Mom Ball, page 5
“A moving company brought my own equipment, and Jonah helped with facilitating it all. He knew a really nice guy who turfed the church soccer field and Evalene Mayberry’s carport.”
I lift my chin, curious as to how Jonah had a hand in this and I didn’t hear about it. His wife and business partner, Carolina, isn’t exactly Fort Knox when it comes to keeping things hush.
Metal clanks, and I crane my neck. Timothy’s head pops up behind a counter.
“Timothy, stop snooping, son.”
“Sorry, Mama. He has a kitchen too.”
I turn to Nate. “Really?”
“A mini fridge full of sweet tea and Mountain Dew, plus a microwave.” He shrugs. “The previous owner had a wet bar, so I decided to leave it partially intact.”
I laugh.
“The sink has come in handy when I need to clean my balls.”
I choke and cough loudly. He means baseballs.
“Want some water?”
I nod. He goes toward Timothy and returns with a bottle of water. A new bottle, without his germs.
I chug it like I’m stuck in the Sahara.
“Better?” Nate asks.
The bottle is half empty when I lower it and nod.
“Good. Make yourself at home. I’ll get Timothy started.”
He leaves my side, and I survey the area. There’s a well-worn couch near the TV. I sit on it and turn so I can watch where he’s taking Timothy.
They start at a wall filled with bats. Timothy’s face lights up when Nate pulls down several smaller ones for him to try. Not that I would recognize any of them, but I’m sure they’re Nate’s from over the years.
His mom never had a lot of money, but she spared no expense when it came to helping supply him with baseball equipment. He might not have had the flashiest or newest supplies, but he always had what he needed. Even when she didn’t.
I always admired and respected her sacrifices for him. Little did I know I’d one day be a single mom to a son.
They settle on a bat and go to the cage. Nate adjusts a tee and sits on a bucket nearby. He explains some things to Timothy, then stands and helps him position the bat.
Out of nowhere, my eyes start to water. I stand and exit through the smaller door on the opposite end of the building. It’s all I can take seeing them together like father and son.
All the whys and ifs that plagued me for years hit me like a head-on collision. If I had to put myself through a CT scan right now, I’d find plenty of internal damage.
Nate
Maybe it’s because I’m not used to younger kids, but Timothy is impressive to have never played ball.
He has great hand-eye coordination and picks up on everything I teach him quickly. His form is already good, and he’s showing a lot of potential.
I need to find Brooke. I bet she’d like to see how well he’s doing.
“Hey, you want to show your mom what you learned?”
He nods enthusiastically.
I stand from sitting on a bucket and scan the shop. There’s no sign of Brooke, and I don’t hear anyone.
“Let’s find her.” I lift the batting cage net, and Timothy follows me outside. The sun is lowering and it’s cooling down.
“You think she ran home to cook dinner or something?”
Timothy shakes his head. “Mama never leaves me for too long, especially not with a stranger.”
“I’m not a stranger.”
He wavers his head. “Technically, no, but how well do we really know you?”
I laugh. He’s a sharp kid, and funny.
“Your mom and I actually go way back.”
“Didn’t you grow up here?”
“I did. And we used to go—” I clamp my mouth shut and clear my throat. “To school together.”
He smiles. “What was Mama like back then?”
“Nice, fun, beautiful.”
He smiles wider. “She’s still nice and beautiful, but I don’t know about the fun.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, she worries a lot.”
I speed up toward the front of the house, relieved to find Brooke sitting in her car. If I keep talking, Timothy might figure out pretty quickly we were more than classmates.
He sees her at the same time and runs toward the car. I follow him, matching my steps to his with my long legs.
“Mama!” He opens her door.
She jumps and catches her breath.
“Were you going to leave me?”
Brooke shakes her head and starts to cry. She pulls him in her lap and hugs him close. “Never. You know better than that.”
He pulls back, and I take a step away.
“You know I would tell you if I went somewhere, even to the house for a minute.” She glances at me, then back at him. “But if I did go, you can trust Mr. Nate. He’s a good man and not a stranger.”
Timothy nods his head, then smiles up at me.
Now I want to cry.
“Uh, he’s looking good in there. I thought you might want to see.”
“Thanks.” She smiles and dabs at her eyes. “I just needed some air.”
“Then why did you get in the car with the windows up?” Timothy asks.
Brooke climbs out and sighs. I pull Timothy to the side so she can shut the door.
I’ve never been a parent, but I totally get needing some time alone. Before and after games, when my shoulder flares up, and many times right after our breakup.
The three of us walk in silence downhill toward the shop. I notice our shadows side by side. A weird emotion creeps up.
If I had to describe it, I’d say jealousy mixed with regret.
What if I had fought for Brooke when she broke up with me? Drove to see her instead of just calling and texting all the time?
I might could be her husband and Timothy’s dad.
Even worse, what if I’d left when I’d planned on it the last day I was with her? I’d surprised her at college and stayed the night in her dorm. Nothing happened—that night.
It was the next afternoon when I should’ve already been back in Atlanta. Instead, I’d lingered around because she didn’t want me to leave.
She’d wanted everything as badly as me.
