Hawk: The Boys of Summer #4

by Heidi McLaughlin

  By most standards, it’s still early when I get back to the barn. By rancher standards, it’s time for a snack because they’ve been up since before the sun. The ranch is bustling though, under the mid-morning sun. Elizabeth is working with a horse and will teach barrel racing later and Avery runs a 4H program from the ranch after school. Their husbands are likely herding cattle or having a macho tree climbing race, while the other hands are doing their respective chores. Any which way I look, someone is doing something for my parents.

  After dismounting Cadbury, I lead her back to her stall and make sure she has fresh water and hay. “Missed you at breakfast this morning.”

  Mom walks toward me with her pants tucked into her muck boots. When she reaches Cadbury’s stall, her horse neighs and comes over to her. They nuzzle, much like people do with their dogs and cats. “How was she?”

  “Perfect. I had a little trouble mounting her because of my arm, but she didn’t seem to mind.”

  “She’s such a good mare. The twins learned to ride on her. So did Nolan. Speaking of, have you spoken to your nephew?”

  “I haven’t had a chance. I thought they’d be at dinner last night.”

  “Me too, but I think Elizabeth and Warner are worried.”

  “He’s just a kid. They should let him explore. What do Ali and Ava do for fun?”

  Mom sighs. “Everything. 4H, ice skating. Ava wants to be a logger, so Alan takes her to competitions and is teaching her how to climb. Ali wants to be everything: Princess, hairdresser, lawyer. She tells your father someday she’s going to be a lawyer during the day and a stylist at night all while married to Prince George.”

  “Do I know this Prince George’s family?”

  My mom laughs so hard, she has to bend over. “Oh, Hawk. I’ve missed having you at home. And no, not personally. His great-grandmother is the currently Queen of England.”

  “Ah,” I say, even though I’m utterly lost. “I’ll spend some time with Nolan. Maybe take him down to the fields after school.”

  “Check with your sister first. Don’t just kidnap her boy.” She laughs, but it’s only because she knows that’s exactly what I planned to do. I give my mom a kiss on her cheek and head toward the arena where my sister is either training or wrangling a horse. I’m not sure which. When I come to the white, stockade fence, I rest against the top slat and watch my sister. When we were younger, she was one of the fastest barrel racers, competing in Wyoming most of the time and then taking her talents down to Texas. I don’t know why she stopped and took up teaching. I suppose it had something to do with Warner and the birth of Nolan.

  Elizabeth finishes her run and brings her Quarter horse stallion to a trot. They come toward the fence and I hold out a hay cube for him. “I see you took Cadbury out this morning.”

  “Yeah, figured she’d be easier than one of the stallions.”

  “Probably true. How’s the arm?” Elizabeth dismounts and drops the reins. Her horse takes this as an open invitation to go roll in the mud. My sister mutters a string of curse words that would rival any sailor.

  “I’ll hold the hose.” It’s my offer to help wash him later.

  She shakes her head, rolling her eyes as she does. “He’s ridiculous. Loves being dirty.”

  “Anyway, the arm’s okay. A bit sore after yesterday. My therapist is a sadist.”

  My sister snorts and covers her mouth. “Sorry about that,” she says as she continues to laugh. “You never were one for pain.”

  “Nope, it’s why I like pitching so much. I rarely have to bat, run bases, and I get every three to four days off to rest.”

  “Lazy is what you are.”

  I bat my eyes at my older sister, and she pushes my good shoulder with her gloved hand. “Ma sent you out here to talk to me, didn’t she?”

  “More or less.”

  “I know he wants to play, and he should get the opportunity to be a little boy, but Warner . . .”

  “Look, I can’t give you advice on how to manage your household, but as Nolan’s really cool and famous uncle, let the boy hang out with me while I’m here. It’s twelve weeks, Lizzy. A ranch hand can take over his chores for the time being. I’ll make sure he does his homework, we’ll go riding, and we’ll spend some time down at the baseball fields.”

  She smiles and then looks over my shoulder. I turn and find Warner standing in the doorway. I wave, but the gesture isn’t returned. “He won’t like it.”

