Renovating the Richardsons

by Virginia Smith

  “Come on, Little Norm!” She took her fingernail from between her teeth long enough to clap encouragement.

  Standing in the sunlight next to Al, Justin turned an amused grin her way.

  The Goose Creek team had made the most of their last time at bat. News of Franklin’s inside information acted like a shot of adrenaline and launched the team into action. Fred scored a run, bringing their total to four before Susan again struck out.

  She cringed at the memory. Definitely the weakest player on the team.

  When the Morleyville catcher caught Paul’s hit, marking their second out, a tense gloom had settled over the Visitor’s dugout. But then Alice bunted toward third and managed to cross first base before the ball arrived. Chuck knocked a line drive that slipped past their shortstop. When the mayor got a hit, a wave of excitement swept through the dugout. Even Norman was on his feet. Or, foot. Susan glanced where he stood leaning against the dugout wall, a crutch on his right side and his toe resting on the ground.

  Little Norm strutted toward home, swinging his bat. On third base, Alice bent her knees in readiness. Chuck took a few steps off second, the Morleyville shortstop watching him warily. On first, Jerry cupped his hands and called, “Out of the park, Little Norm!”

  Susan glanced at the bleachers, where Daddy sat wedged between Tuesday and Wilma Rightmier. He switched his attention from the game to her, and his smile widened. When had she last seen him looking so relaxed? Her heart light, Susan turned back to the game.

  In the batter’s box, Little Norm stomped his feet. Puffs of dust rose to be whisked away by a light breeze. He hefted his bat into position, bounced it for balance a few times, and then jerked a nod. The Morleyville pitcher wound up and lobbed the ball. Susan’s breath caught in her chest as it sailed forward.

  With a swing that made hers look like a gentle tap, Little Norm’s bat smacked the ball.

  “Yeah!” she screamed, her voice mingling with the crowd inside the dugout and out.

  Sharon leaped up beside her and the two women clung together, jumping like kids, while they watched Little Norm’s hit fly past the pitcher. The Morleyville second baseman dove for it and missed. It bounced, and the Goose Creek runners took off.

  Alice crossed home plate while the woman in centerfield raced after the ball.

  Chuck didn’t even pause as he rounded third and sprinted toward home. Jerry reached third at the same time the woman snatched up the ball and, with barely a fraction of a second’s hesitation, flew down the home stretch at top speed.

  Susan gasped and locked the breath in her lungs, clutching Sharon’s arms, as the Morleyville player threw a long ball toward home.

  “Sliiiiiiide, mayor!” Justin shouted.

  Jerry slid.

  The catcher caught the ball.

  The umpire’s call came with a swipe of his hands. “Safe.”

  Screeching at the top of her lungs, Susan dashed out of the dugout and catapulted toward Justin, nearly knocking him down when she slammed into him, hugging for all she was worth.

  “We’re tied! We’re tied!”

  The team’s cheers as they welcomed the three runners to the dugout nearly deafened her to his answering shout. “We’re tied and Little Norm’s on third.”

  “And you’re up to bat.” She squeezed him again. “Knock the stuffing out of that ball.”

  Hers were not the only high spirits as Justin strode to the batter’s box. Though she may have been the only one to think him the most breathtakingly handsome man on either team, everyone agreed that he was the most capable when it came to softball.

  “We’ve got this.” Jerry’s comment exuded confidence as they watched Justin take his stance.

  Silence fell over the park, teams and onlookers alike, and the sound of Justin’s bat pounding the base thudded like a woodpecker on a log. He placed his feet, shuffled his weight. The pitch sailed toward him, completing its arc at exactly the right spot. He swung. The ball flew toward left field at knee-level, skipping across the grass like a smooth stone on a lake.

  Little Norm plowed down the home stretch and stomped on home plate, his run accompanied by cheers.

  Her attention riveted on Justin, Susan could barely breathe. She wasn’t entirely certain, but her heart may have stopped while she watched her boyfriend run, arms pumping. He stomped on first as he raced by. The ball, scooped up by the right fielder, was thrown to the shortstop, who tossed it to second.

