Renovating the Richardsons

by Virginia Smith

  “There’s Fred.” With a nod Al indicated a car pulling off of the street.

  “I think I saw the Geddes’s car parked over there. Yeah, there they are.” Jerry waved to catch the couple’s attention.

  By the time they reached the rear of the parking lot, almost the entire team had arrived. Justin and Susan roared up, and the group gathered around the motorcycle as the two peeled off their jackets.

  Raking a hand through his hair, Justin grinned at them. “Hey, we look pretty good. Like a real team.”

  Al did not disagree, though he’d grumbled at the image in the bathroom mirror before he left the house. The shoulders on this gigantic T-shirt hung halfway down his arms, and the hem was so long he’d had to bunch it up to tuck it in his pants. Millie defended her selection of this size by saying the only extras they had after outfitting the players were small or XXL. As he’d feared, he looked like a pudgy old man.

  But the others looked good. And eager. Alice practically bounced as they walked toward the field, her step light. Chuck joked with Paul while they carried a cooler full of bottled water between them, and Little Norm bragged to Sharon that he was planning to pitch a no-hitter. Even Susan didn’t drag her feet, though she did keep smoothing her hair behind her ear with a jerky motion and casting nervous glances at Justin.

  The metal bleachers on both sides already held a smattering of spectators, and more people filed into them as the team approached. From the top row, Woody Edwards stood and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Good luck, Creekers!”

  Jerry waved, and then the smile faded. “Here comes Theo.”

  The team came to a halt as the mayor of Morleyville approached wearing a bright yellow shirt and a politician’s smile.

  “Finally showed up, did you? We’ve been here for an hour already.” He gestured behind him, where a group of similarly clad people had claimed the Home Team dugout.

  “Eager to meet your fate, are you?” Jerry hefted the bag higher on his shoulder.

  “Looking forward to cooking us some goose for our holiday dinner.” Theo’s molars came into view. “Just kidding. We’re all here to have fun, aren’t we?”

  Al found himself disliking the man. No wonder Jerry wanted so badly to beat him.

  “You bet we are.” Jerry glanced at the Goose Creek team. “Right?”

  “Yeah!”

  “You know it.”

  “Reckon so.” Little Norm pounded a fist into his glove and managed to look twice his normal size.

  Not intimidated, the Morleyville mayor nodded. “Fine, just fine.” His gaze returned to Jerry. “You sure you don’t want to place a little wager on your team?”

  Jerry maintained his smile. “That would take the fun out of it.”

  “Whatever you say.” Theo clapped him on the back, which Jerry endured with more aplomb than Al could have managed. “Good game, y’all.”

  He sauntered away with a step that could only be described as a swagger.

  “Is he always like that?” Justin asked, his gaze fixed on the man’s back.

  Jerry nodded. “Always.”

  “How come they get to be the home team?” Little Norm asked.

  “Because I lost the toss.” Jerry turned his back on his nemesis. “Doesn’t matter. The dugouts are the same. Come on, let’s put our stuff in there and warm up.”

  The team moved toward the Visitor dugout. Al deposited his tote on the dirt and scanned the rapidly filling bleachers. Millie had better hurry or she wouldn’t get a seat. She’d left the house before him to pick up the Wainright children so Alice could be on time.

  “Bert! Over here!”

  Heaving a longsuffering sigh, Al located Thacker near the fence, his hand waving wildly above his head. Of course he would be here. Since he had not showed up for practices, Al had held out hope that he wouldn’t attend today. No such luck. And worse, he held a stapled stack of papers. As Al approached the chain link fence he spied a familiar-looking chart on top.

  “I tried to get the mayor’s attention, but he’s busy coaching.” Thacker thrust the papers toward Al. “I’ve got some data that will help the team.”

  “Weren’t you paying attention when we met in the mayor’s office?” Al shook his head. “The guys don’t want to see your analysis.”

  “This is different. Just take a look.” He turned his head. “Oh, there’s Lulu about to drop our hot dogs.” He shouted, “Coming, sugar buns!” and hurried away.

