Throw Like a Woman

by Susan Petrone

  “Maybe Dad can go to my game and bring me my mitt?” Jon said.

  “I can get it for you,” Adele said.

  “I’ll pick it up,” Brenda said quickly. This was one instance where she could be the hero. “Don’t worry about a thing.” She gave Jon a little extra hug and then walked over to the sink and got a glass of water as she talked. She hadn’t yet given Andy a hug hello and wasn’t sure if he’d let her. Her oldest child seemed like a skittish stray dog, around whom she had to be very careful and calm so he wouldn’t run away. Andy was within arm’s reach. She put her glass down and gave him a one-armed hug. “Thanks for taking care of things while I was away,” she whispered. Andy waited a moment before pulling away.

  “No problem,” he muttered.

  “Can we go to the game with you on Wednesday?” Jon asked.

  “Yes. You can go to any game you want.”

  “That is so cool. Andy, we can go to any Indians game we want. Isn’t that cool?”

  Andy hesitated for a moment, as though he didn’t want to admit he was impressed or excited by the prospect of seeing any game he wanted to in person. “Yeah, that’s pretty cool,” he muttered.

  Brenda spent the next day with the boys and Adele at Bexley Park swimming pool. Andy and Jon mainly played with their friends, coming over to Brenda here and there if they needed money to get something from the snack bar and occasionally yelling “Hey Mom, watch this!” It felt so good to be with her family that Brenda almost felt normal.

  They came home around mid-afternoon to find a slew of messages on the machine. Two were from David, the first telling her to call him about an endorsement deal and the second chiding her for not using the wonderful phone he had sent her. (She had, in fact, checked the voicemail but chosen to ignore his call until she got home.) Four were from journalists wanting interviews. One was from Ed, telling Jon that he had left his mitt at the apartment on Saturday. One was from the neighbor down the street asking for tickets to Saturday’s game.

  Adele had been rooting around in the largest cupboard, looking for a pan to start cooking dinner, but now she paused and asked how the road trip had gone.

  “It was fine.”

  “Neklam mi,” Adele said, diving back into the cupboard.

  “I’m not lying, Mom.”

  “I saw the news reports about the protests. They looked like a bunch of idiots.” She triumphantly emerged with the pan she wanted and placed it on the counter, then began chopping peppers and onions.

  “They never came anywhere near me.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t want to have to go to Texas and straighten them out.” Adele gave an onion a particularly hard chop with the French knife as she said this and looked up with a laugh that Brenda didn’t return. “You don’t laugh anymore,” her mother commented.

  “I’m waiting for you to say something funny,” Brenda dead-panned back

  Adele gave a little sigh and went back to preparing dinner. “When you feel like talking about it, we’ll talk,” she said.

  Her mother infuriated her when she spoke like this—as though she knew the innermost workings of Brenda’s psyche and could read her thoughts at will. But why worry her mom with stories of obscene items left in her locker room or hecklers or rude teammates or the scary guy who had come up to her in the hotel lobby in Kansas City and called her a whore for playing with men? Instead, she just said, “You’ve done enough, Mom. I can make dinner.”

  “No. You relax a little bit. Return your phone calls, read a book . . .” Adele replied.

  Calling Ed back was somewhere in between root canal surgery and washing Cipriani’s jock strap on the list of things she wanted to do, but Jon needed his glove for his game the next night—a game she would have to miss and Ed could attend (if he really wanted to). Leaving her mother to make dinner, Brenda went up to her room to return her calls.

  “Hey, Brenda. Nice of you to call back,” Ed said when he answered.

  “Sorry I didn’t call you earlier today—the boys and I were out and about . . .” She wanted to sound happy and confident, as though she and the boys shared just as intimate a bond as they did with their dad, but she couldn’t even convince herself of this.

  “Yeah, I figured you were off doing something,” Ed replied. “Anyhow, Jon needs his glove for tomorrow night. I was thinking of going to his game anyway. I can just drop it off beforehand.”

  It wasn’t like Ed to be so helpful, and it made Brenda a little wary. “No, that’s okay,” she replied. “I can come and get it.”

  “Well, I have a softball game at Campbell Field tonight at 7:30. Do you want to swing by there? It’s probably closer for you than my place.”

  “Where’s Campbell Field?”

  “Willoughby Hills. On Eddy Road off of 91. Just a local rec league, nothing like you’re doing,” he added, and again the statement left Brenda wondering if he was taking digs at her or just making an innocent remark.

  She arranged to meet him at 7:00 to get the mitt. She wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to get Jon’s glove rather than making Ed drop it off. She gave herself and him the excuse that she had some errands to do, although all she really had to do was make a quick stop at a drug store.

  Leaving the house right after dinner made her feel as though she was getting away with something. The boys didn’t seem to mind. Andy was going to a friend’s house down the street to play video games, and Jon and a couple friends wanted to play soccer in someone’s backyard. She left.

  Willoughby Hills was only a twenty-minute drive away, but it was in the next county and the area had a rural feel. She knew Ed had a new life now that didn’t include her or the boys; this only solidified that realization.

