Calling Home

by Janna McMahan

  “Okay. You tell me when you’re ready. No pressure.”

  “Okay.”

  Kerry reached into his shirt pocket and found a cigarette. He smoked while he searched for something good to say. The picture on the television jerked sideways and he twisted the knob on the antenna box a click to the left and the picture became solid.

  “Have you told your momma yet?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “You going to?”

  “I don’t see why we have to tell anybody right now. It’s kind of fun having a secret.”

  “Hmm.”

  “It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think?”

  “You better tell her, because if you tell that blabbermouth Pam, everybody at school will know by the end of the day.”

  The next morning, it took three feet of her aunt’s baby blue yarn, wrapped around and around the back of the ring, before it fit her. Shannon examined her work. It looked silly on her finger, but then that was the point, wasn’t it? To wear a ring so big that nobody could help but notice it. She had considered wearing the ring on the chain around her neck so she could tuck it inside her clothes, but Shannon knew her mother would find out. You couldn’t keep a secret in this town.

  So this is what it was like to have somebody lay claim to you. Shannon twisted the key in the bottom of her pink jewelry box, and the small ballerina twirled around on pointe. The sticker on the bottom of the box said it was from The Nutcracker Ballet. She flipped open her notepad and scribbled, “Nutcracker” underneath “entrepreneur” and “flan.”

  Shannon opened her hope chest and took out a quilt her grandmother had given her. “Put it in your hope chest for when you get married,” her granny had said. Instead of filling her chest with things for marriage, Shannon had filled it with books. She kept all her schoolbooks, even the ones from subjects she disliked. She dragged books home from the county library that were discarded from holdings or were unneeded donations. She had snatched a good dictionary and a book of famous quotations from the discard box last week. She didn’t like the Harlequin Romances that most women read, but she liked aching love stories like The Great Gatsby, Jane Eyre, and Wuthering Heights. She wanted a copy of Gone With the Wind, but a free one hadn’t turned up yet. She also liked unusual literature, and read horror by Stephen King and crazy stories by John Irving and disturbing work by Sylvia Plath and J. D. Salinger.

  Shannon unfolded the quilt and removed a sparkling tiara. She piled her hair up on her head, put the crown on, and splayed her blonde curls out around it. “Here she is,” Shannon hummed. “Miss America.” When she was five, Shannon had been Little Miss Rural Electric. She had the clipping of her win in her scrapbook along with all her 4-H awards, the time she was chosen as the conservation poster contest winner in fifth grade, even every time her name appeared in a list for honor roll. Shannon had tacked her seventeen blue ribbons from 4-H and drama and speech club up on her bulletin board and her small trophies were lined up neatly across the top of her dresser. But Shannon hid the tiara because she didn’t want Will teasing her about it.

  “Shannon!” her mother called. “Breakfast!”

  “Yes, ma’am. Be right down.” Shannon wrapped the tiara back in the quilt and placed it inside the chest. She put the ring on her finger and thought about Kerry in his perfectly pressed jeans with the faded crease down the front and his starched shirts and his navy Future Farmers of America jacket with the gold emblem on the front. He was so controlled, so sure of what he wanted. But Shannon was off in so many directions that sometimes he looked at her like she was from another country, like she was speaking French or Russian.

  It really wasn’t fair that she had taken his ring. She had dreaded the day when he would make the offer. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. Kerry was cute and he was sweet to her, but Shannon knew his intentions were different from hers. All she wanted was to have a good time while she was stuck in this town, but she suspected Kerry saw something of a future for them—a future that would never develop. She was using him, but then again, she suspected he knew this and was gambling on a different outcome, at least one that involved sex.

  Forks clanked against plates and coffee perked as Shannon descended the stairs. She slid into her chair and held her hand in her lap.

  “Pass the eggs around, please, Shannon,” Virginia said. Shannon needed both hands to pick up the heavy platter. When Will took the plate, Shannon’s hand dropped, clunking the ring against the table.

  “Good Lord, girl. Let me see what you got on that finger,” Patsy said.