  Al glanced at the papers. How could the man say this was different? The chart looked the same as the last one. The title read Team Skills Analysis above a line graph with dozens of data points. Some people just didn’t understand the word no.

  Setting the report on the bench in the dugout, he went about laying out the team’s bats.

  The game kicked off with a whistle from one of the fresh-faced teenagers they’d hired to umpire. Jerry stood at the entrance of the dugout and watched as the first batter, Sharon, popped a foul that was caught by the Morleyville catcher. Fred came next and hit a solid line drive. It was scooped by the second baseman and lobbed to first in plenty of time to stomp on the base.

  “Sorry,” Fred muttered as he passed on his way into the dugout.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Justin slapped him on the shoulder and then clapped and called, “Come on, Suz. Knock it out of the park.”

  Susan approached the batter’s box like she was going to a funeral. From where Jerry stood, he could see the bat trembling. As she took her stance, he formed an unspoken prayer that she wouldn’t throw up. Three perfectly good balls whizzed past her. The first two she didn’t even swing at. He couldn’t be sure, but her eyes might have been closed. She swung at the third, but missed.

  “Strike three!” The umpire’s call was met with a cheer from the Morleyville supporters and a groan from the bleachers behind Jerry.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He clapped his hands as she shuffled by. “There’s a lot of game left.”

  A very long game, he feared.

  Morleyville headed for their dugout and his team filed onto the field. Jerry ducked into the dugout to grab his glove, nodding at Norman and Junior, who had been given shirts and invited to sit with the team. Cindie’s idea, which Jerry appreciated even more today. At least their bench wouldn’t be empty when Goose Creek took the field.

  When he turned, he almost groaned. Theo stood near first base and apparently intended to coach his team from there.

  “Hope you’ve got some heavy hitters further down your lineup.” He delivered the comment with one of his annoying grins. “Otherwise this is gonna be the shortest game in history.”

  Since he couldn’t think of a comeback worthy of his office, Jerry marched past him without speaking. He planted himself a few feet beyond first base.

  The first batter up for Morleyville was a woman.

  “That’s my niece. She’s home from college for the summer. Got a volleyball scholarship.” Theo’s voice held a gloating tone. “She’s quite the athlete.”

  Terrific.

  Little Norm tossed the ball up and down a few times while the batter adjusted her feet and hefted her bat. His head turned as he glanced around the infield. With a nod at Fred, he threw a pitch. The bat hesitated, swung, and connected. A low, fast hit toward the unmanned spot in left-center. In one smooth motion Justin charged in that direction, scooped it off the ground, and threw it directly into Jerry’s waiting glove. Jerry stepped on the plate seconds before the runner. Cheers erupted from the Goose Creek bleacher.

  For the first time, Theo’s expression lost some of its smugness. “I don’t think I’ve seen that fellow before.”

  Jerry threw the ball to Little Norm. “That’s Justin Hinkle, our newest resident. Just moved to town a few days ago, in fact.” He couldn’t help adding a taunt. “He’s quite the athlete, isn’t he?”

  Theo’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t trying to pull a fast one on me, are you, Selbo?”

  “Who, me?”


  With a wide-eyed smile, he returned to his position. That, at least, had been satisfying. Now, if only they could manage to score a run or two.

  By the time Millie arrived with the children, the ballgame had begun. Yellow-shirted players were positioned around the field, and more were seated in the deep shadow of the Home Team’s dugout. Oh dear. Morleyville had twice as many players as Goose Creek. If one of theirs got tired, there were a bunch of fresh replacements.

  She scanned the bleachers and caught sight of Violet, seated alone. Millie led her little troop in that direction.

  “How long have they been playing?” she asked as she settled the children.

  “It’s only the second inning.”

  Forest stood, head moving as he scanned the field. “How’s my mom playing?”

  “She’s the belle of the ball,” Violet answered.

  A puzzled expression settled on the boy’s face. “Huh?”

  Millie interpreted. “That means she’s the best.”

  “She caught two outs in the first inning and one in the second. And she got all the way to second base a few minutes ago before they caught her.”

