Home Run

by Heidi McLaughlin

I nod and am thankful she’ll take care of that for me. I step into the closet and turn on the light. Rows of clothes hang there, untouched for months with a layer of dust on them. I reach for the box marked “personal” and pull it down and sit on the floor with it. I’m careful when I lift the dust-covered lid and place it right side up.

  Inside is a stack of cards, each addressed to its recipient. As I look through them, I notice that these are all for her former co-workers and friends. These are friends that she pushed away when she was diagnosed with cancer. Part of me doesn’t want to mail them for fear they may open old wounds that have since healed for people. But part of me knows I have to, to fulfill her wishes, even if I don’t agree.

  “Here, this one is for you,” I say, holding up an envelope for Stella. She takes it and holds it in her hands for a moment before tearing it open and reading it aloud. I try not to watch, but I can’t take my eyes off of her.

  My Dearest Stella,

  I have known you almost as long as I’ve known my daughter, and not a day has gone by when I haven’t loved you. Be strong for Ainsley, because she’s going to need you when I’m not here.

  Someday, you’ll find happiness, and when you do, please know that I’ll be with you every step of the way. In my jewelry box, you’ll find a blue velvet pouch. This is my gift to you on your wedding day. It’s not much, but when I saw it, I thought of you.

  Love always, Janice

  Stella wipes the tears that have fallen and goes to my mom’s dresser, pulling open the drawers of her jewelry box until she finds the blue velvet bag. The blue sapphire dangles from a chain, catching the fading sunlight just in time.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It is. I was with Mom when she found it. I didn’t know she was buying it for you,” I tell her as I lean against the doorjamb with my own letter in hand.

  “Is that for you?” she asks, suddenly aware of what I’m holding. I nod and pull my lower lip in between my teeth to ward off the impending tears.

  “Are you going to read it?”

  I look down at my hand and back at her. She knows I’m fearful, yet curious as to what’s inside the envelope. “I have to, right?”

  She nods and reaches for my hand, pulling me over to the bed. When I was little, I used to sleep with my mom because she had the most comfortable bed. I reminded her of that not too long ago when I curled up with her in this one, only for her to tell me that her bed was so old and falling apart that she had put egg cartons under her sheets for comfort. Now that I think about it, it must’ve been a comfort thing in the sense that I was always near her.

  Carefully I slide my finger under the flap of the envelope and move it along until I can access the letter. It’s five pages long, and the last thing I have in her handwriting.

  To my beautiful, sweet, caring, and loving daughter, Ainsley,

  There are no words to describe the amount of joy you have brought to my life. You have been my light, my path, and the bridge that I traverse daily to a better life. When you came into my world, you changed me for the better and for that I will be forever grateful.

  She continues to go on about our lives together and how proud she is of me for going to college and getting my degree. My mom apologizes for getting sick—as if she could control that.

  I continue to read about what she wants for me. She asks that I wear her earrings as my “something borrowed” when I get married and use the handkerchief that my grandfather always carried in his pocket but never used as my “something old.” My mother encourages me to have children, travel, and find the love of my life, adding that it doesn’t have to necessarily be in that order.

  Stella and I both laugh at that.

  And now for what you’ve been waiting for. For years, I’ve kept this secret out of love for a man I once knew and out of selfishness for fear you would choose him over me. I was young and foolish when I met your father, and I fell easily for his charm. By the time I found out he had another woman, it was too late, and you were already growing inside of me. He doesn’t know about you, Ainsley. I never got the chance to tell him. When I found out I was pregnant, he was long gone, and back then we didn’t have the Web to help us find people. I waited for him the next year, but he never returned.

  He’s the reason I have discouraged you from dating athletes. I was so angry and hurt, left as a teenager to raise a child on my own, that I wanted to prevent you from experiencing the same pain. I knew someday I would have to tell you this, but I never had the courage. I wouldn’t be able to bear seeing him again, so I waited. I selfishly waited until I didn’t have to face what I had done to the both of you. I hope that someday you will be able to forgive me.

  His name is Wesley Wilson. He was a strapping young man, so full of charisma, and very handsome. You look a lot like him. He played for a baseball team, but for the life of me, I can’t remember the name, but do remember they were from the northern part of the Midwest. If you decide to find him, please let him know that I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone.

  I set the letter down on her bed and collapse in a heap of nothing. She kept him from me this whole time, and while I had an inclination, I had always hoped she didn’t know who he was.

  Stella leaves my side, only to return with a roll of toilet paper.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry, Ainsley.”

  “I know. I am, too. I don’t even know what to think.”

  “Are you going to look for him?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. What if he has a family and he doesn’t want me? I don’t think I can go through any more pain.”

  Stella holds me in her arms soothing me. It’s some time before the tears stop and I’m able to function.

  “I’ll be right back. I have to use the restroom.”

  When she leaves, I pick up the letter again and reread the part about my dad. He was with someone when they met, which means they could still be together. He probably has a family and doesn’t have room for me lurking around.

  “Hey, do you have any tampons?” Stella yells from the bathroom.

  “Under the sink.”

