by Lacy Hart
Wes reached out to Kristin several times, especially in the first few days he was away. He called frequently, but Kristin didn’t pick up the phone. He sent text messages, and Kristin occasionally answered those back just to let him know she was okay and getting by. In her heart, she knew it was still too painful to speak to him, and Kristin wasn’t over how hurt she felt just yet. She let him know that in the texts she sent him, and eventually, Wes stopped calling and dashed off a text every evening to keep Kristin aware that he thought of her and let her know how he fared with training and practice.
On this Friday morning, while Karen and Kristin walked to the library, they talked about all the final plans Karen made for her wedding. The wedding date laid just about a month away, and she and Brian made deposits to caterers, the DJ, the dress, decorations and more. The two made their way passed Harding’s Diner, where Clyde Stuart and his cronies ate their usual breakfast and entertained the morning debates over what appeared in the news that day. Just as the ladies went beyond the window and waved, Clyde hustled out the door.
“Kristin!” Clyde yelled to her.
Kristin turned and smiled at Clyde.
“Yes, Mr. Stuart?”
“Can you settle an argument I’m having with the boys in there?”
“I can try,” she told him. “Depends on what you’re talking about.”
“Well, there’s an article in the sports section today about Wes,” Clyde told her. Clyde flipped to the page where the small article in the Observer-Reporter, the local newspaper, resided. The title of the article read, ‘Is Martin’s Run in Washington Over Already?’
“Now, the article says he’s having a tough time with the practices up there and all, and the manager is quoted as saying there are no guarantees for anyone, but I’m not buying that bull,” Clyde said as he shuffled the pages of the paper closed. “The guys say he’s done. Now you must know the truth.”
Kristin took a deep breath.
“Mr. Stuart, honestly, I don’t know anything about what Wes is doing there or how he’s performing. I know he’s still there with the team. Beyond that, I couldn’t say.”
“What?” Clyde crowed. “That’s hogwash! You live with the man for crying out loud. Surely you…”
Karen stepped in and cut him off.
“Clyde, she said she doesn’t know anything,” Karen clipped. “Just leave it at that. You guys are worse than a bunch of old hens. Find something else to debate about.”
Karen grabbed Kristin’s right arm and hooked her left through it and led the two of them to march down the street and leave Clyde Stuart on the sidewalk with his jaw down.
“Thanks, Karen,” Kristin told her.
“No problem,” Karen replied. “That old coot needs something better to do.”
The two walked along until they reached the library. While Kristin unlocked the door, Karen picked up the conversation again.
“You know, I read that article this morning while you showered, Kris,” Karen admitted. “Do you really not know what’s going on?”
“Karen, not you too,” Kristin said with exasperation. She shut the alarm off and switched the lights on before she moved towards her office.
“It’s just that the article says he’s struggling pretty badly hitting and fielding, that maybe his ankle isn’t holding up. The manager wasn’t too optimistic about Wes. Is it that bad?”
Kristin faced Karen while she turned her computer on.
“All I know is from the texts I get from him, Karen. Wes says he’s okay and he’s trying, and that… well and that’s about it. He hurt his ankle back in February. Maybe it’s bothering him again. I don’t know.”
“You never talk on the phone? Or answer his texts? It’s been weeks Kris.”
Kristin sat down at her desk and shook her head.
“I can’t, Karen,” Kristin admitted. “I do answer some of the texts, and I try to encourage him, but I can’t talk to him on the phone… not yet. I’m not ready.”
“I’m not trying to pressure you into anything Kris, you know that,” Karen replied. “I just want to make sure you are okay with everything that’s going on.”
“The less people bring it up, the more okay with it I am,” Kristin admitted.
“Fair enough. I’ll leave you to your work.”
Kristin threw herself into work with abandon, as she had done since Wes left town. Now that she had an ally on the board in Richard Trainor, Kristin had someone to back up her ideas and help sway the board to be more favorable to try new things. She convinced them that it was an excellent way to spend time if they applied for more grant money to get funding for upgrades and improvements. Richard wholeheartedly endorsed many of the programs Kristin pushed for to bring in more speakers, advance reading programs, and expand the genres and sections to have more diversity included, something the board always nixed whenever Kristin brought it up in the past.
Kristin worked diligently on one of the grant proposals when she heard a yell from the library.
“Fuck!” Karen screamed.
Kristin shot out of her office, afraid someone injured themselves, or something fell.
“What’s wrong?” Kristin exclaimed. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay,” Karen yelled. The few patrons in the library at the moment all watched with anticipation to see what was going on.
“What’s wrong?”
“The hall is what’s wrong. They just backed out on the wedding. They said they overlooked another event that had previously been booked for that day. That’s total bullshit, Kris. I had them double-check everything before we picked the date. My wedding is ruined. Fuck!”
“Okay, let’s go in my office, and you can curse all you want,” Kristin said quietly, as she ushered Karen into the room and closed the door.
“Maybe you can talk to them and try to fix it,” Kristin said as she tried to calm Karen down.