  “Yeah well, like I said, I’m only here for a short time. I want to hang out with my nephew.”

  “Are you going to hang out with the twins?”

  I blanch at her question. “Um . . . have you seen those girls? They’re freaky! They’re identical in every aspect. Voice, hair, eyes, smile… it’s like they belong on some horror story reality thing. It’s creepy.” Elizabeth laughs but finally admits she agrees with me and goes on to say that I need to spend time with my nieces as well to keep the peace with our younger sister. I know she’s right, but like I said, the twins are . . . odd.

  When Nolan gets off the bus, I’m there to meet him. He runs up to me and just when I think he’s going to jump into my arms, he skids to a stop and gives me a high five. “What, no hug for your uncle?” He turns and watches the bus amble down the road. That’s when I get it, he doesn’t want his friends to tease him. I put my hand on his shoulder in hopes that he knows I understand. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know, downtown. Maybe stop by the field and see what’s going on there. We could get some ice cream if you promise not to tell your grandma.”

  “I promise,” he says with a smile.

  All the way into town, Nolan tells me about school, his teachers and his favorite subject, P.E. I honestly believe it’s every boy’s favorite class because it’s the only time, aside from recess, where we can burn energy. He asks about baseball and if I’m sad that I’m missing most of my season. I’m honest with him and tell him that it hurts to watch the sport I love so much while feeling like I should be there supporting my teammates. But I know that if I were there, I’d probably be working too hard at recovery, which would likely set me back. I also tell him that I’m happy to be back in Montana to spend some time with him and that we need to convince his parents to let him fly out to Boston during his summer vacation. Nolan, of course, is in full agreement.

  “Grandma tells me you want to play baseball,” I say as we pull into the almost packed parking lot of the stadium. Through the closed windows I can hear kids yelling and that brings a smile to my face.

  He nods and goes to this backpack. He unzips it and pulls out his glove. “It used to be yours. Grandpa found it in the barn and said I could have it.” He hands my old mitt to me. I want to slide my hand inside of it but the strain on my shoulder would be too much. Instead, I hold it and turn it over a few times. This glove has seen a lot of wear and tear. I’m honored that he’s using it, but he really should have a new one. It would be something I’d buy for him, because I don’t expect his father to do it and I’ve gathered that Elizabeth doesn’t say much to disagree with her husband.

  “Wow, I haven’t seen this ol’ thing since I started high school.”

  “Yeah, Grandpa found it in the rafters one day. It’s okay if I keep it, right?”

  “Of course, until Cooperstown comes asking for it. Never know, maybe I’ll be in the Hall of Fame after I retire.”

  Nolan shrugs. “You’re already an all-star. They’d be dumb not to put you in the Hall of Fame.”

  I reach over and ruffle his hair. “I need to win a few championships and throw a lot more shut-outs before they’ll even consider me . . . and I can’t really do that while I’m injured, now, can I?”

  “Nope, but you’ll be stronger when you return.”

  My nephew makes me smile. “You know what, kid? You need to be a motivational speaker when you get older. You’re wise beyond your years.”

  He looks down at his lap and fiddles wit
h the worn-out leather on his mitt. “I want to be like you.”

  “Yeah? Well, let’s go see who’s out there playing and see if we can’t find you someone to throw with. Unfortunately, your uncle is out of commission for another few weeks, but I can coach you.”

  We meet at the front of my truck and walk into the park together. Every field is bustling with activity and the first thing I notice is that it’s all boys, no girls. The second thing I notice is the group of boys standing off to the side, watching but not participating.

  “Do you know those boys?” I ask Nolan.

  He nods and points, even though it’s not polite to do so. “That’s Nick, Blake, Gavin, Chase, and Ben. The boy on the very end is Sebastian but we call him Bash because he likes to hit things.”

  “Does he hit you?”

  Nolan looks up. “No, just the walls and stuff. He’s really nice but doesn’t have any friends.”

  “Are you nice to him?”

  My nephew shrugs. “Sometimes, but kids like Brady, Ryker and Tate tell us who we can and can’t like.”