However, being the guy, I should’ve backed down. That’s on me. Nothing was the same after that day, and our relationship lasted only another month.
It was the last time I saw her in person until she was hanging on the fence in her bathrobe.
We enter shaded territory, and I’m no longer haunted by our shadows in perfect sync. I shake off the idea that this could be my family as soon as my feet cross the threshold of my personal training facility.
Brooke and Timothy are here for one reason. Baseball. Nothing more, nothing less.
I offered to help him, and they took me up on it. He’s doing a great job, and I want to see him succeed, as I would any young kid with a passion for the game.
“Come on, Timothy.” I lift the net for him and bend under it. Brooke stares at me from the other side like she’s done hundreds of times before when I played. She remembers it too. I can tell by her eyes.
I give her a half smile before forcing my focus on Timothy and the batting tee.
The. ONLY. Reason. I’m. With. Them.
Focus.
“All right, King of Swing, you ready?”
“King of Swing?” Timothy laughs.
“Yeah, every good baller needs a nickname.”
He laughs and so does Brooke. The air lightens a little and I can feel the tension leaving me slowly. I put a ball on the tee and resume my spot on the bucket.
Then I make a silent pact with myself to stay there. No getting close to Brooke in any way. No more wondering if there’s a dad in Timothy’s life. Even though I suspect whoever his dad is, he has at least some natural athletic ability.
I’ll be the bucket man and nothing else, even if it kills me.
CHAPTER 6
Brooke
“I want to thank all y’all for coming tonight.” Jeffrey twists a large bedazzled ring around his finger while he talks.
I can’t get a good look at it, but my gut feeling is he didn’t get it from college. It complements his jersey and baseball pants, which are more suited for a player than a grown man running a parent information meeting.
“Me and Coach Bubba have a predicament with the eight-and-under boys this year.” He scans the small crowd spread across the gym bleachers.
Jeffrey turns to a man sitting nearby who’s dressed in gym shorts and a fishing shirt with a few too many buttons undone. I assume he’s Coach Bubba.
“We have enough for a solid team, but not two.”
“What are you implying, Coach?” Morgan shouts from the bleachers.
I drop my head as every eye turns our way. You’d think by now I’d know better than to sit with her at a school function.
“All I’m saying is we can’t have a team with fifteen kids. Wouldn’t give everyone fair playing time.”
Morgan opens her mouth, but Jeffrey holds up his hand to stop her. She grunts, and I swear a small stream of smoke comes from her nostrils.
“We have several on the wait list right now.” He makes a grabbing motion toward Bubba.
Bubba unfolds his arms and reaches for a sheet of paper on the table in front of him. Jeffrey takes it and clears his throat. “These people signed up last and are on a wait list. Timothy Marshall.”
“That son of a . . .” Morgan whispers.
I elbow her. “It’s okay. I wasn’t exactly sold on this anyway.”
She grunts louder.
“Jack Daniels and Charlie Daniels.” He turns to Bubba. “Are those real kids?”
“They’re absolutely real kids,” Maribelle calls loudly behind us.
Morgan pats her knee. “We got this, girl.”
She smiles at Morgan.
I pull my legs into my chest. It will only be by God’s good grace if we make it out of here without a bunch of mad mamas attacking Jeffrey.
“And an Angel and Precious. Last name on both says . . . Pending?” Jeffrey flips the page over as if he will find an answer.
“Custody crap,” Tami says from the corner of the gym.
I hadn’t noticed her until now. She must’ve come in late, because she’s hard to miss. Sadly, she’s as close to a celebrity as our town has thanks to her TikTok following.
Well, unless you count Nate with baseball.
I twist my mouth. I’d almost made it a full day without thinking of him.
“Why don’t you put your girls in softball, Tami?” Jeffrey asks.
“Why don’t you put your tongue back in your mouth, Jeffrey?” She widens her eyes and lunges forward, almost dropping the baby on her hip.
Jeffrey clears his throat and turns toward us. In his defense, Tami isn’t wearing much and often advertises that she’s on the prowl for a new baby daddy—in more ways than one.
“Anyway, that’s where we’re at in making a team.”
Maribelle raises her hand.
“Yes?” Jeffrey points to her.
“What can we do to get our babies off the wait list? I mean, my kids need something to do while my husband is working. Besides destroy our house.” She follows her comment with a long sigh.
“Get more people to sign up by Friday.”
“Then those new people and the wait-list kids will be a team?” I ask.
Jeffrey opens his mouth, but Bubba beats him to answering. “According to section A, item twenty in the rule book, we would then hold a draft.”
Jeffrey glares at Bubba, who pulls a tiny booklet from his shirt pocket and waves it to make a point.
“That’s right, Bubba. Jeffrey can’t stack a park-league team this year,” Morgan coos loud enough for Maribelle and me to hear.
“So we need like five or six kids by Friday?” Maribelle asks to clarify.
“Yes, and it’s already Tuesday. So I get it if that’s too much to ask.” Jeffrey’s voice is filled with fake pity.
“Nah. If I can get a thousand followers every new post, I can come up with a few kids to play ball.” Tami straightens against the door frame, giving Jeffrey a smug expression.
