Home Run

by Heidi McLaughlin

  After the workout, which consisted of every kind of “up” we could think of—push, pull, and sit—we’re sitting down together for lunch.

  “Do you guys do this every day?” I ask.

  “Nah. I usually eat at home,” Singleton says. His response is echoed by most of the players.

  “So why are you all here?”

  Hawk Sinclair, our starting pitcher tonight, sets his fork down and looks over at me. “Because we’re a team, and sometimes one of us needs to feel like they’re a part of the team.”

  Preston Meyers slaps me on the back. “Just make sure you’re there to back me up tonight, right?”

  I nod, appreciating that the guys are welcoming me…at least for this game.

  He’s arrived…finally!

  Cooper Bailey showed us tonight what he’s made off. With Bainbridge out for the week to attend a family funeral, the rookie got the call to fill the veteran’s shoes, and boy, did he fill them by going three-for-three at the plate including a walk-off grand slam and throwing a sprinting Nick Markakis out at home on a tag-up.

  Renegade fans—THIS—is what we’ve been waiting for!

  With tonight’s win and the O’s losing, that puts the Renegades two games back from first place at twelve and nine.

  This could be our year, fans. This could be it.

  Special note to Cal Diamond: Find a way to keep Bailey in the lineup.

  GOSSIP WIRE

  As stated above, Bainbridge has taken some time off to attend a funeral. It’s unknown who passed away, but Lisa did travel with her soon-to-be-former husband, adding some speculation that the couple could be headed toward a reconciliation…or it was her family member.

  General Manager Ryan Stone and his wife, Hadley Carter, have announced that they’re expecting their first child together. No timeline was given on when we can expect the newest member of the Stone family or if Ms. Carter will put touring aside to raise a family. Everyone at the BoRe Blogger wishes them many congratulations.

  Cal Diamond was once again seen leaving the cancer clinic. A call to the front office confirms that Diamond is not sick but doing volunteer work. At this time, we’re unable to confirm what work he’s doing and why it wouldn’t be done as a BoRe representative. Inquiring minds want to know!

  Chapter 24

  Ainsley

  There comes a moment when you realize that your world is about to shift, and for me that moment is now.

  “I left you,” my mom says in a voice that is barely above a whisper. All week we’ve been talking about the end because we both know it’s near. Any moments of lucidity that she has are spent going over details. From the day she entered the hospital, almost twelve weeks ago, we’ve been trying to nail down the specifics of her estate. Luckily, she has a will but there are a few odds and ends that we haven’t discussed, like where she wants to be buried and the fact that she wants to be cremated.

  “I’m right here, Mom.” I don’t correct her because there’s no use. I’m in the same room I have been since she was admitted. I rarely leave, sleep in an uncomfortable bed, and eat nothing but fast food. Even when Stella comes to visit, I never actually leave the hospital. I end up in the cafeteria or in the recreation room watching baseball.

  People watch baseball for entertainment. I watch it for torture. Cooper has been doing very well for himself, and the Renegades are at the top of the division, leaving teams in their dust. I know he struggled for a long time to find his place on the team, and it seems like it’s finally happened. I can’t even begin to count how many times I picked up my phone to text or call him, to congratulate him on his success, but I never can seem to pull the trigger. That wound has since closed, and I’m not looking to open it up again. Even though there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about him, it’s better that we’re each doing our own thing. Besides, the last thing I want to hear is how happy he is when I’m wallowing in self-pity while my mother dies a slow, painful death.

  I’m surrounded by death. It’s everywhere I look. I know it’s part of being in hospice care, but for once, I’d love to see some happiness in my life. A couple of times, I’ve wandered down the hall only to find myself staring at the newborns through the large glass window. It’s the only time I have faith in the world. Hearing a new baby cry brings a little bit of life back into me until I realize that, if and when I have children, they will never know their grandmother.

  “I’m leaving you,” she says this time while squeezing my hand. My tears are instant at the meaning of her words, and they fall rapidly down my face, splashing on my arm.

  “It’s okay, Momma.” It’s hard to be strong for someone else when you only want to fall at their feet and beg them to get better, plead with them not to die, but it’s out of their control. It’s what I hear almost every day when I ask if there is anything I should be doing for her: all I get is “Just be strong for her.” But how does someone be strong against something so powerful as cancer? You can’t be. All you can do is hope for the best, and even your best isn’t enough sometimes.

  “You’ll be alone soon.”

  “I’ll be okay. You just rest.” I pat her arm, hoping to convey that we don’t need to have this talk.

  “I have a letter.”

  “For who?” I ask her, knowing that somewhere in her room there’s a box of cards that she wrote out when she was first diagnosed. She wanted her friends to know what they meant to her. Most of them hung around until she starting shutting herself off from the outside world.

  “You and him.”

  My heart drops, and excitement takes over. Is she referring to my father? Did she write about him? “What do you mean, him?”

  She turns her head toward the wall, away from me. I get up and move to the other side of her bed and find that her eyes are closed. Gently, I run my fingers over her frail skin, hoping to wake her, but she refuses.