  Justin’s shoes skidded on the chalk line as he retreated. The first baseman lifted a glove and caught the ball, and then raced forward. Susan gasped. He was trapped. Again changing directions, Justin attempted a dash forward but the second baseman stood two feet in front of him. The ball was thrown, caught, and Justin tagged.

  “Out,” called the umpire.

  A communal groan sounded from every Goose Creek throat. The field emptied of yellow shirts as the players headed for their dugout for their last time at bat.

  Drooping, Justin jogged toward his team, mumbling as he passed the mayor, “Sorry, coach.”

  “It’s okay.” Jerry slapped him on the back. “You batted in a run. We’re up by one.”

  Heart aching for him, Susan fell in beside Justin as they entered the dugout to retrieve their gloves. “It was a good hit.”

  “Yeah.” He forced a smile, she suspected for her benefit. “Now we’ve just got to hold them.”

  Al paced in front of the dugout, sweat rolling down his back beneath the giant T-shirt and his blood pressure buzzing in his ears. This game was too stressful for an almost-retired man like him. He paused to look up at Millie, who was handing out cookies to the Wainright girls. The boys stood at the fence, their fingers hooked through the chain link, shouting encouragement to their mother and the other Goose Creek players.

  If he had a heart attack, she’d feel responsible since she’d volunteered him. What a terrible burden, to live out her days knowing she’d killed her husband. He owed it to his wife to calm down and not drop dead or collapse from heat exhaustion. He dropped a towel into the icy water in the team cooler, wrung it out, and draped it across the back of his neck.

  “Think I could have one of those?” Thacker pointed toward the cooler. “It’s a real scorcher out here.”

  If anyone had earned a bottle of water today, it was Goose Creek’s resident spy. Their secret weapon, Thacker’s analysis, had provided enough inside information that they’d been able to hold the Morleyville team to eight runs and even managed to get two outs in this final half of the last inning. Al retrieved one and tossed it to the man. He might even be able to forgive him for the desecration of his camelias.

  “Time out.”

  Jerry made the call and then motioned for Al and Thacker to join a consultation in the infield. Al filled his arms with water bottles and trotted across the field.

  “Okay, this is it, folks,” Jerry said when they were clustered around the pitcher’s mound. “We’re up by one run with two outs. If we get one more out, we win. If they score two, we lose.” He gestured toward Thacker’s report. “What’s the deal on this gal coming up to bat?”

  Thacker shuffled through his papers. “She’s a leftie. Batting average of four hundred since I started tracking her.”

  Little Norm looked over the tops of their heads at the woman swinging a bat in the on-deck circle. “That’s not so great.”

  “No, but she’s hitting well today.” Thacker waggled an eyebrow at the big pitcher. “She’s gotten two hits off of you, buddy.”

  Little Norm bristled but remained silent.

  “A leftie, huh?” Justin raised his gaze from the paper to Jerry. “That means it’s coming toward you.”

  “Unless she pops a good one,” the mayor answered. “Then it’s going to left field.”

  Every head turned. The veterinarian stood in left field surrounded by a wide, empty area. Using her glove as a fan, she waved it in front of her face. Nobody needed to voice the obvious. So far, she had struck out every time a
t bat and fielded one hit too late to tag the runner.

  Jerry faced the pitcher. “You’ve got to strike this batter out.”

  “Listen, Norm,” Justin said, “you probably know this already, but it’s harder to hit a pitch breaking away from you.”

  Judging from the blank expression that crept over Little Norm’s face, the man had no more idea what Justin was talking about than Al did. And that was zero.

  “What I mean is this.” Justin raised his hands to demonstrate. “If the ball coming toward a batter curves in at the last minute, the batter can see it. But if it breaks the other way… ”

  Though Little Norm watched Justin closely, his face paled.

  Justin put on a smile that looked a little forced. “Never mind. You’ve been awesome all day. Just do your best.”