  “Go Mama!” Fern shouted, and little Tansy bounced like a ball on her bench.

  “What’s the score?” Millie opened her bag and passed out the juice boxes she’d brought for the youngsters.

  Violet cringed. “Four to nothing.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  Millie’s gaze settled on Albert, who stood beside the row of bats he’d laid out on the ground. He looked quite official, if a little frumpy in that oversized shirt. As if aware of her regard, he turned to search the bleachers. She waved, and when he caught sight of her, he lifted a hand in a subtle acknowledgment.

  “Hey, Mrs. R.” Franklin Thacker, seated at the end of the bench behind her, called a question. “Did you get everything taken care of?”

  With a smile at Lulu, she nodded. “Thank you for your help, Franklin.”

  “No prob-lay-mo. Let us know how it turns out.” His gaze settled on Violet. “How’s it shaking, Plum?”

  Violet lifted her nose in the air, her expression frosty, and turned her attention to the field.

  Millie patted her arm. Though friendly and at times even helpful, the man really was quite annoying.

  As the game stretched on, Al’s confidence flagged. From the downcast looks on the faces of the Goose Creek team, he wasn’t the only one who feared the outcome of this game.

  “What’s the score now?” Seated in the dugout while the team fielded the bottom of the eighth inning, Junior scrubbed sweat from back of his neck with a dingy handkerchief.

  Beside him on the bench, Norman aimed a scowl in his direction. “Ain’t been no runs since the last time you asked. How’s come you keep askin’ the same dadburned question?”

  “It’s so hot my brain ain’t a-workin’ right.” The younger man turned away from him and repeated his question to Al. “So what’s the score?”

  “Eight to four.” Though there was no need for clarification, Al couldn’t help adding, “Morleyville’s in the lead.”

  “We ’uns could still get ’er done if ’n we’d stop fiddlin’ around and play ball.” Norman slumped in the back corner of the dugout, where he’d insisted on sitting so his foot would be out of harm’s way. He’d brought his own stool from home on which to prop his injured appendage. “If ’n I was out there, I could show ’em a thing or two.”

  In the bottom of the eighth inning, and with Morleyville’s best hitters coming up to bat? Al didn’t want to be the voice of gloom, but from where he sat their chances looked pretty dim.

  “Bert! Come here a minute.”

  Al caught sight of Thacker at the entrance of the dugout, his arms dangling over the chain link fence. As if things weren’t dismal enough. Heaving himself off the bench, Al left the scant shade of the dugout and entered the blistering sun to approach Thacker.

  “Why isn’t the mayor using the info I gave him?”

  “This isn’t the time, Franklin.” Al faced the game, leaning on the fence beside his coworker. “In case you haven’t noticed, things aren’t going well.”

  An accusing frown settled on the man’s features. “You haven’t showed him my analysis, have you? Have you even looked at it yourself?”

  “There hasn’t been time.” The excuse fell lamely from Al’s lips. No, wait. Why make excuses? Thacker needed to face the truth, harsh though it may be. Apparently telling him once wasn’t enough. “Listen, Franklin, we told you weeks ago that several people on the team were insulted by your analysis. If we start pulling out your reports and pinpointing their weaknesses now, they may take your head off.”

  Thacker’s lower lip protruded, reminding Al of his boys when they were young. “If you’d read my report you’d know it isn’t about our team.”

  That stopped Al. He peered at the man. “I glanced at that chart. It’s a skill analysis, same as I saw before.”

  “But not our team’s skills.” He jerked his head across the field. “Theirs.”

  Al looked at the opposing dugout, the bench full of yellow-shirted players. Two stood on the sidelines, swinging bats and preparing to take their turns in the batter’s box. “You analyzed their team?”

  “Duh. Did I stutter?” Thacker rolled his eyes. “How could I run our team’s data? In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t watched a practice in weeks.”

  “I know, but I thought you’d changed your mind about your program after our meeting in Jerry’s office.”