  “Tell me, please,” I whisper, begging for her to give me the answers I’ve been waiting my whole life for, but she doesn’t budge. “Mom, please,” I say again, only to jump when the door opens.

  “Oh, my God, is she…” Stella covers her mouth with her hand and looks at me. I shake my head, wiping away my tears.

  “She’s still with us. She just dropped a bomb, though, and I’m not sure what to make of it.”

  I meet Stella at the foot of my mom’s bed and give her a hug before retreating to my cot. During the day, I turn it into a makeshift couch with pillows that I’ve had Stella bring from home. It’s the only way I can feel like I’m functioning and not spending all my time in the orange chair.

  “What’d she say?” Stella pulls out tonight’s dinner from her bag. It’s roasted chicken and store-made potatoes.

  “Well, I’m trying not to speculate, but I think she wrote a letter about my dad. I’m not sure, though. Lately it’s been a few words here and there. Then she stops talking or she’ll randomly talk about something she did when she was a kid.”

  “Wow, your dad?”

  I nod before taking a bite of my food. “I’m not getting my hopes up, though.”

  “You’ve got to think that there has to be something in her room that gives you some direction, though.”

  “I don’t know. With her, it’s hard to tell. Whoever he is, he did a number on her, and she’s not willing to forgive him.”

  “Maybe not him, but you deserve to know who he is, and if she’s gone, she won’t be around to tell you how you should feel or act toward him. And she won’t have to witness it. I think a lot of her reasons for keeping him a secret is because she wanted you to love only her.”

  “That’s selfish, Stella.”

  She shrugs. “Why else would she keep his identity a secret?”

  I look over at my sleeping mom and wonder the same thing. Hell, I’ve been wondering who he is for as long as I could remember.

  “I don’t know, Stella.” What I don’t say is that he could’ve been married or maybe she never told him about me, fearful t
hat he’d reject us. Or maybe he’s the athlete, which would explain her aversion toward them. I believe the latter to be true because it would fit. I’m tempted to go home and start digging, but I can’t leave her. Her end is getting close, and I promised her that I’d be here, holding her hand.

  * * *

  For weeks now I’ve survived on little sleep. Each time I’d close my eyes and start to drift, a nurse would come in to check on my mother. It seems that they know just the right time to open the door, much like when you’re at a restaurant and the waitress comes by to ask how your meal is and your mouth is full of food so you can only nod, which is somewhat impolite.

  Except tonight when the nurse comes in and checks on my mother, she leaves and returns immediately with another nurse. That’s when I know her time on this earth is quickly coming to an end, and even though I’m distraught, I also breathe a sigh of relief, because soon she’ll no longer be in pain.

  “Ainsley?” I hear my name said softly, as if the nurse is trying not to wake my mom. I sit up and slide my legs out from under my blanket to face her. The soft glow from the muted light above my mom gives me enough light to see the features of the nurse’s face, which is enough to confirm what my gut is telling me. “There isn’t much time left.”

  I nod, understanding everything she’s telling me. The nurse returns to her duties, tending to my mother, while I sit there and look at her body, swollen with fluids and riddled with cancer. A single tear falls, the first of many to come, I’m sure, as I think about what tomorrow or the next day is going to be like.

  Different. Everything is going to be different.

  Picking up my pillow, I make my way over to the chair that I hate so much and sit down. My mom’s hand is cold and clammy; she doesn’t acknowledge that I’m holding it.

  “How do you know?” I ask the nurse.

  “It’s her breathing. Her intakes of air are too far apart, and they’re hard.”

  “Hard?” I question.

  “Maybe hard isn’t the right word,” she says. “Her body is fighting for her last breath.”

  Glancing at my mom, I see exactly what the nurse is talking about, and that’s when it hits me like a truck, square in my chest, and knocks the wind right out of me. I knew I’d cry, but the gut-wrenching sob that takes over my body is new and unexpected.

  This is the last time I’m going to hold her hand, be able to see her, talk to her, and just be in the same space as her. All my life, she’s all I’ve known. She’s been my best friend, and even my enemy at times, but her love for me never wavered. I break the rules and crawl into bed with her, wrapping my arm around her as tightly as I can.

  If the nurse has a problem with this, she doesn’t say anything. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has done this, and I won’t be the last.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I’m going to be okay,” I tell her, letting her know she can go and I’ll be fine. I’ve never wanted to say those words. I wanted to be selfish and demand she fight and stay here with me because I don’t know how to do this thing called life without her. But I hate seeing her suffering. I hate that she’s hanging on because she’s afraid I’ll be alone. I won’t be. I’ll have Stella and boxes full of memories to occupy my mind.

  I rest my head in the crook of her neck. She doesn’t smell like the mom I’m used to, but a mixture of soap and antiseptic. It’s not something I want to remember, but I want her to feel me holding her, like she’s held me so many times before.

  “I love you, Momma.” I gasp when she turns her head toward me, and I know that’s her way of telling me, one last time, that she loves me, too.

