by Ginger Scott
“Damn, girl. You trying to mimic Cannon’s pitches with that thing?” My cousin gets to his feet and claps the dirt from his hands, his laughter pulling up his cheeks into a huge smile. It’s as if he’s a pod person. Or knows his initial plan with my uncle fell through.
Maybe it’s both.
“That my nephew all grown up taking hacks out there?” My dad’s voice is like salve for a wound I didn’t realize I was nursing. Damn, I’ve missed him.
“Uncle Mike!” My cousin tosses his bat to the ground and jogs around one side of the backstop while I saunter around the other.
Zack’s strong enough now to pick my father up, and he does. For a moment, watching them embrace, I soak in the genuine laughter and slaps on the back with big hugs. I forget that I have a lot of shit to catch my dad up on when it comes to my uncle and cousin. I keep that pushed to the side a little longer as my dad lets go of Zack’s neck and opens his arms wide to me. It’s been a few long months since we’ve seen each other in real life. Video chats just aren’t the same.
“Hey, Dad,” I say through an earnest grin.
“Come here, kiddo.” He tugs on the shoulder of my shirt and we fall into a warm embrace, his large hand slapping against my shoulder blade while mine does the same. He’s been calling me kiddo since I could understand language. It’s nice to know that some things you don’t grow out of.
“I got in a few hours early and figured I’d come find you in your element.” He steps back and to the side, giving me a good view of my truck. It’s filthy from its trip across the country, but damn, I’m almost as glad to see my wheels as I am my pops.
“I’m guessing you’re gonna need my help unloading that?” I gesture toward the full load tied down with ropes in the back of the truck.
“Well, since most of that is yours—”
“Like hell it is. That’s Mom’s shoes and clothes and you know it,” I joke.
We both cough out a good laugh before a brief moment of awkward quiet settles in among all of us. It’s in this beat, right now, that I remember how messed up everything has become, and how much worse I fear it might get.
“Mr. Jennings, it’s nice to meet you,” Hollis says, stepping in next to me. She reaches out her hand for my dad to take. He knows very little about Hollis other than the big picture—we have a girl on our team, she’s good, and Zack doesn’t like her.
“Ah, so you’re this big hitter I’ve been hearing about.” My dad speaks through a practiced smile, maybe sensing the bitterness wafting off of my cousin like fumes.
“She hits all right,” Zack pipes in, leaving our small circle and moving back toward the plate to his discarded bat. Hollis glances at his back as he walks away and lets out a short laugh.
“I hit better than he does,” she whispers, cupping her hand as if she’s sharing a secret with my father.
My dad chuckles.
“I bet you do,” he whispers back with a wink.
I want my dad to like Hollis. Whatever this thing is between me and her has been cast under a dark cloud because of all the shit with Zack and my uncle. It’ll be nice to admit out loud to someone that I really like this girl.
“We about done here?” I ask over my shoulder. My cousin scans the area. Most of the other players are gassed and already packing up. I can tell he wants to go more, probably to show off in front of my dad. But all I want is to get in my truck and talk with my father alone for the first time in way too long. I’ve missed him.
“Yeah, guess so,” Zack says, tossing his bat on top of his equipment bag before jerking one of the Velcro straps of his batting glove loose.
“I can stay, if you want to take a few more swings?”
Hollis’s offer is only within earshot of me, Zack and my dad, and I wish someone else heard so they would give in and stick around, too. As it is, I bristle at her suggestion and Zack seems poised to ignore it.
“I don’t mind sticking around, watching for a while,” my dad offers. He’s bound to be exhausted, and since he got in early, he shouldn’t have to leave for the airport for an entire day. I’m sure he wants to sleep.
“No, seriously . . . I’d like to work on a few things, too,” Hollis adds. Her gaze strikes a deal with mine, and I don’t like the dangerous gamble she’s making. Plus, I’m not certain how she’s getting home. The thought of her on this field alone with Zack, in a car—alone, with Zack—makes my stomach fold up into itself.