  Shannon held it up. “Kerry gave it to me.”

  “That’s so nice. He’s a nice boy. Ain’t that nice, Virginia?” Patsy said.

  Virginia puckered her lips.

  “What does that mean, Shannon?” Patsy asked. “Does that mean you’re steadies now?”

  “Sure,” Shannon said, cheerfully. “Kerry’s teaching me how to drive this morning. I’ll take my learner’s permit this summer, then Kerry’s going to let me drive home from school in the fall.”

  “Brave man,” Will said.

  “You’re going to work today, I see,” Virginia said to her son.

  Patsy winked at Shannon and kept eating.

  “I wanted to work today. I need the money. Jim says I can work any holiday and every Saturday I don’t have a game, and some Sundays. He’s got that contract for the new subdivision over by the lake. Fifteen houses.”

  “It’s wonderful that you’re learning a trade. Electricians make good money,” Patsy said. “But you shouldn’t work on Sunday. That’s the Lord’s day.”

  “Yeah, well,” Will said. “Jim’s being good to me. He’s cutting me slack on game days because he used to play ball.”

  “I remember. We went to school together,” Virginia said.

  “Really?” Will said.

  Patsy laughed. “Your momma had a big crush on Jim Pickett.”

  “Shoot,” Virginia said. “Every girl in school had a crush on Jim.”

  “He’s not still married to Mary Jane is he?” Pasty asked.

  “No, they got divorced years ago. Never had any kids. Some people say that’s why they broke up.”

  “Since you’re so interested in Jim,” Will said, “you’d better go get fixed up because he’s coming by to pick me up this morning.”

  “What? When?” Virginia said.

  “About now.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” Virginia said. “You know I wouldn’t want anybody to see me in this old nightgown.”

  “Better scramble, Mom.” Will grinned.

  “Let me tell you something.” Virginia scraped her plate into the trash. “There’s two things in this old world more trouble than they’re worth. That’s men and fireplaces. I don’t need either one ever again.”

  There was a knock and they all froze. Virginia touched her hair.

  “Too late, Mom,” Will whispered.

  “Momma, it’s Kerry,” Shannon said and slapped her brother on the arm.

  “I know that.” Virginia opened the kitchen door and said, “Come in the house. Get out of the cold.”

  “Hey there, Miss Virginia.” Kerry stepped inside and nodded slightly to the table. “Aunt Patsy.”

  Virginia smoothed her hair and put her hand on her hip and said calmly, “Want a ham biscuit?”

  “That’d be great.”

  The three at the table broke out in laughter. Eggs flew out of Patsy’s mouth, which made them all laugh harder.

  “What’s so funny?” Kerry asked.

  “They all think they’re so cute this morning,” Virginia said. She handed him a biscuit.

  “Thank you.” Kerry took a bite and said, “It’s real good. Shannon, you ready to go?”

  Shannon still had a smile when she pulled on her red wool school jacket and headed out on a run. “’Bye, Momma!” she said over her shoulder.

  “Be careful with my little girl,” Virginia called.

  Icicles trickled
water from eaves, making pools along the side of the house and shed. All the trees were dripping. Kerry stopped and kicked chunks of muddy ice from the wheel wells of his truck. Ugly brown snow packed into a jagged wall along the road shoulder.

  “Did you tell her?” Kerry asked.

  Shannon held up her hand to show his ring. “It was no big deal. Like she was expecting it or something.”

  “Good.”

  When they reached his farm, Kerry drove across eight thick round pipes over a culvert that served as a cattle gate. When he reached a wide-open space, he cut the motor and scooted the bench seat forward. Shannon slid under the steering wheel, while Kerry walked around to the passenger side. Sun glared off the few remaining spots of white in the field. Only shadows still held solid blocks of snow.

  “Give me your keys.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute. You know anything about driving a standard?”

  “I can drive a tractor. It can’t be that different.”

  “Push in on the brake pedal and the clutch and then pop that emergency brake.”

  Shannon pressed both her feet down on the pedals and pulled the handle on the brake. The truck gave a slight bump. Cows watched with sleepy curiosity as Shannon cranked the engine.