  “I guess I have a new life too,” she murmured as she absentmindedly stole a peek at her face in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t primping exactly—any feelings for Ed for were long gone. It was more the idea that looking horrid in front of her ex would have a sad air of defeat to it.

  The parking lot for Campbell Field was right off the road, with a winding path about seventy-five yards long leading to a picnic pavilion and rest rooms. Farther beyond that she could see a couple of softball and baseball fields. The parking lot was starting to fill up with cars and people. She looked around and saw Ed’s car but not Ed. Resisting the urge to key his car, she started walking up the path toward the pavilion. As she neared the end of the path, she saw Ed coming out of the men’s room. He was tying the drawstring on his shorts as he walked out and for a moment looked as vulnerable as a skinny teenager.

  After having spent the past few weeks around men who were broader and wider than the average man, the sight of Ed’s tall but lean body seemed very welcome. She had to admit he still had sexy hips—narrow enough to make his shoulders look broad but substantial enough to want to grab and hold on to for dear life.

  Ed looked up and saw Brenda. He was still holding the drawstrings of his shorts and kind of motioned with his hands as he said, “Wanna help me tie it?”

  That sounded suspiciously like a come-on. “Why don’t you have your girlfriend tie it?” she replied in a manner that was far more flirtatious than she intended.

  “What girlfriend?” Ed asked. Brenda raised her eyebrows just enough that he added, “Well, I was seeing this woman named Darlene, but that’s been over for a while now. So, no girlfriend. No gentle female hands to caress my uh . . . drawstring.”

  “Is that what you kids are calling it now?” Brenda said and was immediately annoyed with herself.

  Ed just smiled at her and told her Jon’s mitt was in his car. As they walked back to the parking lot, Ed’s hand brushed against hers and an involuntary tingle went up Brenda’s spine. She had to remind herself that this reaction was merely because the only time any grown man had touched her in the last twelve months was to give her a high five.

  They reached Ed’s car—
the one that had seemed to mark the beginning of the end of their marriage. In the indirect early evening light, the paint job wasn’t nearly as annoying as it was in bright sunlight. It almost looked cute. Ed got the glove off the passenger seat, closed the door, and turned to face her but didn’t hand Jon’s mitt over right away. Instead, he gave her a quick once-over.

  “You look great,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Brenda replied, reaching her hand out for Jon’s mitt.

  Ed ignored this. “Have you lost weight?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. A little, I guess.”

  “Playing hardball with the boys seems to suit you,” he said and handed Brenda the mitt, letting the moment when they were both holding it last just a bit longer than necessary. “Come on, I’ll walk you over to your car,” he said, as though Brenda was the one who was lingering.

  Brenda couldn’t quite figure out what Ed was playing at. He had always been a flirt—it was one of his best and worst qualities. When she was standing next to the minivan, she said, “Well, you’d better get going. You have a game.”

  “I’ve got time,” Ed replied, and he shifted his weight to one leg, moving his left hip closer toward Brenda.

  “I should go,” she said.

  “You know, I still think about you.”

  Brenda wasn’t ready for that statement. And she definitely wasn’t ready to have Ed gently take her face in his hands and kiss her, but there he was doing just that. It had been so long since she had been kissed that she was frozen in surprise for half a second then started kissing back. Ed moved closer and pressed her up against the car and for a couple delicious heartbeats Brenda felt wanted and feminine and sexy, then she remembered that it was Ed she was kissing and pushed him away.

  “That’s not a good idea,” she said.

  “If that’s really how you feel . . .” Ed said. Did he look peeved or amused?

  “I’m not sure why you did that, but I . . . Please don’t do it again,” she stammered, feeling stupid that she had let things get this far.

  “I just wanted to check and see if there was still anything there.”

  “There isn’t,” Brenda snapped. “I’m leaving. Thank you for bringing Jon’s mitt.”

  Ed just stood in the parking lot as she got in the car and pulled away, as though he was waiting for her to turn around and come running back to him. The whole thing was just confusing. It didn’t seem as though he wanted to get back together, and she didn’t see the smallest trace of regret in his face. There was definitely no regret in his kiss. Maybe he really did just want to see if there was still anything there.

  “The only thing left is anger, Ed,” Brenda muttered. She took the turn out of the parking lot onto Eddy Road so fast that poor old Molly squealed in protest, but she didn’t care.

  •◊•

  Excerpt from the transcript for Today in Sports with Charlie Bannister, ESPN, August 21:

  Charlie: Good evening and welcome back to Today in Sports. I’m joined tonight, as I am every Friday, by former major league great Howie Wojinski. Before the commercial break we ran through the National League, now it’s time to look at the American League. Howie, how do you think the second half of the season will shake out?

  Howie: In the American League East, I think the Red Sox can hold on and take the division.

  Charlie: Excuse me, did you say the Red Sox? Because I have this memory from, oh, April where you predicted the Yankees would go to the ALCS.

  Howie: Since when is it far-fetched to predict the Yankees in the playoffs at the beginning of the season? I thought it’d be the Yankees, now I think it’ll be the Red Sox. The Yankees will still get the first wildcard spot.

  Charlie: Fair enough, but I think you were right the first time. And as far as the other half of your original prediction . . .

