Come Back to the Ballpark, Maisy Gray

by Cynthia Tennent

  The game was so complicated and so simple at the same time. Different player positions on the field. So many skills and rules that guided them. Yet one simple goal.

  Hit the ball.

  She’d forgotten how wonderful the game really was.

  Complicated and simple. The thought kept going through her mind. Wasn’t that why she had such a love-hate relationship with it all? You could play nine innings and do everything right. But you could blow it all in the very last play of the game with a single, heartbreaking hit.

  It was a wonder anyone returned to the field the next day. Or the day after that.

  It took Maisy a moment to realize that her train of thought wasn’t really about baseball. It was about life. And love. And the fact that here she was again. Ready to take a chance. No one was using her. She was no one’s lucky charm. The power was all hers.

  The last strains of the anthem were drowned out as the crowd went wild. Maisy opened her eyes to see herself on the jumbotron. She raised her hand and waved to the crowd. And then she went into her routine.

  Maisy spun around in a circle, popped a wad of Dubble Bubble gum in her mouth, and saluted the mound.

  Everything was right with the world.

  Maisy Gray was back at the ballpark.

  ***

  Sam sat on a barstool nursing a diet soda.

  The lanky young bartender hadn’t stopped sneaking glances at him since he entered Plato’s. Now, he brought the channel changer over to him. He pointed to the screen where the postgame press conference was taking place. “I figure you’ve earned the right to turn it if you want.”

  Sam nodded his thanks. But he didn’t change the channel. It was still his team. His girl.

  Earlier, after he’d returned from his run and read Maisy’s note, he’d paced his apartment trying not to second-guess her. Then, Charlie Zumaeta had left a message informing Sam that he could report back to his job tomorrow. Sam was puzzled by Zoom’s sudden change of heart, until he turned on his television and saw Maisy sitting next to Zoom in the stadium.

  At first, he was mad. He didn’t need Maisy running around trying to fix his problems. It made him furious to think of her giving in to Zoom like an innocent pawn in a high-stakes game.

  When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he’d shut off his television and gone for a walk. He’d passed Plato’s and seen the screens glowing inside the bar and had known he had to watch. It was baseball, for God’s sake. And Maisy.

  “I remember you,” the bartender said. “You two were here earlier in the summer? Right?”

  “Maybe.” Sam nodded again.

  The bartender shook his head and leaned against the back counter. “Damn. I’d have comped her if I’d known she was the lucky girl.”

  “She would have been happy if you’d just poured the tequila like she asked.”

  The bartender ignored Sam’s comment and raised his thumb toward the screen. “So, what the hell happened today?”

  Good question.

  The Turbos had lost, twelve to zero.

  It was the ugliest game Sam had ever seen.

  Chicago’s slumping lead-off hitter had smacked the first ball Halderman pitched over the center-field fence. The next three hitters had made the bases. And the fifth man at bat, a rookie, had hit a grand slam homer. The inning had lasted a lifetime.

  Sam couldn’t fathom why Fuzzy hadn’t yanked Halderman by the third inning. His lack of action had to be the result of the man in the owner’s suite. Was Zoom so confident in the outcome that he thought Halderman would be able to pull himself back from the hole he was scratching out?

  Through it all, the camera cut back and forth to Maisy, cheering, smiling, acting. She sat at the edge of her seat. She looked genuinely worried about the fate of the Turbos. She was spectacular. He wasn’t surprised in the least.

  By the fourth inning, Halderman had settled down enough that it seemed like he was going to get out of the inning with only one extra run on the board. The score was eight to nothing. The fans were booing. The bench looked stunned, like they had shown up for the wrong game.

  And then it happened.

  The last batter hit a low shot right at the pitcher’s mound. Kevin reached for it with his bare hand. The ball hit the back of his wrist and he dropped to the ground, writhing in pain.

  The bartender was growing tired of the postgame show. He picked up the channel changer and switched to Wheel of Fortune. Wiping the counter down, he said, “It turns out she wasn’t that lucky after all, was she?”

  “Maybe it depends on who you ask. And can you change it back?”

  The doctors were still examining Halderman. It was too early to know what kind of injury he had. Sam had a pretty strong sense that Halderman was out for the rest of the season. The season that was looking shorter and shorter, now that the team had lost. Sam took no pleasure in that. The Turbos were still his team. Halderman was his star pitcher. He cared. But they weren’t all that mattered.

  There was so much more in his life. Color. Laughter. Driving along a country road on a sunny day.