  The big man threw his chest out. “No problem.”

  Justin slapped him on the shoulder and the meeting broke. Striding back toward the dugout, Al used the end of his towel to wipe his face.

  “We’re going to do it.” Thacker fanned himself with his report. “I’ve got a feeling.”

  Glancing toward Susan in left field, Al had a feeling too. And it wasn’t a good one.

  Susan watched the conference on the pitcher’s mound. When all eight faces turned her way, a tight fist of panic clenched in her chest. Why were they staring at her?

  The discussion ended and her teammates spread out across the infield. As Justin strode toward the baseline, he caught and held her gaze. Was he trying to tell her something? He arrived at the shortstop position and, still looking her way, held his glove up in front of his body with both hands. She knew that signal. Whenever they practiced, that’s how he’d instructed her to ready herself. He was sending her a warning to be ready.

  Her throat squeezed shut.

  So far her prayers had been answered. Only one ball had come her way all day. Well, a few had been hit in this direction, but low enough or short enough for the mayor to catch them. All she’d had to do was stand here, perspiring in the sun, and watch her teammates play. Except for the few disastrous turns at bat, this was exactly what she’d hoped for.

  Why did I ever agree to do this?

  Sure, it was fun hanging out in the dugout and cheering on the team. But playing was a far cry from fun.

  A woman from Morleyville stepped into the chalk box around home plate. A few feet behind her, Fred squatted on his haunches and raised his mitt to the ready position.

  The lump in Susan’s throat might be her heart. Though she knew that to be a physical impossibility, what else could that throbbing mass blocking her windpipe be? She glanced toward the stands where Daddy and the rest of the Goose Creek fans stood in the bleachers. He bent down slightly when Tuesday said something to him, and then nodded, his attention on the woman at bat.

  Little Norm’s first pitch went wide. Fred had to scurry sideways to catch it.

  “Ball one.” The umpire’s voice barely reached to this distance.

  Justin called, “It’s all right, Norm. Shake it off.”

  He did, literally, waving his hands at his sides and rolling his shoulders before he caught the ball thrown to him by Fred. He tossed the ball from his hand to his glove a few times before setting his feet on the mound.

  Though Susan detected no difference at all between his first attempt and his second, that time the pitch flew straight toward Fred’s mitt. The woman’s bat met the ball. Thwak!

  The ball soared high.

  The player dropped her bat and sprinted for first.

  Justin’s voice sounded in her head. Just watch the ball…

  She watched. The ball arced, a white spot against a deep blue sky, and then began its descent. Her pulse thudding in her ears, Susan realized it was heading toward left field. Toward her.

  … put yourself beneath it…

  Head thrown back, she ran a few steps forward. Then to her right. No, too far. Or maybe not. For cryin’ out loud, how was she supposed to know where the stupid thing would land?

  … and let it fall into your glove.

  Hands held high, she planted her feet, opened her glove, and closed her eyes.

  And felt a solid impact as the ball dropped into her glove.

  Cheers from the crowd penetrated the ringing in her ears. She’d caught it! Lowering her glove, she peered inside, just to be sure. Like an oversized egg, the softball rested in a nest of leather.

  Running toward the infield, Susan stretched her legs as if she were competing in the fifty-yard dash. Justin met her at the edge of the grass and swept her into his arms.

  “You did it!” He whirled her around. “You won the game.”

  Susan found herself the center of a crowd of maroon-clad players, all of them hugging her and each other, laughing and shouting and thumping her on the back. Over Alice’s shoulder she spied Jerry strutting across the field toward the Morleyville mayor, his chest puffed out like an overinflated balloon.

  Somehow she was swept across the infield, surrounded by cheering people. Where was Justin? In all the excitement she’d lost sight of him. She looked around and spied him ahead, standing at the fence behind home plate and talking with…

  Daddy?

  Her father handed something to Justin, and then looked up at her. An unreadable emotion clouded his features for an instant, and then a wide grin spread across his face.