“I mean, I’m about done,” Zack says, building up an excuse of his own when Hollis cuts him short, grabbing his wrist with her hand. His eyes zero in on the enemy threat, and mine flash protectively, a sour feeling coating my insides and pulling down the sides of my mouth.
“Just another round, two tops,” she says.
The two of them stare at one another, only inches apart, and my pulse jackhammers in my chest, tempting my fist into action. But Zack doesn’t do anything. Why Hollis is making this offer—wanting to spend time with a guy I’ve been ashamed to call family lately—is lost on me. Unless . . . she really is just good. Stubborn, perhaps, is more fitting.
“You want me to come back in a bit, give you a lift home?” My motives are obvious to everyone, and Zack shoots me a snarky glare that’s his way of calling me pathetic.
“I can get her home.” My cousin holds my gaze for a solid beat, and our eyes briefly war. While his seem to tell me to trust him, mine warn him not to push me too far.
“Great. Okay, well, I’ll catch up with you later,” Hollis says, ending the discussion. She squeezes my forearm, this touch more tender than the way she grabbed Zack’s, and again, my cousin and I zero in on it. My body rushes with heat at getting caught, a sensation that sinks my stomach with the G-force of a roller coaster when my dad elbows my side and lifts a brow.
“See you at home, cuz,” Zack says, his smile falling into an ominous, relaxed line that reads like a devious plan. He lifts the bucket of balls and heads toward the tee to join Hollis. She’s strong, and she’s safe. I keep those two thoughts on repeat until my dad and I pull out of the parking lot and head toward our temporary home.
“So, you didn’t mention that Hollis is—”
“Hot,” I sigh out. I punch out a laugh before my head falls back to the head rest and rolls to the side to meet my dad’s waiting gaze.
“Pretty much that, yeah,” he says, giving me a crooked grin that tilts his thick mustache up on the right. His familiar laughter is a welcome sound, as is the endearing, soft punch he presses into my shoulder.
“Zack hates her,” I say, shaking my head.
My dad’s brow knits and he chews at his lips.
“Didn’t seem so bad back there.” My dad got the performance of a lifetime, from both of them. There’s way too much to get into for this short time we have together, so I don’t dispute him outright, but I don’t completely agree.
“Yeah, well, you were watching. You know how he looks up to you.” I wait for my dad to glance my direction again, and his faint smile lets me know that he gets how rough life is for my cousin.
“Yeah,” he agrees, moving his eyes back to the road.
My dad and I have never talked about it openly, but I think there’s a silent understanding between us that Zack had it harder growing up under my uncle’s rule. It’s always been the little things, like the public displays of discipline when we were little, or the immediate excuses my uncle made any time my cousin failed at anything.
“Zack would have gotten more hits today, but I had him up late last night practicing,” my uncle would say. Or, “I told him to only go seventy-five percent for this game since it didn’t matter as much as the championship will.”
Then, if Zack wasn’t perfect for the championship, he got his ass chewed out all the way home.
It was the same for everything we did—if he got a B in school and I got an A, if we went bowling and I scored higher, if my birthday cake was bigger than his. The competition was this constant undertone, but I was never an active part
icipant. I’m pretty sure my dad never was, either. Zack had no choice, though, and I guess that’s why he is how he is, because my uncle bred him that way.
“When you and Uncle Joel played together in high school, what was that like?” I’m feeling things out with this question, and I think my dad senses it. He shifts in his seat and wrings his hands around the steering wheel a few times while his eyes haze into the distance of the road ahead. I point to the intersection coming up to let my father know where to turn.
“It was good,” my dad says.
“Ha, that’s a non-answer.” I dip my chin and challenge him with a glare. He gives in to the heat of it and finally looks in my direction, rolling his neck and rubbing it with his palm.