  “Nope, none.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep. There’s nothing under here. Can you check your suitcase? Maybe you didn’t unpack them.”

  I stand and start down the hall to my room, trying to remember when the last time I had my period. The date escapes me. In fact, I can’t recall having one while in the hospital.

  “I wadded up some toilet paper. Did you find one?”

  I shake my head slowly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t remember my last period,” I tell her as anxiety starts to set in.

  “It’s okay. You were under a lot of stress. I’m sure your body just shut down.”

  Yes, that’s it. My body went into preservation mode and stopped putting me through death once a month. Stella has to be right because there is no other alternative.

  Chapter 27

  Cooper

  It’s hard to say if the change in managers has been a benefit to the Renegades or not, but it’s definitely been one to me. I’ve known Wes Wilson for years, back to my early college days when I tried out for the U.S. Olympic Team. I didn’t make the roster, but that was because there were other, more talented players than I was at the time. I never held a grudge or had any hard feelings. I also didn’t expect Wilson to remember me, but he did.

  While Bainbridge and I still switch off and on, I’m more on lately than he is. He calls it rookie luck. The odds makers call it talent. I’m not sure what I call it. All I know is that I’m happy with my playing time. I’m still working to make the position mine, and as much as I enjoy working with Bainbridge, I’m hoping he retires at the end of the season. I’m batting in the three hundreds, and my on-base percentage is almost double what Bainbridge is achieving. At the moment, we’re a winning club, and in order to win, you keep what’s working, and right now that’s
me. Regardless of who’s playing, we’re getting it done and are currently in first place with a four-game lead.

  And I’m finding that I love Boston, even though I’ve never been a fan of wind, and Boston springs remind me why. The fans here are amazing, the atmosphere is electric, and it feels like home. Once the off-season comes, I’ll start house hunting, hopefully in the Back Bay area.

  Most of the guys are already in the clubhouse when I arrive, prepping for the media explosion that is about to happen outside. Travis Kidd, whose locker is next to mine, is combing his hair trying to tame a pesky flyaway. My attire is simple: Put on some Renegades clothes, my ball cap, and call it good.

  “Are you trying to find a chick?” I ask him as he continues to comb the same spot after he sprays it down.

  “My picture will be taken.”

  “I take it you never look yourself up on the Web.”

  Kidd drops his comb and glares at me. “When I’m playing, I don’t care, but today is different.”

  Davenport slaps him on the shoulder. “Different because there will be women who forgot to put some clothes on and Kidd will be getting their digits.”

  “Thought so,” I say, laughing right along with Davenport.

  “Listen up.” Our publicity rep, Talia, comes in, not caring if we’re dressed or not. I suppose she figures we’re at least decent since our day is starting with an autograph session, although she’s been known to barge in.

  “The lines are long so we want to move them along fast. We’re trying to keep them off the overpass, but more people showed up than we had originally anticipated. Staff will be on hand to give you new markers when you need them. Fans will be handed an eight-by-ten color photo for you to sign, plus they can bring their own items. They are only allowed to have three pieces signed at a time before they have to get back in line. Don’t worry about counting. The staff will be there to make sure fans comply.

  “If you get thirsty, let one of us know. It’s hot out, and we’ve moved you guys under the awning as much as we could. Once the line is complete, you’re allowed to mingle if you want. That is the only time fans will be able to take pictures with you so we encourage it. Any questions?”

  Most of us shake our heads, as she’s pretty efficient with her details.

  We follow Talia out and down to the street where fans start screaming our names. I wave, as do some of the other guys, and they get louder. I can tell pictures are being taken and can’t imagine any of them will be decent. But who knows, everything will end up on social media anyway whether they’re good or not.

  There are twenty-five chairs lined up behind a row of tables. Talia and her staff direct us where to sit, as if we couldn’t find our own chair when each one has a name tag on it. I’m not surprised to find all of the outfielders together with me, sitting next to Bainbridge and Meyers on my left and Kidd to the right of Bainbridge.

  “The last time you did one of these, rookie, things were different.” Bainbridge slaps me on the back as he says this. I can’t tell if he’s being an ass or if his comment is genuine.

  “I didn’t have many fans back then.” I didn’t, and I was at the end of the table. By the time people came through the line, they were tired and didn’t really care about me.

  “Yeah that’s about to change.” He points to the crowd, and there are fat heads of my face being moved up and down.

  “Wow, that’s freaking trippy.”

  “You made it, kid. Just don’t let it go to your head,” he says, reminding me that he’s not only my teammate but also he’s looked out for me from the get-go.

  “I won’t. I have a good role model.”

  He smiles, looks down at the table, and starts fiddling with one of the markers. Talia tells us to get ready.

  * * *

  Signing hours of autographs before a game is not recommended. I think the publicity department underestimated the number of people that were going to show up. And by the end of the event, Kidd walked away with twenty or more phone numbers. Three of which are dates for the upcoming week. I don’t know how he does it, but the women flock to him. I don’t know if I should be jealous or scared. I can’t even find someone I want to spend time with. Our schedule is hectic, and it really takes an understanding woman to put up with it.