  Sam chuckled into his soda. God, he was turning into a flipping poet.

  An unexpected phone call earlier had him thinking about a lot of things. Not the call from Zoom. The one from the owner of Whammo. He suddenly had options. And priorities.

  “Here you are,” a familiar voice said behind him. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

  He swiveled around, letting his face go hard. He had a speech all planned.

  Maisy held up her hand and slunk into the seat next to him.

  “Tequila?” the bartender asked sarcastically. The postgame show was back on. “Remote control?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good,” she said, stealing Sam’s soda and taking a long sip. She waited until the bartender was gone and said in a weak voice, “Before you say anything, let me talk.”

  Sam kept his eyes on the television screen. Fuzzy was talking. His eyes were bloodshot, and his mouth was grim.

  “You must be running out of Dubble Bubble by now.”

  When he’d seen her waving to the crowd and going into her silly routine, an emotion other than anger had grown inside of him. Gratitude. He wasn’t going to let her know how he felt quite yet.

  Maisy slid the empty glass back to Sam. “So, I knew you would be mad, but it was my decision to go to the game. No one pressured me or blackmailed me or anything.”

  “Why did you do it then? You missed the hot dogs?”

  She pressed her lips together, unimpressed by his humor. Good. He loved her like hell, but he didn’t like her decision. Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew why she’d gone.

  “Maisy, I didn’t want your help. I didn’t need you to make a spectacle of yourself for me and especially not for my job.”

  Her lip curled into a saucy smile. “Are you kidding, Sam? I make a spectacle of myself all the time. That’s what I do for the people I love.”

  “Not for me. I won’t have it.”

  “Why, because you’re a big, strong man?” She tapped him in the chest with the back of her hand. “Geez, Sam. Why do men get all the glory? Sometimes a girl wants to come in and save the guy, too.”

  “That’s not the point. You made a deal with the devil.”

  “Don’t overreact. Zoom isn’t the devil. He’s a buffoon. A rich one.”

  “He doesn’t have a clue about baseball.”

  “No argument here.”

  “You fed right into his plan.”

  She sat up ramrod straight. “No. I didn’t at all. I still love baseball. And I love you. Can’t I have both?”

  He put his hands on either side of her face and brought her close. She looked as beautiful as she had this morning. Not like a woman who had just stood in front a crowd of sixty thousand unhappy fans. “Would you still love me if I were
baking donuts instead of managing a baseball team?”

  Her lips were barely touching his. “Well, I like bagels better.”

  He kissed her. “Shall we walk back to my place or find a deli?”

  Her eyes flashed, and she backed away. “So you aren’t mad at me anymore?”

  After reaching for his wallet, he fished out a ten-dollar bill and placed it on the counter. The guy didn’t deserve a tip, but he was feeling generous. “Not really. But you might be mad at me when you realize you went to the game for nothing.”

  “What?”

  He squinted at her. “Is that mustard in your hair?”

  She ran her hand over her head. “Don’t change the subject.”

  He did anyway. “That was one of the ugliest games I’ve ever seen.”

  “Can you believe it? Poor Kevin. I hope he’s not hurt too badly.” She shrugged. “I’m over being angry with him. And baseball, too. No matter how difficult it’s been, I still love the game. It’s like I reconnected with an old friend again today.”

  “I’m glad you figured it out.” He’d known it the minute he saw her catching fouls balls on that old dusty field at her elementary school. Maybe even earlier, when she’d watched the game from Zoom’s suite.

  He, on the other hand, had always loved baseball. Even today, thinking he no longer had a job.

  “Zoom says he’ll call you again tomorrow,” she said hesitantly.

  “Yeah?” He couldn’t care less. He rubbed a hand over his face, not wanting to smile at her act of bravery, but he gave up and let her see that he wasn’t mad after all. “You are way too selfless.”

  “Says the man who lost his job because of me.”

  He’d do it all over again, too. Maybe that was the point. Loving Maisy wasn’t about winning or losing. It was about the intense fulfillment that came from standing together…no matter what.

  He couldn’t resist another kiss. They both forgot where they were until someone shoved a wet rag on the bar between them. The bartender was standing in front of them, one eyebrow raised. “What about Halderman? I see how this is. No wonder we lost.”

  Sam pulled Maisy out the door. She skipped in front of him, her eyes bright and her hands waving all over the place. He loved to watch her move. She didn’t just talk with her mouth. She used her whole body to tell a story.

  She loved that way, too.