  Thacker planted his hands on his hips. “I told you then I would come up with a way to help. So I became a spy. I snuck into the enemy’s camp.” He cocked his head, lips screwed up in a twisted line. “Well, I didn’t have to sneak. I just started going to their practices, watching and taking notes. They had a lot more people there to cheer them on, so nobody asked who I was or what I was doing there.”

  A grudging admiration blossomed in Al. Thacker hadn’t given up when his first attempt to help was slapped down. Instead, he persisted. Even if the analysis turned out to be junk, his perseverance was impressive.

  But if it helped…

  “Are you saying your program came up with something that could help us?”

  “Of course it did.” He rested an arm across the top of the fence. “I might not be good at diplomacy, Bert, but I’m a really good programmer.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Al dashed into the dugout and snatched the stapled papers off the bench. Returning, he flipped the top chart over. “Show me how to read this.”

  Thacker took the report, shuffled a few pages, and then presented it back to him. “That guy who’s coming up to bat next? He’s kind of a hot shot on their team.”

  Al glanced at the player in question. “He’s scored a couple of times already.”

  “That’s because Little Norm is throwing exactly the kind of pitch he likes. High, fast, and center. But look here.” He tapped on the paper. “Every time he hits a slow, low one, he pops it to left field. Every time.”

  They exchanged a loaded glance. Hope flickered in the gloom that had overtaken Al’s mood. He raced into the open, waving the report over his head to catch the umpire’s attention.

  “Time out!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jerry dismissed his team and returned to his position near first base. As they jogged back to their places, he glanced back at Al. Beside him, Thacker continued to talk, tongue wagging a mile a minute while he thumped his report. Al’s gaze connected with Jerry’s, and he shrugged. If this worked, they might actually have a chance.

  “What was that all about?” Theo’s head swiveled from the Visitor dugout to Jerry. “Y’all looked pretty serious over there.”

  “Team secret,” Jerry said, and then added with a secretive grin, “Just Goose talk.”

  Though it was impossible to cross his fingers inside a baseball glove, Jerry performed the gesture with the other hand. He caught Cindie’s eye in the stands, and she sp
layed both hands in a clear question. He smiled in response.

  The Goose Creek team in place, the Morleyville hitter approached the batter’s box.

  “This young man’s been a great addition to our team.” Thumbs hooked in his pockets, Theo’s chest expanded. “Great ball player. A real inspiration.”

  Jerry ignored him.

  The batter propped the bat between his shoes, stooped, and gathered a handful of dirt. Rubbing his hands together, a cloud of dust rose and then settled at his feet. He dusted his hands on his pants and grasped the handle of the bat.

  Little Norm planted his feet and juggled the ball a few times. He bent his knees. Glanced over his shoulder. Jerry gave him a nod. Glanced the other way. Justin lifted a thumb. Chuck pounded a fist in his glove. Alice crouched, glove held at the ready.

  Facing forward, Little Norm reared his arm back and let go with an underhanded pitch.

  The moment the ball left the pitcher’s hand, Justin raced backward into the field.

  The ball arced, slow and sure, and descended toward the batter’s box. Taking a step, the hitter swung. The bat connected with a whack! that echoed across the field. A solid hit.

  The Morleyville crowd roared their approval as the ball soared through the air. On the ground, Justin darted sideways, head craned back, eyes on the ball.

  And snagged it out of the air on the descent.

  Now it was the Goose Creek crowd on their feet, clapping and cheering as the maroon-clad team jogged toward the dugout. Paul leaped and high-fived Chuck, both grinning like fiends.

  Jerry turned to find Theo’s narrow-eyed stare fixed on him.

  “Not bad.”

  “I’d say that was pretty good for a cooked goose.”

  Jerry strutted past him to join his team in the dugout.

  Susan couldn’t sit still. She paced to the wood railing that lined the dugout and hung on to the support post. If anyone had told her she would be so caught up in something as silly as a ballgame, she wouldn’t have believed them. If they’d said she would actually bite her nails watching, she would have said they were nuts. And if they’d said she would cheer like a crazed fan, she would have called for a padded truck.