  Beaming, he clapped his hands and shouted, “I’m proud of you!”

  Happy tears blurred her vision. What better praise could a daughter hope for?

  And then Justin was once again at her side, grabbing her hand and tugging her forward. “Come here, Suz.”

  “Where?”

  “Just over here.”

  He pulled her across the dry, dusty field and then turned. With a hand on her arm, he adjusted her position. “There.”

  Looking down, she realized she stood inside the chalk-drawn batter’s box. She raised a questioning gaze to his face.

  Holding her eyes with a steady gaze, Justin knelt before her. One knee dropped onto home plate. A sudden silence fell, both on the field and off, so that his words rang clearly across the field.

  “Susan Jeffries, will you marry me?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  If attendance at the ballgame had been impressive, the crowd gathered around the Goose Creek water tower was nothing short of extraordinary. Millie kept a tight grip on Albert’s arm as they left their car parked on Maple Avenue and joined a steady stream of Creekers trickling toward the crowd. When he would have plunged into the multitude, she pulled him to a stop.

  “Don’t you think we’ll have a better view from back here?”

  Craning his neck, he squinted upward. “Let’s go around to the other side so the sun’s not in our eyes.”

  A good plan. They edged around the throng to the opposite side, where the sun beat on their backs instead of their faces. She inspected the crown of Albert’s head, where his hair was thinning even more rapidly than on top. Why hadn’t she insisted he wear a hat?

  Most everyone here was familiar to her. Well, and why wouldn’t they be? She’d lived among them for over half her life. She exchanged a smile with Frieda and Betty. Just beyond them Mrs. Easterly hugged her fluffy Maltese, Precious.

  “Here’s Millie,” said a voice behind her. “Maybe she knows something.”

  Turning, she found Doris Pulliam and Nina Baker edging between people to approach her and Albert.

  “About what?” she asked.

  “The new spa that’s coming to town.” Excitement sparked in Doris’s eyes. “It’ll open before the fall festival, I heard.”

  “A spa?”

  Nina nodded. “A day spa. Ernie heard it from someone at church. It’ll have facials and manicures and aromatherapy.”

  “Imagine, a day spa in Goose Creek.” Doris smiled broadly. “I can’t wait to make an appointment.”

  “Me too,” agreed Nina. “I heard they’ll offer massages, too. I’ll be first in line for
that.”

  Massage? Puzzle pieces fell into place. “I might have heard a whisper or two about that. What’s the name going to be?”

  “Ernie said something about Tuesday.” Nina’s brow wrinkled. “But he must have gotten that wrong. A spa wouldn’t just be open on Tuesdays, would it?”

  Millie agreed on the unlikelihood of any business being open only one day a week. She faced the tower. Good for Tuesday Love. She might make a go of her business after all.

  Al pointed across the heads of the onlookers. “Looks like they’re about to start.”

  The sturdy figure of Sandra Barnes ascended the metal ladder. Millie watched her progress, breath shallow as the woman climbed high above the watchers. She reached the top and disappeared in an opening in the platform high above. The walkway had been covered for weeks with scaffolding and canvas, which now hid the painter as well as the tower’s barrel.

  Little Norm followed, climbing with a sure step. Not until he also disappeared from view did Millie let out a breath. Thank goodness they both had better balance than poor, curious Junior.

  “Good afternoon, folks.” A familiar voice, artificially magnified, drew her attention once again to the ground. Mayor Selbo stood beside one of the tower’s support legs, the top of his head barely visible. He waved a white megaphone in the air. “Some of you probably can’t see me. Sorry about that, but there’s no way I’m climbing up there with those two.”

  Millie and Albert joined their neighbors’ laughter.

  “Let me begin by thanking you all for your patience and support.”

  “He isn’t going to give a political speech, is he?” Al grumbled. “It’s hot out here.”

  Millie squeezed his hand, which was damp with perspiration. As Jerry launched into a list of those who had been instrumental in securing the Southern painter for the task of creating a piece of art that would make Goose Creek proud, she scanned the crowd.