  Maisy talked about the game and the loss as they walked. “Our bats were completely silent. Their pitcher was throwing well, but we should have been able to get on base more.”

  “That wasn’t the only problem. It’s the hole we dug in the first inning. Fuzzy should have yanked Kevin by the third.”

  “You think Zoom had something to do with it?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Fuzzy had to be gnawing on his cap in frustration. Tristan is probably pulling stats on the rest of the season right now. Poor kid.”

  “Well, you can get all this fixed when you go back to work, right? And even if you don’t, next year looks promising.”

  Next year. Sam had a lot to think about when it came to next year. The other phone call.

  Hand in hand, they passed the busy restaurant district and headed toward the Commodore. They argued over the finer points of baseball. When to call the squeeze play and when to walk a left-handed hitter. At the edge of the White River, they paused to watch a softball game.

  The old city field was brown from overuse. More than a dozen people were scattered on the field. They wore cutoffs and tank tops. Their equipment had seen better days. They barely had enough players to cover the bases.

  “Hey, you two want to play?” one man in a faded Detroit Tigers hat asked. The players enthusiastically waved them onto the field.

  Sam and Maisy looked at each other, grinning.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  Sam put his arm around her and called out, “Can she play catcher?”

  Maisy gave him a monster hug and loud kiss on the cheek before running off to borrow a mitt.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sam and Maisy let Luther McLean interview them a week later. They told their story, leaving some things out. No one had to know about Plato’s and Maisy’s fight for the channel changer or Sam climbing the porch roof to Maisy’s bedroom…or the tequila.

  What was left was a story of two people who loved baseball and had tried to do what was best for the Turbos. The couple underlined their point by saying that no win was worth damaging the trust of people you cared about or dividing a team. They were careful not to trash Zoom. It was hard. Sam had to kick Maisy under the table when she brought up Sam’s suspension.

  “Everyone is glad you’re back, Sam, but you haven’t made any decisions yet about next year? It’s been reported that Whammo has just bought a minor-league franchise north of here. Rumor is, you’re part owner,” Luther said. “Is that true?”

  “I’m just focused on one game at a time,” Sam replied.

  Luther asked about the lucky dress and all the superstition surrounding the team. Maisy explained, “Sometimes people just need a little confidence boost. That’s all any of this was about.”

  When Luther asked them about their personal involvement, Sam just smiled and said, “I have high expectations.”

  After the interview, they shook Luther’s hand and left the press box. Securing their Turbos caps and their sunglasses, they joined their family and friends in the worst seats in the stadium.

  They were delighted with their view.

  Romeo Lopez took the mound and faced the same batter who’d hit off Kevin’s first pitch the week before.

  Maisy cupped her hands over her mouth. “Come on, Lopez. You’ve got this!”

  Romeo wound up and delivered the first pitch.

  Indianapolis SPORTS Star

  A Weekly Column by Luther McLean for Indy fans everywhere

  The smoke from the fireworks drifted out of the stadium and champagne was exploding in the locker room, but many of the fans refused to leave the stadium where pure magic happened tonight.

  Romeo Lopez pitched the game of his life, allowing two hits and no runs. The Turbos took their cue from him and exploded at the plate. Nine runs, five of them homers.

  Our boys won the pennant!

  Maisy Gray was there, sitting with General Manager Sam Hunter, far out in right field.

  They declined to comment after the game.

  Fuzzy Waslaske had no such compunctions.

  When a young reporter asked what he thought about Maisy Gray and Sam Hunter getting caught on the kiss cam during the seventh-inning stretch, he said, “Anyone with half a brain and two eyes would have seen what was happening this season. It was never about Kevin or good luck or any of that mumbo jumbo.”

  When asked what he meant, the old man winked and said, “The game, son. It was always about the game.”

  About the Author

  Cynthia Tennent was the original book thief, stealing romance novels from underneath her mother’s bed when she was just twelve. As an adult, she grew serious and studied international relations, education, and other weighty matters while living all over the world. In search of happy endings, she rediscovered love stories and wrote her own when her daughters were napping. She lives in Michigan with her husband, three daughters, and her collie dog, Jack.

  To hear get the latest news, fun stuff, and giveaways sign up for Cynthia’s Newsletter:

  www.cynthiatennent.com/contact.html

  Coming in early 2019…

  Jack Came Back

  Comeback Romance Series

  www.cynthiatennent.com

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  A Wedding in Truhart

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  The Bookshop on Autumn Lane

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