complimented us on our chocolate cake (even though it had fallen a bit in the middle). Then she helped us make cream cheese frosting.
Dad had said the night before that he would get home early, but I hadn’t seen him that morning. He’d already left for work when I woke up. I was pretty sure he’d forget until the last minute, and that he’d be late. And I was pretty sure it would make Mom feel bad.
But at least she had a surprise party waiting for her.
As it turned out, I had a surprise, too.
Dad came home early.
“Dad?” I said. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
“Shannon?” Dad teased. “I wanted to make sure we’re on time to meet your mom.”
Shannon's Story Page 8