  “That’s not cool.”

  “Nope,” he says, shrugging again and sighing. “That’s school for you, though.” I don’t remember school being like that, at least not until I had college offers coming in and the guy I thought was my best friend started acting like a jerk.

  Nolan and I make our way deeper into the park. There are fields on both sides, filled with kids batting, pitching, tossing the ball back and forth, and running the bases. It feels like I’m back in spring training with all the activity.

  Walking toward us is the former best friend. I’d know his ugly mug anywhere. He smiles and I know it’s that fake as fuck shit he used to do when we were younger.

  “I heard you were back in town but couldn’t believe it until I saw you with my own two eyes. How the hell are you, Hawk?”

  If my arm wasn’t in a sling, I’d probably hug him. Actually, I’d probably punch him in the face just for being a douche all those years ago. Instead we shake hands, and he clasps my one good one with both of his, as tightly as he can. I hold back the laughter bubbling deep down because he’s trying to hurt me and he’s not even fazing me.

  “Yep, came home to recuperate and see how things are going here.”

  Brett turns left and then right. “As you can see, things are good. Very active. The community really uses the Sinclair Fields.”

  The way he says it leaves me feeling sour, almost as if he’s bitter. He spent years playing in my parent’s makeshift baseball field. You would think he’d be happy with a state-of-the-art facility to coach in. It seems that the name on the front is what bothers him the most.

  “How are things? You and Annie good?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Annie’s great. Business is booming. What about you, married?”

  Shaking my head slowly. “Nah, no time for that right now. What is it that you do?”

  “Invested in corporate capital. I own the construction store at the end of Main Street.”

  “You own that monstrosity?” Somehow that doesn’t surprise me, and he’s taken great offense for me saying as such by the look he’s given me. He opens his mouth to retort, likely with something crass, but closes it rather quickly when someone calls out, “Dad”. Brett turns around and his shoulders stiffen. Coming toward us is one of the players, dressed in full uniform.

  “Little early for uniforms, isn’t it?”

  Brett glares.

  “Hi, I’m Matty.” To my complete shock the young woman sticks her hand out to shake mine. I would’ve never guessed Brett Larsen would let a girl on his baseball team, but apparently, I was wrong.

  “Hey, Matty. Nice to meet ya, I’m Hawk Sinclair.”

  “I know. I watch you all the time. Sorry about your shoulder.”

  “Me too.”

  “Hey, Nolan.”

  He waves. “Hi, Matty.”

  While she and Nolan make small talk about some class project, I’m ignoring Brett and everything around me to focus on Matty. She looks familiar, but more so seems familiar. It’s like I’ve met her before or know her from somewhere.

  “We have to go,” Brett says as he pulls his daughter away from us. He doesn’t go back to the dugout but leaves the park, tugging her along.

  “Do you know that guy, Uncle Hawk?”

  I sigh. “Unfortunately, I do.”

  “He’s not very nice.”

  “No, he’s definitely not nice.”

  Nolan and I find a spot to throw near the kids who are lurking around. I ask them if they want to join, and they all do, except for Bash. Only a few of the kids know who I am, so Nolan takes it upon himself to do introductions and give them my stats for last year. Suddenly, I’m a hero or the coolest guy in Richfield. I’ll take it. I do my best to instruct them on form and stance, but with one arm, it’s limited. I’m not a coach by any means, but I think it’s safe to say my nephew is going to make one hell of a pitcher.

  Twelve

  Bellamy

  I’m knee deep in my flower bed, pulling dead, wilted clumps of weeds, leaves, and whatever else accumulated over the winter, when I hear “Mom” being yelled from down the street. Leaning back, I place my hand on my forehead to shield the sun so I can see what’s going on. Chase, along with a few other boys, are pedaling down the road, racing each other. I stand and start heading toward my son, out of sheer fear that he’s going to get hurt. I hate that my first reaction is that someone is trying or going to hurt my son. I can’t help but think this way, especially after the last few days. When Chase said he was riding over to the baseball fields, I wanted to stop him, to tell him no, but I couldn’t. I was surprised he wanted to go over there, given everything that’s been going on, yet so proud of him for trying to stand up for himself. I’m halfway down the driveway when I stop abruptly. I hear laughter.

