“That’s an offer I can’t refuse. Thanks. I’ve been kind of a jerk lately, haven’t I?”
“You haven’t been a jerk. You’ve . . .” Robin paused, and Brenda could almost hear her thinking. “You’ve had a lot of static around you the past few months.”
Static. Somehow that summed it up. Brenda had been sitting on the ugly but comfortable easy chair in her room but now she felt the need to move. She stood up and went downstairs as they talked. “Static is a good way of putting it. But short of quitting baseball and doing . . . something else, I don’t know how to get rid of it. You know, all I really want is one static-free day. Just one easy, good day where I don’t have to struggle.”
“I hope you get one,” Robin said. She was silent for a moment, as if waiting for Brenda to say more.
“Thanks,” was all Brenda felt up to saying. There was so much to say, but it somehow seemed a waste of time to say it. What would it help to tell Robin how the anger was the only thing keeping her career going and how miserable it was just walking into the ballpark because she wasn’t sure what kind of humiliation the world had in store for her? Maybe someday those would be amusing stories, but not now. Nothing seemed funny now.
“Maybe you’ll feel better after you talk to Ed,” Robin said.
“That means I actually have to talk to him.”
“Look, I know it’s not going to be easy, but it’s got to be better than going to court. You need to do this.”
“Being an adult kind of stinks, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does. Okay, I hate to say it but I have a client meeting that I desperately need to prepare for.” They made quick plans to see each other later in the week and hung up.
Brenda was standing in the middle of the kitchen, not even sure why she had walked in there in the first place. She just felt restless. There were no more road trips—the Indians would finish the last six games of the season at home. If they won at least four of the games against the visiting Royals and the White Sox, they’d secure the second wildcard spot in the playoffs. When Brenda thought about being away from the boys for an extra month, she immediately said “No.” But when she thought the word “playoffs,” her inward answer was “Yes.” The idea of the playoffs made her nerves dance almost as much as calling Ed did, but she called him.
“Hey, thanks for calling me back,” he answered in his usual laid back manner, as though he wasn’t threatening to shake up her life again. Brenda tried to detect any note of sarcasm in his voice and didn’t.
“Sorry it took me a while,” she replied.
“That’s okay. I know you’ve been out of town and busy. I’ve been wondering if we could have lunch and talk about the boys and the custody agreement.”
“You can talk to my lawyer,” she didn’t want to sound snappish but there it was.
“All right, I probably shouldn’t have gone to my lawyer without talking to you first . . .”
“Probably shouldn’t have?”
“Okay, I shouldn’t have. And if you would have called me back anytime during the last few weeks . . .” His voice trailed off in frustration, and she could almost hear his mental reboot. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t figure out a new custody arrangement on our own. We can at least try.”
Something in his voice sounded different when he said this. There was a sincerity she hadn’t heard from him in years. And yes, she should have called him back. She considered the possibility that he was just scared of Alex Clemowitz—with Clemowitz’s hourly rate, he ought to be. Brenda was doubtful they could hash things out on their own, but it had to be less painful than going to court.
“All right. Where do you want to meet?” she asked.
They made plans to have lunch on Friday, and Brenda spent the rest of her day off trying to feel normal and failing miserably. When the boys got home from school, Jon immediately asked if he could play with her new phone. Brenda told him that he could as soon as he finished his homework.
“I’ve been doing school stuff all day!” Jon whined. He was standing in the doorway of his room, backpack on the floor at his feet. “I just want to play for a while and then do my homework.” Andy was sitting on the edge of his bed, bedroom door open, watching his mother and little brother square off.
“Get the things you have to do out of the way first, then you can play,” Brenda said, trying to sound reasonable and warm. Jon tried to negotiate a few minutes on the phone before homework, and for a minute she thought that maybe she had been too stringent, but now that she had said “No,” changing her mind seemed wishy-washy. Andy rolled his eyes and closed the door to his room. One tantrum and a few tears later, Jon made a dramatic entrance into the kitchen with his homework folder and workbooks, plopping everything onto the kitchen table without speaking to his mother.