“Yeah, it is. But mostly because that was so long ago. I mean, we had a good time, and our team went to state twice. We both got to college on the game, so that was pretty cool.”
“Was he better?” I challenge.
“Joel?” My dad’s head swivels in my direction and he blinks before gurgling out a laugh. “Uh, no. He was good, but I was—” My dad shrugs.
“Better,” I finish for him.
He smiles at me with tight lips and I point to the next turn ahead.
Deep down, I’ve always known this was the case. None of us ever talk about it, mostly because my dad is not the kind of guy who has to keep score against others. For him, the memories of playing with my uncle are more about living life and having an experience. The greatness of the two of them together is always played up more by my uncle. Nobody, though, ever compares the two. My grandmother, before she passed last year, always gave everyone equal everything. That spirit sorta bled out into the rest of the family, because nobody ever feels the need to compete with one another or brag.
Until Zack.
Moving to Indiana did something to my cousin and his dad. It’s as though this time we’ve been apart unleashed a kind of envy. If Hollis weren’t here, I sort of wonder if all of this rage would instead point toward me. My aunt steers clear of the topic, praising Zack for doing his best. Deep down, however, my uncle never quite got over no longer being my cousin’s number-one coach. He still wants to be the only voice he hears on the field. And if Zack isn’t playing because someone better steals his spot, what will Uncle Joel have to do with his spring afternoons?
We pull into the driveway and my aunt and uncle are waiting in the driveway.
“Mikey!” Hearing my uncle call my dad by the little kid version of his name always makes me laugh.
My dad gets out of my truck and moves toward my uncle, both of their arms out like wings. I wonder if one day Zack and I will be like this, or if I’ll resent him forever the way I do right now. I hate this feeling taking over my body, like tar seeping through my insides making it hard to breathe. Maybe Zack isn’t the one who changed. Maybe I have.
I’m caught up in the reunion in front of me and lost in my thoughts when they’re interrupted by the low idle of a car pulling into the space behind my truck. My immediate reaction when I see Zack and Hollis in the car together is to protect her, but after a blink I realize they are both smiling.
My face puzzles as Hollis gets out and Zack rushes from the driver’s side toward my father and uncle.
“I thought you were getting in extra work?” I’m still on guard, and my face must show it because Zack calls me out.
“We catch you in the middle of something? You look surprised.” he says.
“Yeah,” I huff out through a suspicious laugh.
“I could tell he changed his mind and was sticking around for me, so coming here was my suggestion,” Hollis answers.
I shift my focus to her, giving her my perplexed expression. She laughs silently and steps in close.
“I’m fine,” she reassures. “Just trying to build a bridge, maybe stop the fire before he starts it.”
Nodding slowly, I make room for her to stand next to me and be a part of the conversation unfolding in my driveway. Upon seeing her, my uncle’s eyes light up in a way that makes my skin crawl. I hope Hollis doesn’t notice.
“So, you’re the female phenom, huh?” Uncle Joel reaches out a hand as if he doesn’t already have a file on Hollis stashed somewhere, filled with nefarious plots to bump her out of his kid’s way.
“I’m trying out for the team, if that’s what you mean. Yeah.” She shrugs off his compliment with a polite laugh, and I realize she’s playing the game too; I’m proud of her for it.
“Oh, I hear you’re pretty much a sure bet,” my uncle says when their hands touch for the shake. He winks in that car salesman way of his.
I glance to my cousin to get his take, but his eyes are focused on the ground, his face void of giving anything away. He must know about Coach Gage retiring.
“Oh, this is my brother, by the way. Cannon’s dad, Mikey,” Uncle Joel continues, shaking my dad by the shoulder as he shows him off. My dad is only a year younger, but my uncle always gives the impression there’s more age and wisdom between them. He only quit calling him baby brother after an awkward family fight at Thanksgiving four years ago. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen my dad snap at my uncle, and it makes me wonder how long it bothered him before he finally broke.