  Howie: I’ll stand by the other half of my original prediction. The White Sox will get the second wildcard spot and will make it to the ALCS. They’ll still have to get through the Mariners, of course, but they don’t have the pitching to be a threat, and with Racino playing the way he is and . . .

  Charlie: I hate to interrupt you again, but I beg to differ. The AL Central is starting to get very interesting, but not because of the White Sox. Detroit is still in first place and beating up on Chicago Sox in just about every match up, but have you noticed that the Indians have also been having their way in divisional play since the break?

  Howie: [laughs] The Indians? Are you serious?

  Charlie: They just swept the Twins at home and they’re just half a game behind the White Sox. Now that they have a reliable stopper, the rest of their game seems to be coming into place.

  Howie: I wouldn’t call Haversham “reliable.” She seems to do well at home, but on the road she’s inconsistent.

  Charlie: Show me a rookie who isn’t inconsistent.

  Howie: So you’re saying you think the Indians are going to take their division?

  Charlie: I’m not saying that, but I did have Ziggy the intern calculate some potential outcomes, and the Indians have a legitimate shot at the wildcard spot in the playoffs.

  Howie: Charlie, I never realized you were such a heavy drinker.

  Charlie: You scoff now, my friend. But wait and see. In a month you’ll be hailing me as the most prescient being this side of Nostradamus.

  Chapter Sixteen

  •◊•

  Andy and Jon had been riding their bikes to and from camp all summer without incident. The camp was at the YMCA, which was just a one-mile straight shot down Mayfield Road from the house. The boys liked the extra freedom of riding to camp on their own, and it was close enough that Brenda felt comfortable letting them do it. Everything was fine until the last day of camp.

  The Indians were opening a three-day series against the Mariners that night and then leaving on Sunday night for Baltimore. Brenda had seen the boys off that morning and spent the day doing laundry and some much needed cleaning, with occasional breaks to study scouting reports. She had the team iPad to watch video, but she preferred being in the film room at the ballpark. Somehow it felt more like going to the office rather than taking her work home with her. And when she was home, she was fair game for whatever the boys needed. At the ballpark, she could genuinely focus. Even though she needed more time to study the Mariners’ starting lineup before the clubhouse opened, she wanted just one day where she was home when the boys got home. If she got out of the house by 3:30, she’d still have time to get down to the ballpark and warm up with the rest of the team. The relief pitchers were the last people the coaches and manager looked for.

  Brenda had tried to convince the boys to do something with her that day, but Andy turned down the offer, giving the excuse that they were doing archery at camp that day and he didn’t want to miss it. Jon was in a mood to do whatever his brother did. She knew the real reason was more likely that she and her older son didn’t have much to say to each other. She hated the thought that by playing baseball she was driving Andy away from his favorite sport.

  The camp let out at 3:00, and she had made them promise to come right home so she could at least see them before she left. They had a tendency to dawdle. Brenda was sitting on the sofa in the living room, one eye on the scouting report on her lap and one eye on the front window, when she saw both boys come flying down the sidewalk on their bikes at 3:10. For a moment, Brenda’s heart lifted. They knew she was going to the ballpark late in order have a little time with them, and they had reciprocated by hurrying home.

  From where she was sitting, Brenda could just see the gate across the driveway. They hadn’t closed the gate regularly since Jon was much younger, so Brenda was surprised to see Andy practically shove Jon inside the gate, then turn and slam it shut. Instinctively, her eyes went to the street, where she saw a dark colored, older sedan inching along the street. She was too far away to see the license
plate, but her inner Mommy Meter went off the scale. She jumped up and ran to the back door, where the boys were just entering.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. Jon’s cheeks had the bright red blush that typically preceded a tantrum, but that was the only color in his face. Andy looked like he was trying to calm himself down. For a moment, Brenda wondered if she was overreacting. Maybe they had just had an argument. If they had raced home and Andy deliberately beat Jon and then rubbed his face in it, that would explain a lot. But why had Andy locked the gate?

  Neither of the boys said anything for a second, then Jon ran into the living room, dove onto the couch, and poked his head up just enough so he could see out the front window. Andy hung back in the kitchen. She stood in the hall, looking from one son to another and one room to another.

  “Andy, what happened?” she asked.

  “This guy . . .” he stammered.

  “That car I saw going really slowly?” she asked.

  “He followed us home,” Jon said. He sounded as though he was going to cry. Brenda took a quick glance out the window as she sat down next to Jon and gave him a hug. The car was gone.

  Andy stood in the door to the living room. “He said some really nasty things about you,” he said finally, as though saying it made him guilty of bad-mouthing his mother.

  Brenda held out her free arm and said, “Come here.” She knew Andy must have been pretty shaken up because he sat down next to her and allowed himself to be hugged. Brenda sat with an arm around each boy and listened. Apparently, the guy in the dark sedan had stopped his car and called to the boys shortly after they left the YMCA. First he asked directions to Oakmount—their street. Andy had gotten a bad feeling, told the guy that they didn’t know where Oakmount was, and kept riding. The sedan had been going the opposite direction as the boys, but then made a U-turn and slowly paced the boys from the other side of the street as they rode.