Brenda went downstairs to throw some laundry into the dryer. She wondered if Jon acted this way at Ed’s house. Was this why Andy thought he might want to live there? Maybe the boys were angels at Ed’s house. Maybe it was her.
She felt guilty the rest of the afternoon and all through dinner, as though she ought to give her kids a treat because she had hardly seen them over the last two months. After dinner, Jon asked if they could play baseball.
“Now?” Brenda asked. The idea of picking up a baseball on her one day off seemed about as pleasant as picking up a tarantula.
“Yeah,” he said.
“It’s kind of late to go to the park. And it’s a school night,” Brenda said, glancing over at Andy for help.
“It might be fun,” Andy said. “And it’s still light out.”
“I really don’t want to play baseball. Why don’t we shoot some baskets in the driveway? Or play Uno or Monopoly?”
“But you play baseball all the time,” Jon said.
“And that’s exactly why I don’t want to play it today. That’s my job, sweetie. Today is my day off from my job.”
“But it’s the best game ever,” Jon exclaimed as though this explained everything.
“Guys, I’m really tired and jet-lagged. Please, no baseball tonight.”
“You have the best job in the world, and it’s like you don’t even know it,” Jon stomped out of the kitchen.
Brenda looked at Andy. “I’m sorry you’re so tired. I know you got in late last night,” he said, and she could tell he was doing his best grown-up imitation. “I’ll do the dishes.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” Brenda replied, giving him a light pat on the arm. She went down the hall to Jon’s room and knocked.
His voice came through the door: “Unless you’re telling me we’re going to play baseball, don’t talk to me.”
Brenda opened the door to his room. Jon was lying on his back on his bed, feet deliberately on the wall because Brenda always told him not to do that, and tossing a baseball back and forth between his hands. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Jon, I’m sorry to have disappointed you. You have to understand that sometimes people want to do different things. Like the day Andy didn’t want to go with your dad and you did. I’ll play anything you and Andy want. Except baseball. Besides, it’s too late to go to the park tonight.”
Jon was quiet for a moment, silently contemplating the scuffed baseball in his hands. “How come you always act mad when you’re home?”
“What?” she replied, although even as she said it, she knew what he meant. Some days the anger was simmering so close to the surface it was almost too easy to conjure.
“It’s like you’re always in a bad mood.”
Saying this wasn’t true would be a lie, and they both knew it. Instead, Brenda kissed Jon on the forehead, told him she’d try to be less grouchy, and left the room. What do you say when the nine-year-old is right?
The next day was a game day. The boys went to school, and Brenda knew she wouldn’t see them awake until the next morning. That evening,
she sat in the bullpen dugout and tried to like the game, to find some joy in the way old Art Groggins still hustled out a fly ball or how crazy Dave McGall could make stealing second look effortless. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the sounds and smells of the ballpark. While she didn’t find the scent of the hot dogs as intoxicating as Charlie did, she had to admit there was no other smell like it. The sounds were enticing—people calling for beer and food and the great vendor who patrolled the far end of the stadium shouting, “Peanuts!” in a voice that roared like a giant’s. And when Josh Bandkins connected for a double to left center, the sound of wood colliding with horsehide carried all the way out to the bullpen. Charlie was right on that one.