  “The ground’s real soggy right now. Don’t tear up my field.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You don’t want to give it too much gas or you’ll spin out. But if you don’t give it enough the engine’ll die.”

  “How do I know how much is right?”

  “It’s a feel thing. Something you got to learn. It takes a certain touch. Now let on out on the clutch and ease down on the gas.”

  Shannon held her breath and slowly switched the pressure she applied with her feet. The truck lurched. Shannon cried, “Oh!” as they pitched forward and the truck sputtered and died.

  “What did I do wrong?”

  Kerry laughed. “Give it more gas next time. And turn the wheel that way so you don’t run over my cows.”

  7

  Will spat into the cleat-scarred dirt and walked off the pitcher’s mound. His knuckles ached from the cold. Every time he caught the ball, his hand stung like a swarm of hornets were inside his glove. The last of winter’s air burned his lungs, and his breath curled out in puffs.

  Top of the sixth, two outs, two strikes, one man on base. Green County Dragons down by one and at the bottom of their lineup. Their batter’s easy pickings. Will stepped back on the mound. He held the ball behind his arched back. He eyed the runner on first and then in turn made contact with each of his infielders. A lanky, buck-toothed kid made a few threatening practice swings and stepped back into the box. Will grinned. The kid looked ready to puke. The catcher signaled. Fastball. Will shook it off. Slow ball? Nope. Breaking pitch? Batter’s anxious. That’ll work.

  With a fast windup, Will leaned back, cocked his leg, and hurled the ball toward the plate. The batter flinched. The ball slowed. The batter swung desperately, twisting his legs. He crumpled to the dirt. The ball smacked into the catcher’s well-worn glove.

  “Strike three! You’re out!”

  The batter slammed the bat into home. Will ducked into the dugout. His teammates slapped him on the back. “Way to go! Good job out there, Will!” A couple of benchwarmers pinched tobacco between their lips and gums. “Spit that shit out!” the coach yelled. The smell of popcorn and hotdogs wafted from the concession stand. Liz smiled through the fence and Will squeezed into the dugout corner to talk to her.

  “You’re hot tonight,” she said.

  “Not bad.”

  “No. You’re really hot. You’re sweating so much you’ve got a haze around you in the lights. You look like a glowing angel.”

  She stuck her fingers through the fence and Will hooked his fingers in hers. “Your hands are freezing,” she said.

  “It’s better than a month from now when I’ll be sweating my ass off with a swarm of bugs flying in my mouth.”

  “Your momma’s sitting up there with Jim Pickett in the top row.”

  Will searched for his mother in the scattering of people in the stands. She saw him and waved. Will smiled and nodded to her. “He’s always offering to give me a ride to work, and every time he picks me up Mom feeds him like she’s fattening him up for the kill.”

  The bat cracked. People cheered. A Cardinal made it on first. “Safe!” the first-base umpire bellowed.

  “They’re cute,” Liz said.

  “Whatever. It’s weird. Hey, do you have to go home tonight?”

  “Nope. Daddy’s gone, so I don’t have to go to church tomorrow. Mom never makes me go.”

  “Want to go to the lake?”

  “Everybody’s going after the game?”

  “We’re going.”

  Will scanned the crowd around the fence.

  “Seen any more scouts?”

  “No.”

  A current of whispers had gone out when a Cincinnati scout pulled up in his Jeep. Will knew he was here to see a guy on the Green County team who was batting .425 this year, so he imagined his own great game would go unnoticed. The man left early and didn’t say anything to anybody.

  “Damn. Did you see my change-up?”

  “I missed it. I must have been at the snack bar.”

  “Go get me a Coke.”

  “Okay.”

  “Lemmons!” the coach yelled. “You’re up!”

  “Put some pepper on it, boy,” the coach said. “There’s a scout here from Western. Show him what you got.” The coach popped Will on the ass as he got on deck. Will took a few practice swings with the Louisville Slugger. He was batting .365 this year. His ERA was 1.50. He was only giving up one or two walks per game, and his team’s record was 20 and 4 going into tournament play. Players from the Southern Kentucky Athletic Conference sometimes got scouted by big schools like Western. Will took his stance and stared down the pitcher.