“We met,” my dad explains, smiling and nodding toward Hollis.
My uncle’s face dims at the news, but he quickly masks it.
“Oh, right. Out on the field. Did you get to see any of the action?” my uncle asks.
“I mean, they were pretty great at putting balls in the bucket,” my dad says through a chuckle.
“Ah.” Uncle Joel nods, clearly hoping for a better scouting report.
“Well, Hollis. Now that you’re here . . .”
I tense at my uncle’s lead-in.
“. . . You should stay for dinner. Meg has a roast going. We’re a big meat and potatoes family. You can tell us about New York and your dad. Being coach’s daughter, I mean. That must be—”
“A lot of pressure,” Hollis throws in.
“Yes, right,” Uncle Joel agrees.
There’s clearly a game of chess in play and everyone seems acutely aware. We’re all doing our best to stay off the board and just let Hollis and Uncle Joel battle it out. I refuse to leave her in this alone, though. Without giving her warning, I reach to her side and find her fisted hand pressed against her thigh. It twitches at my touch, and she turns her attention to me with a flinch.
I give her a slight nod. I’m willing to make a grander gesture than this if she refuses. Thankfully, she doesn’t. Her hand unfurls and her fingers stretch out for mine. Our palms meld together as I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss the back of it in a blatant show of solidarity—and an enormous F-U—to my cousin and uncle. They mask their reactions poorly, their eyes seething in a way that shows the connection between the apple and the tree.
“You’ll love my aunt’s cooking. Her roast is seriously the best, like magazine cover-worthy,” I brag. It’s not a lie, and Aunt Meg has no part in this grudge-match. And judging by the approving smile I just got from my father, neither does he.
16
Hollis
Cannon wasn’t wrong about the roast. It was the literal definition of Midwestern home-cooked amazingness. I didn’t think I liked carrots, but it turns out the ingredient I’ve been missing to completely appreciate them is marinating them for hours in a bath of greasy beef broth.
For a little while tonight, I forgot about the weirdness. We all sat around the table laughing while Cannon’s dad and uncle swapped stories about the dumb things they did in high school. Like the time they dragged their team’s field in the middle of the night using their dad’s old Jeep with a bunch of random yard tools tied to the back. Took them an entire weekend to repair the tire grooves and divots they left behind, but they both swear the party dare that led them to do it was worth it.
Cannon’s dad is nice. And not in the way you call someone nice because you don’t think you’ll ever get to know them well so it does
n’t matter. No, he’s truly kind. And when Joel is in the environment we were all in tonight—together, with family—he seems nice, too. It brought out a better side to Zack, as well. It would have been easy to erase the last two and a half weeks and start over, but just as we were leaving, Zack’s dad reminded me that none of them are to be trusted.
“Hey, tell your dad I’ll be giving him a call about that town hall he needs to hold with the board. Routine thing. We’ll just be asking him some questions. It’s good for the public to buy in on things. Helps with fundraising.” He practically whistled out the last few words like a snake.
All I did was nod and say I would. And I have spent—no, wasted!—my short ride home alone with Cannon in his truck thinking about all the things I should have said instead. I should have probed, asked about the last time they held one of those, or subtly hinted how it’s too bad Coach Gage is retiring. Just one little hint to make him wonder if I heard his plan, if I know something.
“So, I can’t tell if that was fun for you.” Cannon sighs and lets his weight fall back into his seat as he shifts into park outside my house.
I texted my dad earlier to let him know I was meeting Cannon’s dad for dinner, and my gut tells me my father’s been waiting for me to roll up to our house ever since. When the blinds at the front window dip and spill out light from the television, I smile and nod to myself. He’s waiting.
“It was mostly fun?” I lift one shoulder and smile on one side of my mouth.
Cannon laughs.
“Okay, fair enough.”
He reaches over and takes my hand in his, turning my palm over and drawing soft lines along the ones in my palm while his mouth hangs open with indecision.