Brenda had tried not to think too much about him, but as a relief pitcher, she had a lot of time on her hands to sit and wait and think. Charlie wasn’t the handsomest guy she had ever seen. Looking around the bullpen or the dugout, Anderson Sparks was far better looking. So were Panidopolous and Groggins. And if she was going to start comparing physiques, young Ryan Teeset was built like an Adonis. So was Doug Stone for that matter. Charlie was a bit pudgy, like one of those chubby pitchers whom you’d never believe was a professional athlete if you saw him out of uniform. And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Kansas City was in town for what Brenda referred to as the calm before the storm series. The Indians were walking all over the Royals, leading 8-4 going into the eighth. Cipriani had gone in to relieve Ochoa in the top of the seventh, and now, with one down in the eighth, the Royals had somehow managed to get the bases loaded. Cipriani had a habit of getting flustered when he made a mistake, and Kansas City capitalized on that. Earl told her to start warming up. She went to take some warm-up pitches and thought about the custody case and the possibility of Andy living with Ed. Some of the Frickers were near the bullpen, holding a sign that read “Go back to the kitchen.” Brenda felt the rage start boiling up inside her.
“As usual, send a woman to clean up the mess,” Brenda muttered to herself as she started the long walk across left-centerfield to the mound. As usual, the PA system was playing “She’s a Lady.” It occurred to Brenda for the umpteenth time that summer that she really needed to tell them what song to play when she came out—this had gone beyond insulting and was now ear-splittingly annoying.
“Strike him out. Just do this thing, just do this . . .” she repeated quietly to herself as she walked. She took a quick glance around the ballpark. It was packed, which was surprising for a Tuesday night against a so-so team. But the Indians were on the cusp of securing a spot in the playoffs, and that brought people out.
As Brenda walked by Pasquela at second base, she wanted to stop and ask if he hated that song as much as she did. Except Pasquela still hated her guts and would probably say something offensive. Is it too much to ask just to be treated like a ballplayer? Like a person? she thought. She glanced up around the stands and saw a group of men and two women on the third base side holding up signs reading, “No Women in Baseball.” By now she was on the mound. She looked down at the pitching rubber and then at the glove of dear young Johnny Gonzalez behind the plate. “I just want a little respect. Is it too much to want it now? How soon is now, motherfuckers?” she muttered as she threw her first pitch.
•◊•
Excerpt from the transcript for Today in Sports with Charlie Bannister, ESPN, September 24:
Charlie: My pick for game of the week is definitely Friday night, Chicago White Sox at the Cleveland Indians. They’ve been battling it out for the second wildcard spot in the playoffs. Cleveland just needs one win against Chicago to clinch it. To add fuel to the fire, the last time these two teams got together, they had the best knock-down, drag-out fight of the season. Folks, set the DVR on record because this is gonna be good.
Chapter Twenty-Six
•◊•
Brenda woke up at 6:00 a.m. on Friday. She had watched the night before as her teammates completed a sweep of the Royals. If they took the first game against the White Sox, the pressure would be off.
The boys wouldn’t be up for a while, and Brenda lay there in her bed, just listening to the occasional creaking of the house, the birds outside the window, a lone car driving down the street. The bed was by a small circular window at the front of the house, and lying there and listening to birds early in the morning always made her feel like she was a kid in a treehouse. She tried sinking back into the pillows and letting the early morning sounds carry her back to sleep for a few minutes, but the prospect of the series with the White Sox was too much.
She was ready for the season and the traveling and the time away from the boys to be over, and yet the thought of being in the playoffs had an appeal she couldn’t deny. And there were some parts of playing baseball that she really liked. There was a certain satisfaction in striking someone out. She liked the quick rub of her finger against horsehide as she released the ball and watched it fly into Gonzalez’s mitt. She had started to enjoy other things too: feeling her entire body engaged in launching the ball into the air, watching a batter swing at nothing, hearing the crowd cheer when she got the out.
“Playing ball a little bit longer wouldn’t be so bad . . .” she said to the ceiling.
She had been able to score five extra tickets for Robin, Dan, and Lindsey plus Carl and his son, which was good, because the boys and Adele were going too. Everyone in Cleveland, it seemed, wanted to go to the game.
When she walked out with the boys to wait for the bus, Andy didn’t protest that they didn’t need her to wait with them (for that matter, neither did Jon). She stood in between her sons as they waited. Jon fidgeting on her left, Andy standing stoically on her right. She put an arm around each of them, and even Andy leaned into her.