  * * *

  It’s been two weeks since my mother passed, and today she’s finally being buried. I didn’t want to put her to rest until everything was set, and now that her plaque is finally ready, she and I are taking the journey together to the cemetery.

  I stand off to the side while the undertaker places the box containing her ashes into the chamber. He moves to allow me to put in the things I wanted her to have with her at all times. There’s a letter from me, and one from Stella, a stuffed giraffe because, while they’re my favorite, they were also hers and she loved coming to the zoo to feed them, and the necklace that my grandmother had given her. I thought about keeping it, but it was my mom’s favorite and it should be with her. Once everything is inside, the chamber is sealed and her plaque set over the top. Her name shines brightly in brass with the words “Loving Mother” underneath them.

  I arrange the flowers I brought and sit down next to her, taking a few moments for just her and me. These past few weeks have been difficult, harder than I thought they would be. I’ve hardly slept and barely eaten because I haven’t felt very well, and I know the tasks before me are going to be daunting. I have yet to go into her bedroom because I’m not sure I can cope with not seeing her there.

  “The peonies are in full bloom, and I’ll bring you some every other day until I can’t find them anymore,” I tell her, running my fingers over her name. “I’m going to miss you so much, Mom. I don’t know how I’m going to do this. Even when I didn’t live at home, we spoke every day, and these past few weeks I’ve felt empty inside because you’re no longer a physical presence in my life.”

  My biggest fear, one that she never knew about, is forgetting the littlest things about her. Her smell, her voice, and even the way she’d laugh or how she’d hold a book. It’s been a year or longer since I’ve seen her dance in the kitchen, and while I used to laugh, I’d give anything to see her do it one more time just so I don’t forget. Because right now, it’s hard to remember. It’s things like this that we take for granted and don’t realize it until it’s too late.

  “Per your wishes, we didn’t have a funeral, and I spread a few of your ashes at the zoo so you’ll always be with me. Stella wrote you a letter. I didn’t read it because I wanted her words to be kept between the two of you.

  “And I know somewhere in your room there’s a letter waiting for me, but I’m afraid to read it. I don’t know if it’s the fear that I’m going to hurt your feelings if I go looking for my father or my fear that he won’t accept me. I’m not sure how much hurt I can take, so I’m going to hold off for now.” A small gust of wind washes over me, and I know it’s her.

  “I love you, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t always show it the way you needed me to.” I’m not sure how long I sit next to her marker while the sexton waits for me to be at peace with myself. When I finally start to stand, he’s there to help me.

  “I’ll make sure she’s fine before I leave.”

  For whatever reason, his words give me peace, and that is what I need right now.

  Chapter 25

  Cooper

  My career is finally starting to take shape. Aside from not starting every game, I’m playing, and I couldn’t be more thankful. After my rocky start, I thought for sure I was heading back to Pawtucket or, even worse, Double-A. But Diamond refused to listen to the naysayers and kept me on the bench.

  We’re playing the pesky O’s today and are currently two games ahead of them in standings. I’m starting today and likely won’t play the entire game unless my bat is on fire. If that’s the case, Bainbridge will come in for Kidd or Meyers. Diamond has been messing around with our fielding spots to try to take advantage of the talent he has. Plus it allows the other guys to take a night off.

  The Orioles are on the other side of the field, where Singleton is currently staring at them.

  “Are you sizing up the competition?” I ask as I stand next to him. Singleton has about two inches on my six foot two frame and probably has me by ten or so pounds but can easily outrun me, and clocks the fastest base running in the league.

  “Nah, just watching.”

  “They’re a bunch of snot farmers,” Kidd says as he joins us.

  “Excuse me?” I choke as I try to hold back a chuckle while Singleton is bent over laughing.

  Kidd shakes his head before nodding to the third base side.
“They’ve been whining to the local press about being in second place. They’re all fart munchers.”

  “Where do you even come up with these words?” I ask. I’ve been the subject of a one-liner from him many times but haven’t had the balls to ask him where he gets them.

  “He’s a damn toddler, in case you haven’t noticed,” Bryce Mackenzie adds. He motions for us to start stretching, and I follow his lead. Despite my rising batting average, I’m still a rookie and look up to these guys—even Davenport, who is actually younger than I am.

  “My life at home was shit,” Kidd says when he catches up to us. “I needed a way to cope so I started making jokes. It was easier to brush off the bullshit from my dad.”

  “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to open any wounds.”

  “No worries, we all have that parent.”

  I know all too well what it’s like to have an overbearing father. Thankfully, mine is watching games from the comfort of his beach house and leaving me alone, although I do miss him. But having him a thousand miles away affords me a life outside of baseball. He doesn’t get to bitch at me for staying out late or hitting a few clubs every now and again.

  “My parents are awesome.”

  Kidd and I both push Davenport away when he says that. We’ve all heard about how amazing and supportive his parents are, not to mention his hot-ass wife. It’s funny, though, when he fucks up, because she gets on him worse than Diamond does. We all joke that Daisy needs to be on staff to keep us on the straight and narrow.