by Glen Krisch
She was starting to feel like this was becoming her home again. The only thing preventing Carin from completely giving in to the notion was Kevin's nightmare. Even now as he danced around the kitchen, playing the part of the little chef, his eyes were drawn and fatigued. His skin was too pale, and she was afraid he was losing weight. Boys his age didn't lose weight, they packed it on like it was going out of style.
She had planned to wait until Kevin went back to school to find a new job, but from judging his mood this morning, maybe he was okay enough for her to start looking. The chance to get out of the house would do her some good. Daytime television made her want to throw the T.V. through a window.
No harm would come to Kevin if he was with her mom, but she didn't want to impose on her any more than she already had. Her mom would never admit to any imposition, and it was sometimes hard for Carin to read her. Carin didn't want to disrupt her mom's peaceful retirement with all this mess, but she didn't know what else to do. Her mom had already made up the two beds for their arrival before what happened at the bus station. They were going to stay with her for a short while anyway, until things with James improved.
Her mom touched the back of her chair, and then sat down next to her. She had been blind since Carin was Kevin's age, but she got around with few difficulties. An extremely rare form of macular degeneration robbed most of her sight by the time her mother was seventeen. Her fear of doctors had prevented her from seeing an optometrist right away, not that it mattered with the aggressive variant of her disorder. It was incurable. By the time her parents took her to the doctor, an empty black void covered most of her central vision.
"You know, the older he gets, the more he reminds me of you." She danced her hand along the table until she could place it on top of Carin's. Her hand felt warm and smooth. "He's going to be tall and leggy. He should run the hurdles on the track team when he's old enough."
Carin looked at Kevin as he tidied up the chaos of dirty dishes. He still seemed in a good mood, but his smile had become muted and the circles under his eyes had darkened. She was glad her mom couldn't see him like that, but in her own way, Carin figured, her mom sensed his emotions without being able to see him.
"Like James," Carin said quietly. His name felt foreign on her tongue, as if she were reading it out of a magazine.
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. I didn't remember that about James."
"It's okay. Really. Just shows Kevin has some of his father's qualities. There's nothing wrong with that." She felt helpless. Carin never believed their marriage was truly over, even during the ride to the bus station and facing their impending separation. Their marriage was unquestionably on the rocks, but not irreconcilable. Their relationship hadn't been close to ideal since the year Kevin was born, but it had been her marriage, and had been hers to deal with.
Her mother leaned over the table and spoke in a quiet yet strong tone, "You need to put up a better front than that. Wipe that expression off your face, or Kevin won't see any point in trying to recover from this." She squeezed Carin's hand for emphasis.
Her mom was right. She could feel an added gravity pulling at her skin. She perked her eyebrows and felt the tension that had built up around her eyes.
Kevin came over to the table, carrying a platter stacked high with perfectly golden slabs of French toast. Carin gave him the biggest smile she could muster, and squeezed her mom's hand back in thanks.
Their small family enjoyed a well-cooked breakfast, and when Carin mentioned to Kevin about going down the block to play at the baseball field, he didn't shrug off the idea.
Lunch was over and Kevin had already helped his grandma with the dishes. He walked from his bedroom, his baseball glove on his left hand, his right hand smacking thick leather sounds into the glove's pocket. His grandma was tending to her lilies in the backyard, and his mom was in her room, the droning sound of a NPR show murmuring through the closed door. Kevin was so bored he could scream.
He opened the screen door and went out to the front porch. The sun was hot, and the slight breeze smelled dry and florid. The wide wooden porch was peeling and the sloughing white paint made it look like a dormant and decaying creature resting at his grandma's doorstep. He kicked at the paint, sending flying chips into the air.
His grandma's neighborhood felt more like back home than he thought it would. There were blocks of brick homes, complete with small yards and driveways. He always thought of the city as having tall buildings where everyone lived in apartments. But it wasn't anything like that. At least around here. He could hear kids playing ball at the park down the block. He kept his eyes fixed on the paint as he kicked it away, exposing the bone-colored wood beneath.