“You can’t do anything illegal to get kids, Tami.”
“Neither can you, Jeffrey.” She snaps her head, again almost dropping the baby.
I don’t know what happened between those two, and I’m good with that.
“So if I register more kids in this age group by Friday, say when school ends, we can draft teams?” Morgan asks.
“Correct.” Jeffrey has a begrudging tone, which makes her smile.
“Heck, we’ll have plenty by then,” Tami chimes in.
Jeffrey grits his teeth and cuts his eyes toward her before turning back to the bleachers. “If there’s no other questions, that’s all I have. Thanks for coming out tonight.”
He disappears somewhere in the back of the gym, leaving Bubba to fold up the table and chairs. He’s probably on the run from Tami, since she has it out for him. Or Morgan, or Maribelle. The man sure knows how to turn women against him.
As we’re exiting the gym, Morgan pulls me and Maribelle to the side. “We need a game plan to get more players. I want y’all to think of everyone who might want their kids to play ball.”
“What if we don’t like them?” Maribelle frowns.
“Then we hope Jeffrey drafts their kid. If y’all want your kids playing baseball here this year, we need warm bodies who identify as kids under eight.”
“I’m really fine with Timothy not playing this year. I think he’s not—”
My eyes cross and focus on Morgan’s fingers pinching my mouth shut. “That boy’s gonna play, and I’ll get him on Andrew’s team.”
I try and ask how can she guarantee that, but it sounds more like gibberish.
“Trust me, Brooke.” She lets go of my mouth. “See y’all soon. Text me names.”
Morgan disappears into the night toward her van. I wiggle my lips to try and rid them of that post-dental-work feeling Morgan induced.
“I guess we better get to it.” Maribelle gives me a tired smile.
“I hope it works out.” I give my best fake smile in return. “Good night.”
“You too.” Maribelle crosses the parking lot.
I shove my hands in my scrubs pockets and try to think positively. I wasn’t sold on the idea of Timothy playing in the first place. Maybe this whole wait list thing is a blessing in disguise.
Headlights turn left and right as people leave. Soon I’m standing alone, except for Jeffrey in the distance checking his tires. Probably for slashes.
That’s my cue to leave.
Nate
The trailer beeps as Jeffrey navigates around the blackberry and blueberry bushes on my property.
I shake my head. Why in the world did I agree to this?
Mom steps beside me and smiles wider than the offensive bumper sticker on Jeffrey’s truck. That’s why I agreed to this.
“This is so nice. We’re going to be neighbors,” she says.
“Again, Mom, you could’ve just moved into my house. You literally wouldn’t have to see me unless you wanted to.” I thought she’d jump at the chance of moving away from the mobile-home park.
“Of course I want to see you.” She pats my cheek. “I just didn’t want to give up my own home.”
“So you had no problem moving, as long as you could take your actual home?”
“You finally get it.”
Shows how much I know about women.
She laughs and walks carefully down the steep hill on the side of the house. I hurry and catch up to her in case Jeffrey isn’t paying attention.
He doesn’t strike me as the most careful driver. On top of that, I don’t think he sets up many trailers in backyards. Or maybe he does. This is Apple Cart County. Not a lot of zoning and property restrictions in a place that shares a golf course with cows.
Mom takes a seat in one of my back patio chairs and watches Jeffrey like it’s free entertainment. In a way it is, except that I’m paying him to move her trailer.
“So you really love this old house that much?” I still don’t get the appeal in a nineties-model mobile home with plastic shutters. I’ve been after her to upgrade it for years.
“More what’s in it.”
“Mom, we could’ve moved your stuff.”
She wavers her head. “I know, but you already have an oven.”
“The oven?” I widen my eyes. “That’s what you didn’t want to leave?”
“Well, yeah. It took me some time to learn how long to cook everything in it to perfection.”
I can’t really argue with that.
Jeffrey’s truck backfires, and we stare across the yard. Luckily, Mom’s home is still in one piece.
He parks it in a nice little clearing, far enough away from my baseball shop to give her some privacy.
Once I’m sure it’s safe, we start toward the truck. A bigger guy and Jeffrey are securing it in place when we get to them.
“What about my porch?” Mom asks.
“I’ll build you a new porch.”
“That one was perfect for my wind chimes.” Her face falls.
“Mom, I tried, but the trailer park said it was there before us so it had to stay.” I put my arm around her shoulder.
“You mean modular-home neighborhood.” Jeffrey enunciates every word like he’s teaching me a new language. In a way, he is.
“Huh?”
“Our business is rebranding.”
“Oh, okay, then.”
The guy beside him pulls a rag from his back pocket and wipes sweat from every piece of skin showing.
“Would you guys like some water?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” the man answers.
“Give me a minute.” I hurry to the shop and grab two bottles of water from the refrigerator in my kitchen area. I don’t want to leave them alone with my mother for too long. Not that I think they would do anything to hurt her in a predatory way, but they might accidentally run over her.
They both thank me for the water. I notice “Bubba” sewn on the pocket of the other guy’s shirt. Makes sense. He looks like a Bubba.