  Chase is laughing.

  He’s laughing, right along with the other boys. No one is chasing him or calling him names. They’re all riding next to each other with their baseball gloves hanging from their handlebars and one boy is tossing a ball in the air. I think that he must be the cool kid of this little posse, riding with one hand, seemingly without a care in the world. I turn my focus back to Chase and for the first time in a long time, my son seems happy and I’m thankful that my sunglasses can hide the fact that I have tears in my eyes because I wouldn’t want him to see me like this.

  The boys come to a skidding halt in my driveway and all five of them drop their bikes and come rushing toward me. I hear “Mom”, “Ms. Patrick”, and “baseball” all at once and have to put my hand up in a silent request for them to all stop talking.

  “One at a time, boys.” I haven’t had to say something like that before and realize I love it. Never, in the past couple of years, did I suspect I’d be standing here like this, telling a group of boys who look happy and excited to be standing next to my son, to not all talk at once so I can understand each of them. I could easily get used to this.

  “Mom, you’ll never guess what we just did!”

  “Tell me!” I beg.

  “We. Played. Baseball!” Chase holds his arms out and punctuates each word with a jab in the air. My mouth drops open, not only in surprise but in shock as well. Could Brett have changed his mind? Was it David Farmer putting his foot down or did Brett realize he had made a mistake?

  “And Ms. Patrick, it was amazing!” says the boy next to Chase.

  “What’s your name?” I ask him and the rest of the group.

  “Mom, this is Ben, Blake, Nick and Gavin.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I tell them. “Okay, now fill me.” I crouch down so that I have to look up at them. I want to see the excitement in their eyes when they share their amazing day.

  “Ms. P . . . it’s okay that I call you that, right?” Gavin asks. Son, you can call me anything you’d like at this point as long as you never hurt my son.

  “Absolutely!”

  “Great, okay
. So, we’re at the ballpark, right?” I nod along with him. “And we’re just watching because none of us made the team and this guy comes up to us with his kid—”

  “No, that was his nephew. Nolan’s in my class,” Blake adds. The two boys argue back and forth until I tell them it’s fine either way and to continue with the story because I’m on the edge of my seat with anticipation.

  “Okay,” Gavin says, sighing heavily. “This guy tells us he wants to teach us how to throw. I mean I already know how, but this guy is Hawk Sinclair! You know who that is, right Ms. P? He’s a pro at baseball and stuff. Pitches like a hundred miles an hour!”

  Hawk Sinclair, the cowboy stranger from this morning.

  “Mr. Larsen didn’t ask you boys to play?”

  “Pfft, my mom says Mr. Larsen is a . . .” I give Ben a stern look. I’m sure I agree with his mother, but he doesn’t need to say it in front of the other boys.

  I clap my hands together and stand. “It sounds like you boys had a great afternoon.”

  “We did, Mom. It was the best. Tomorrow, Mr. Sinclair said that if we come down to the park, he’ll teach us how to throw a knuckle ball.”

  “That’s great, although I don’t exactly know what that is.”

  Gavin takes a baseball out of his glove and shows me what a knuckle ball looks like. I have to say, it doesn’t look very comfortable, especially when you have the tiny hands of a ten-year-old.

  “Wow, that’s amazing, Gavin!”

  “I’m going to be a pitcher like Hawk.”

  “Me, too” and “so am I” are echoed among the group. I tell Chase he has a little more time on his bike in case he and the boys want to ride around or go tell their moms about their exciting day and remind him to be home in time for dinner. He doesn’t give me a hug but does yell, “bye, Mom!” as he hops on his bike and peddles toward the street. I don’t know how long I stand there, watching as they ride away, but it’s long after they’ve disappeared around the corner. I can still hear them laughing and wonder what could be so funny. With boys, you never know. What I do know is that seeing him smile makes my heart happy. My son had a great day, but I’m worried about what tomorrow may bring.