"You should go to the park," his mom said from behind him.
He looked up to see her smile softened by the door's dark screen.
"I'm kinda tired." Which was true. Kevin hadn't slept well last night or any other night for quite a while.
She opened the door and joined him on the porch. She looked down the block to where she could see the tall chain link ribcage of the baseball backstop. A short kid charged around the bases while the other kids yelled with excitement. The blur kicked up a cloud of dirt as he slid into home plate safely, just under a tag.
"When I was a kid, those ball fields were all woods. You can still see some of the trees past the soccer field way in back. I used to have a tree house in the woods, but the park looks just fun."
"I guess."
"You guess? You know, if you're not going to go down there and play, then I just might go myself. Think they'd let me play?"
"Mom, come on."
"Okay, fine." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill. "Here, you go down to the park, play ball, meet the neighbor kids. When you get thirsty, get a Coke down at the ice cream shop on the corner." She stuffed the money into his pocket and put her hand on his shoulder. She gave him a little push.
Kevin took a couple tentative steps down the porch steps. "But… Mom."
"No buts. You go. I don't want you home until dinnertime. I'll be right here on the porch swing reading a book. I won't be too far. Have fun."
Kevin looked over his shoulder and was about to protest further, but it wouldn't get him anywhere. His mom was stubborn. His dad had always told him he was just like her. Well, this time he would let her win. No sense beating his head against a wall. Besides, he wanted to play. He just didn't want to talk to anyone, let alone meet anyone.
He kicked rocks off the sidewalk as he walked, forgetting his mom and her stubbornness and now wondering how he would break the ice with these new kids. He felt in his pocket for the money she had given him and was considering going straight to the ice cream shop instead of the park. She didn't say he couldn't go there right away. He really was kind of thirsty. He could get an ice cream float and figure out a way to meet the other kids. But she could still see him; he could feel her gaze from where she sat on the porch swing. She was liable to yank him out of the ice cream shop and cause a big scene if he didn't go straight to the baseball field.
Kevin didn't hear the crack of the bat, but the movement of the foul ball caught his attention. When he looked up, the ball was skipping in the gutter next to him. Suddenly, a dozen pairs of eyes were staring at him. He came close to crossing to the other side of the street with the ice cream shop, maybe act like he didn't see the ball rolling towards him.
"A little help!" the big kid who hit the foul ball said, holding a taped-up wooden bat in one hand.
A bow-legged kid wearing a catcher's mitt came through the gap in the chain link and was on Kevin's side of the fence. He had his mitt up in the air. "Little help?"
Kevin scooped up the ball with his glove, crow hopped like his dad taught him and rifled a throw back to the catcher. It was a dead-solid throw, making a thwacking noise in the thick leather of the catcher's mitt.
"Thanks," the catcher said then wobbled back through the gap in the fence. He chucked the ball back to the pitc
her, and the game returned to normal. No one was staring at Kevin. He walked the rest of the way to the aluminum bleachers behind the dugout, the ice cream shop pushed to the back of his mind. He took a deep breath, rubbed spit into his glove until it gleamed, waited.
When a kid even smaller than Kevin struck out for the third out about five minutes later, the big kid who hit the foul ball jogged over to the bleachers where Kevin sat.
"That was some throw," the big kid said. Up close, Kevin noticed the dark peach fuzz on his upper lip. Greasy hair crept out from under the rim of his little league cap.
"Thanks. Need another player?"
"Sure. You can be on my team. We're one short anyway."
Kevin could see the other players waiting for the big kid to finish talking to him. The infielders were tossing a ball around.
"Come on, Reid, gonna play or just sit over there like a cheerleader?" A short black kid called out from the pitcher's mound.
"Hold on Lucy, don't get your panties in a bunch. I think we got another player. Now we got even teams," Reid said in a wavering, half-man voice. He turned back and asked his name.
"Kevin Dvorak. I just moved in up the street."