“I’m sorry this was a tough summer,” she said.
“I missed you,” Jon said bluntly. “Even if you are grumpy,” he added with a sly grin.
“I missed you too. Even if I am grumpy,” she echoed. “The season’s almost over though. Three more games.”
“Unless you clinch tonight,” Andy said without looking at her.
“Right. Unless we clinch.” She looked down at Jon and over at Andy. He was already equal to her in height and his eyes met hers.
“It sucks having you away,” he said and put his arm around her waist. “But you’d still better win tonight.”
“Yeah,” Jon added and gave her a hug. “Bring home a win, Mom.”
Brenda felt a wave of maternal love wash over her. “I’ll do my best,” she said.
They stood silently until the bus arrived, and Brenda was pleasantly surprised when both boys hugged her good-bye first instead of the other way around.
She and Ed had made lunch plans at a restaurant by I-271 and Chagrin Boulevard, close to the edge of the city office parks where he worked. This was convenient for him but meant she’d have to bring her things with her and go straight to the ballpark. Typical Ed to think about what was easiest for him. She wanted a little extra time before the game to go through any new video of the White Sox lineup and preferred doing so in the film room at the ballpark.
Ed was waiting for her at the table when she arrived. It was one of those hyper trendy restaurants that catered to the office workers nearby and was always more crowded at lunch than at dinner. It seemed like the type of place Ed might take a date in order to impress her. Brenda wasn’t impressed, but she was glad she had decided to dress up slightly instead of dressing down.
Ed stood up as she approached the table. It seemed like he was trying awfully hard, which gave her more confidence even though she felt a knot in her stomach.
“Hi,” he said. “Wow. You look really great.”
Brenda caught a glimpse of her reflection in the large tinted glass window near their table. The combination of playing baseball and a perpetually upset stomach meant that she had lost weight over the summer, and the team workouts a
nd regular throwing had toned her arms and legs. For the first time since she was in college, she thought she looked pretty good too.
“Thank you,” she said.
Their conversation started out awkwardly, but then Ed asked if Andy had told her about Carrie.
Carrie? Brenda scanned her mental database for any mention of “Carrie” in the past week. Nothing. “Is that her name?” she bluffed. “I’ve heard snippets about her.” That sounded remotely true, although she couldn’t recall any comment by either of the boys or Adele that would make her think Andy had a girlfriend or a crush.
“Yeah, I just managed to drag her name out of him last weekend. I don’t think it’s serious. From what he says, she barely knows he exists.”
“He hasn’t talked about her to me that much,” Brenda said, happy to make a true statement.
“I’m not surprised,” Ed said. “Besides Lindsey, which probably doesn’t really count, it’s his first real crush. A guy doesn’t want to talk to his mom about that. He wants to talk to his dad.”
“Is that why you think the boys should live with you?” There. It was out in the open, and Brenda felt better having said it. There wasn’t any use in playing polite—if they were going to work this out on their own, they’d have to talk about it.
Ed ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s one of the reasons, yes. I got to thinking this summer that maybe they should live with me full-time or at least half-time because they’re boys and they’re getting older and should be with their dad . . .”
“So you can teach them how to be men? If that’s how you feel, why are we even here?” Brenda asked. She put her hands flat on the table and debated whether to stand up and just leave. But then the issue wouldn’t get settled and they’d have to go to the hearing. And she was tired of running away from Ed.
“I didn’t talk to you about it, and that was wrong. But you didn’t tell me about the guy who followed the boys home, or about Andy getting into fights or getting caught shoplifting . . . When I found out you had been keeping that from me, I guess I went a little crazy. It just seemed like maybe they needed their dad.” He paused for a second and looked at her with a mixture of sadness and embarrassment. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you first. And I’m sorry for . . . everything.”
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