  I change quickly and head out to the field. Even though I’ve been starting, I haven’t stopped putting in the extra time with Bainbridge. We head out to center field with our buckets of balls and two bats. I end up going first, hitting one hundred balls into the mats that try to soften the impact that our bodies take when we collide with the wall during the games.

  “You’re doing good, Cooper. You’ve come a long way,” he says.

  “Thanks to you. You could’ve been a total dick and let me fail.”

  Bainbridge shakes his head. “That’s not what’s best for the club. We want to win, and if that means I’m on the bench, so be it.”

  I continue hitting the balls he’s tossing, wondering if I’m ever going to be like him in that way. I was raised to only look out for myself, my teammates be damned, but Bainbridge has been trying to teach me otherwise.

  “Have you thought about coaching?”

  He pauses and looks at me. “Do you think I’d be good?”

  I rest my bat on my shoulder and nod. “Hell yeah. I could never thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me when you didn’t have to. I can’t say I would’ve done the same thing if the roles were switched. I would now, though, because you’ve taught me what it means to be a team. So, yeah, I think you’d be a great coach.”

  Bainbridge seems to ponder this for a minute. “Maybe I’ll think about it.” Everyone knows he has a lot of shit going on at home, but he never seems to bring it to work.

  We continue to work out until it’s time for team activities to start. Inside the clubhouse, there’s a buffet set up for us to munch on until it’s time to get serious; this is something new with Wilson. Before, we’d go down and eat when we were hungry, but now we eat as a team and in the luxury of our clubhouse.

  When I step out of the dugout, I turn at the sound of my name being called. My dad is right behind the dugout, grinning like a crazed fool. He’s decked out in Renegades gear and has a crazy foam finger that he’s waving around. I’m happy he’s here just as long as he doesn’t overstay his welcome. He needs to let me live my life and make my own choices, while suffering the consequences of my actions.

  The game goes as planned, even though I end up ripping my pants sliding into third and end up getting catcalled because people can see my ass in the outfield.

  Most important, we win, putting us ahead of the Orioles once again. Unfortunately, both of us can’t vie for the division title, and I’m hoping the Renegades are the sole leader of the American League East when it matters.

  We decide to celebrate our victory at the bar across the street. It’s become somewhat of a tradition for us, but tonight it’s Kidd, Bennett, Davenport, my father, and I, sitting around a table shooting the shit. You’d be surprised how much we have to talk about after spending all day together.

  Tonight, my father is leading the conversation, telling embarrassing stories from when I was kid. Like the time I climbed the tree in our backyard to watch the neighbor girl change her clothes because she always left her blinds open. My father sprayed me with a hose and made me go over and apologize to her, soaking wet. She later became my girlfriend for about a month until baseball started and I was never home.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I contemplate ignoring it, but it won’t stop. I pull it out, and my heart drops and then immediately speeds up, if that’s even possible. Ainsley’s name is displayed on the screen. Once the vibrating stops I start to breath again.

  “You okay?” Daisy Davenport asks.

  “Um…yeah. I just need to use the restroom.” My dad lets me out of the booth, and I navigate my way to bathroom, ignoring the people who are trying to get my attention. As much as I have tried to put Ainsl
ey behind me, I’ve been unsuccessful. I’ve compared the few women I’ve dated to her, even though we’ve been over for months. But now that I’ve seen her name, I have to know what she wants.

  I press her name on my phone once I’m down the hall and away from people.

  “Hello,” she says in a voice that I’ve missed.

  “Hey…uh…”

  “Hi, Cooper.” Fuck, the way she says my name, it’s like it was yesterday that I had her beneath me, tangled in my sheets with my hands all over her body.

  “Hey, Ainsley.”

  “Look, I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but I’m in Boston and I need to see you.”

  “When?”

  I don’t care what the reason is. I don’t care to know why she’s here. The fact is that she wants to see me, and I’m going to go.

  Chapter 28

  Ainsley

  As luck would have it, my father is Wesley Wilson, the current manager of the Boston Renegades, making him Cooper’s boss. I waited a month before I started to look for my father, and when I found him, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders while a boulder was sitting on my chest. The moment I saw his picture pop up in my search I knew. We have the same eyes, cheekbones, and smile. The only difference is our hair color, but there is no mistaking that this man is related to me.

  And now I’m currently in Boston so I can meet my father. I don’t know how it’s going to go, but my expectations are low. I had to call the Renegades office to set up a meeting, using my position at the zoo to discuss the future of media day there. I need to see him, come fact-to-face with him, so I can at least say that once in my life I met my father.

  I chose a restaurant close to the stadium so I could meet with him and Cooper, albeit at different times, and not mess up their schedule. Last night when I spoke to Cooper, I thought my heart was going to burst. I had a long spiel planned, promising that I would only take up a few minutes of his time, but he agreed so quickly to meet me that I stammered through my words, giving him the time and location before hanging up. I thought I would be okay, hearing his voice, but I’m not. I miss him. But I know that things won’t be the same for us. He’s likely moved on. I’ve seen pictures of him with different women, and having a pregnant lady hanging around will cramp his style. I’ll say what I have to and get on my way, letting him decide if he’s going to be in the baby’s life or not.