"I'm Reid. That bow-legged guy you threw to, he's up to bat now, that's Stephen Rose. He's an all right guy. The loud mouth on the mound, that's Lucius Harper. We call him Lucy because he catches about as good as a girl, but man, can he pitch. They're starting to look pissed. You'll meet the others as you go."
Kevin followed Reid to the diamond. The tall kid trotted over to the vacant first base area. He kicked the surrounding dirt until he erased the tread marks from the previous inning.
"Can you catch?" Reid asked while sizing up the other members of his team.
"I like the infield the best," Kevin said.
"You sure?" Reid said, doubtfully.
"Yeah, my dad used to… I mean, he hits grounders to me all the time."
"Tom, you go to the outfield, and play short center, Jimmy… shift over to left," Reid barked out orders, and his team moved without raising an eyebrow. "Leave right empty. No one hits 'em that way anyway." Reid shifted his attention to Kevin. "Go take shortstop. We'll see how you do."
Kevin went to his position, scooped up a handful of dirt, and dumped it into his glove. He dropped it out slowly, the dust barely stirring as it tumbled back to the baseball diamond. Most of the kids looked to be Kevin's age, and most seemed bigger than him. A couple of kids were a few years older, like Reid. They wore faded baseball and skateboarding shirts, cargo shorts with heavy, weighed-down pockets. Scabs in various states of healing covered their knees and elbows like badges of honor.
Bending at the knees, the other infielders leaned over slightly on the balls of their feet, waiting for Lucy to throw a pitch.
Lucy was as short as Kevin, but his arms were remarkably long and thin. He hid the baseball in his glove as he looked in on the catcher for a sign. The kid behind the plate wiggled his fingers uncontrollably for a moment then lowered his index finger. Fastball all the way. It looked like the catcher took a deep breath as he awaited the pitch.
Lucy lifted his left knee until it nearly touched his chin, his chin tilting skyward. He paused at the top of his delivery, and then his motion became a whirling mass of arms and legs as he stepped forward into his release. The hitter, some redheaded kid, had either an unusual grouping of dark brown freckles on his face or had missed his bath for the last three weeks. He stood at the plate, an oversized wooden bat twitching above his shoulder. Kevin heard the baseball exploding into the catcher's mitt before the redhead started his swing. He threw the bat around in an arc so hard he almost left his feet.
Kevin looked over to Reid in astonishment. The older kid nodded and smiled knowingly.
"Hey, Mikey, just wait until I'm warmed up. You'll be swinging so hard, you'll be cooling me off out here," Lucy said. He snatched the return throw with a downward thrust of his glove.
Mikey was understandably quiet. He looked at the next pitch and the catcher called a strike. Mikey didn't argue. The third pitch he failed to nab with a bunt attempt. Mikey took a right-handed turn back to the dugout, his head hanging low.
The inning went by quickly. Lucy mowed down the other team in a couple more minutes with most of that time dedicated to Lucy's taunting.
Kevin sat on the bench next to Reid as they waited to bat. Reid seemed like the center of attention, but he didn't act like a big shot. They watched as Lucy stood at the plate, a baseball bat resting on his shoulder.
"So, did your dad get transferred here?" Reid asked as he watched the pitcher wind up.
Kevin, thrown off by the question, remained silent.
"Oh, I get it. Divorce. I know what that's like. My dad's been divorced twice and my mom's remarried. The whole divorce thing's a bitch."
"Yeah, no kidding," Kevin said quietly. He absently tested the laces of his glove, pulling one tighter. Lucy swung meekly at the first pitch.
"They say it's all right because you get more Christmas presents, but that's all bullshit, too." Kevin noticed how naturally Reid swore, almost like he didn't care if any adults could hear him.
Lucy swung at the second pitch, missed badly, and then slammed the bat into the ground.
"Hey, Lucy, don't blame the bat, blame the game," Reid shouted out to the batter's box.
Lucy looked over his shoulder and gave the whole dugout the finger.
"My dead grandma can swing better than that guy, but he was the first guy I picked for my team."
"I never seen a kid pitch like that," Kevin said, hoping the subject of the conversation had changed.