  “Hit it, Will!” Liz yelled. The crowd came to life, clapping and shouting. “You can do it!” That was Shannon. Kerry Rucker was plastered to her like he was going to crawl right inside her skin underneath that red-and-gray school blanket. Will glanced down the baseline past first at a group of loud men with their fingers hooked through the chain link fence. There was his dad. Roger nodded solemnly, but the boy turned away.

  “Batter up!” the umpire barked.

  Will walked inside the chalk lines and squinted at the pitcher, who glared back.

  “You suck,” the catcher said. “You pitchers can’t hit for shit.”

  His first swing was a strike. Will walked out of the batter’s box, scooped dirt and rubbed it on the bat. He banged the bat against both his shoes. Glaring stadium lights kept up a continuous high-pitched drone. When he repositioned himself back in the box the crowd chatter started again, but all thoughts of his girlfriend, his sister, his mother, his father were vapor. All he knew in the world was the hard, seamed ball coming at him. The bat cracked and vibrations stung his cold fingers. The ball sailed into the outfield. Will bolted. The ball hit the fence and bounced to the ground. A right fielder snatched it and sent it to second. Will stayed on first.

  When the next batter hit a hard ground ball that slipped past the shortstop, Will advanced to third. The next batter sacrificed and Will scored. The Cardinals were up by two when the inning ended. With Green County batting two down at the top of the seventh, Will’s team got three easy outs and the game was over.

  “Good game, good game.” A blur of smiling faces. Hands slapping backs. Will was in the center of the pack. “Nobody got wood on you tonight, Will.” Liz threw her arms around him. “Now, see there. That’s why he pitched such a game.” Laughter. “Don’t you know girls’ll make your legs weak, boy?” Will laughed and nodded.

  “Be back in a minute,” he said to Liz. His cleats popped gravel. He walked past middle school boys tossing a baseball in the parking lot.

  “Y’all be careful. Don’t hit anybody’s car.” He pitched them the game ball. “The
field’s clear. Go play out there.”

  “Thanks, Will!”

  He lowered his truck’s tailgate and sat to unlace his cleats. A balding man in a red jacket approached holding a notepad and clinching an unlit cigar between his teeth.

  “Hey there, son, I’m Bruce Ford,” the man said. “I’m going around doing some scouting for Western Kentucky.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Will wiped his hand on his pants and offered it.

  “Good game tonight,” Ford said as they shook. “You got a hell of a fastball.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Slider ain’t bad neither.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ever think about going to Western?”

  “Thought about it.”

  “We got room for a couple pitchers next year.”

  “I’d be proud to pitch for Western.”

  “What other positions you play?”

  “Everything but catcher.”

  “You a good shortstop?”

  “Fair. Better on first.”

  “You’re quick.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You been talking to any other school?”

  “A couple.”

  “Western’s a good school and not too far away from home. You could still come back to see that pretty sweetheart of yours.”

  Liz was standing with his mother and sister. They tried not to stare. Ford’s melodious voice said Will’s name and the word scholarship in the same sentence. “But you understand we got to look at everything all around. Your grades, your conduct record, your SATs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right, then. Your parents around?”

  “My mom is.”

  “Fine boy like you pitching such a game and no daddy to come see him play?”

  “He’s around.” Will tossed his cleats into the truck bed where they hit with a hallow thud.

  Ford pinched the cigar between his teeth and bit. He spit the stub to the dusty ground. He studied the boy a moment and finally said, “All right, then, let’s go talk to that momma of yours.”

  8

  The first day Virginia let Jim Pickett in her kitchen and offered him a cup of coffee she had felt a fluttery lightness in her chest. He was more handsome than he had been in high school, his face more rugged and masculine. Jim had started swinging by the house to give Will a ride to work every weekend. Her son had mercifully chosen not tease her about their apparent attraction, choosing instead to ignore the possibility.