"They also say divorce is cool because whenever you're around, they want you around, but believe me, when you come for a visit, you're just in the way."
"That's not bullshit," Kevin said, feeling awkward at the words and their context.
Besides good-natured taunting, the dugout was quiet for the rest of the inning. By the time Kevin went out to shortstop when they switched sides, he felt like he belonged. No one gave him weird looks, and better yet, no one understood what was going on inside his head. He wasn't going to let anyone find out, either.
Lucy took the mound, threw a couple warm up tosses, and then stared into the dugout. "Just to let you guys know, I'm retiring the fastball for the rest of the day. From here on out, it's the curveball, the big bender, the knee-buckler."
"Hey Screamer-Screamer-Screamer," the second baseman chirped at the batter.
"Go home and fuck your mom," the boy called Screamer said before settling into his stance.
"Hey Screamer-Screamer-Screamer…" the second baseman continued. The outfielders joined the chant.
Lucy paused at the top of his wind up before unleashing his curveball with the same movement as his other pitches. The only thing that was different was the motion of the ball. It started out fast and letter high, and then by the time it reached Screamer, it dove until it nearly scraped the dirt. Screamer took a huge upper cut, fanning hard. The second pitch was an instant replay of the first. As he readied for the third pitch, Screamer dug in deep with his heel, putting most of his weight on his back foot, and waited.
This time he made contact. The ball skipped on the rocky ground like a chip of granite on a crystal cool lake. It was shooting through the middle of the infield. Kevin took two strides and went airborne--his only way of reaching the ball before it hit the outfield grass. Kevin barely saw the ball leave the bat, but somehow he nabbed it before it could get through. He bounced up to his feet and threw hard to first base before he could get his feet planted. The throw was high, but Reid was tall. The throw beat Screamer to the bag by a step.
"Holy shit! Better luck next time, Screamer!" Reid said, throwing the ball back to Lucy.
Kevin slapped some of the dirt from his clothes, but not all of it. Leaving some of the dirt would let everyone remember that play every time they saw him. He acted as casually as he could.
Screamer's face turned red, almost
purple. He fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands. His voice was shrill and ear shattering. "No! No! God damn it. That was a hit. That should've been in the outfield. And I was SAFE! God damn it! I was SAFE!" Screamer carried on, and as he purged the anger from his system, the infielders tossed the ball around in a zigzag pattern. Everyone was all smiles, and they threw the ball hard, the ball smacking the leather until Kevin's hand hurt.
Everyone ignored Screamer until he was done with his tantrum. He sulked back to the dugout and the game resumed as if he hadn't said a word.
With the sun still warm but falling toward the distant trees, Kevin's winning team came out of the ice cream shop. He felt bad about going home on a full stomach, but he felt incredibly happy as he parted ways with the others. He was going to go back out tomorrow. They were going to pick new teams and start fresh. It sounded like fun.
He was kicking rocks off the sidewalk when he realized how late it was and how soon he would have to go to sleep. Mr. Freakshow would undoubtedly visit his dreams. Every time he woke, the nightmare faded but left him with fear gripping his heart. He thought the nightmares couldn't get any worse, but they always did. And there was nothing he could do about it.
His good mood slipped away completely as he reached the front porch. Inviting light poured through the screen door. Even with a full stomach, his mouth watered when he smelled the roast beef and mashed potatoes wafting from the house. Kevin's stomach grumbled and turned sour. He wanted to go back to the baseball diamond. He wanted to be there with Reid and Stephen and Lucy, and even Screamer, tossing a baseball around. He wanted to play baseball and have the sun high and overhead, and didn't want it to end. But it was getting dark and he was afraid to close his eyes, and even more afraid of what he might find there.
Chapter 6
As night descended, the activity buzzing through the museum died to an afterthought. The carpenters had left for the day. Nearly finished with their work in the old Carnegie Library, they were happy to be home with their families for the weekend. They had finished erecting the display enclosures, and by now, little of the building resembled its former purpose. Someone had removed the packaging material from the new ornate chandeliers, and their warm light cast spidery shadows across the gray marble walls.