“Oh, I’m going to talk to them alright,” Karen said. “I’m going to kick that bitch Sondra Benning in the teeth. She’s the one who was supposed to arrange everything. She’s had a beef with me ever since I stole her boyfriend in high school.”
Karen stood up, ready to go down and pick a fight.
“Maybe that’s not the best approach,” Kristin said rationally. “How about you call them first? You can use my phone. I’ll go man the front desk.”
Kristin stepped out into the library, with people still staring at the door.
“She’s fine, really,” Kristin stated as she tried to smooth things over. “Just the wedding jitters and all.”
“You stuck-up, snotty bitch! I am going to come down there…” Karen could be heard shouting through the office door until Kristin flipped the fan on behind the front desk to drown the noise out.
“Boy, spring has really kicked in around here, hasn’t it?” Kristin remarked, fanning herself with a magazine. “Warmest day so far, I think.”
A moment later, Karen emerged from Kristin’s office, her hair a bit disheveled from all the yelling she did.
“Well,” Karen said calmly, “we won’t be having the wedding at the Veteran’s Hall, and I’m pretty sure I’ll never be allowed back in that building again. Kris, what am I going to do? We already gave deposits to save that date. We can’t afford to just lose out on all that money and move things around. No one had other times free until the fall.”
Karen laid her head on the counter and began to sob. Kristin never saw Karen like that before. Karen was always the strong one that fought through anything.
Kristin consoled Karen as best she could. She rubbed Karen’s back and hugged her before Kristin perked up.
“Karen, you had the date of May 22nd, right?”
“Yeah,” she said through jagged sobs.
“That’s a Friday, right?”
Karen lifted her head up.
“Kris, you’re the maid of honor; you’re supposed to know all this already. Yes, it’s a Friday. So what?”
“I t
hink I figured out what you can do for your wedding, you won’t have to change the date, cancel anything, or lose any money.”
“We’re going to go stuff Sondra in the trunk of my car and dump her in the Allegheny?” Karen asked, hopefully.
“Um, no. We don’t need to commit any crimes to make it happen,” Kristin assured her. “Let me make a few phone calls and see what I can work out.”
Kristin strode into her office with great ideas in her head.
“I am on fire today!” she exclaimed as she picked up the phone.
16
Every day Wes went out to the stadium with the hope that practice would go better than the day before, and every night he returned tired, covered in sweat, and discouraged by what occurred. Even though he had years of pro ball experience facing competition at a higher level, he struggled badly against players much younger than him, including a couple of eighteen-year-olds that were literally half his age. No part of his game went well so far. His fielding suffered greatly from months without practice, and he had a hard time making plays that were routine for him in the past. His hitting that had come along nicely in the batting cages at home now appeared nowhere near that anymore, and he struggled against curveballs and off-speed pitches that came his way. It reached the point where John Clines gave him fewer and fewer reps in the cage and on the field as it got closer and closer to the first game.
Wes fully expected to be cut, but the day never came. Tom Killian pressed John to keep Wes and insisted Wes make the squad because of how good it might look for promotions. Tom already had replica jerseys made with Wes’ name and number, he bought 10,000 bobblehead dolls in Wes’ likeness and had a half-dozen other ideas he wanted to use for the season. Tom also pressed Wes into service more than once already to meet with potential advertisers to sway them to buy time or billboards on the outfield walls. He even had Sabrina escort Wes around to different places for autograph signings and appearances at everything from schools to car dealerships.
All the treatment had Wes feeling like he was one of the prized horses on his Dad’s farm, just there for show and stud and not much else. On the last day of practice, at the end of April when final cuts happened, Wes sat at his locker and slowly packed his things as he waited to get called into John’s office to be told he was letting him go. It would be the final indignity, getting sent off to the glue factory.
Gus Jenkins, a twenty-three old outfielder, stormed out of John Clines’ office and slammed the door behind him. He flipped over two hampers of towels on his way back to his locker, and a few players went over to ask what happened.
“What’s wrong is I’m getting sent packing while Old Man Martin gets to stay on the team, that’s what wrong!” Jenkins screamed as he stuffed his belongings in a duffel bag. Gus marched over and stood in front of Wes.
“Have a great night of sleep at the Ramada tonight, Martin,” Jenkins yelled. “I get to go back to my host family, get my things, and figure out how I am going to pay my way to get back to Oklahoma where my family is. I hope that extra $725 you get each month makes a difference to you.”
“Gus, look,” Wes said, as he tried to reason with him. “I’m sorry, but that’s not my call. I don’t decide on the roster or anything.”
“Just save it, okay? It doesn’t matter what you say at this point. I got my walking papers.”
Gus grabbed his bag and stormed out of the locker room, leaving everyone there to stare at Wes. John Clines walked out of his office to see what was going on.
“Martin, in my office,” John barked.
Wes strode into the manager’s office, unsure of what to expect.
“Look, John, I don’t deserve the spot, and we both know it. Give it to Jenkins,” Wes stated.
“Very magnanimous of you, Martin, but there are two problems with that. Number one, Killian would fire me ten minutes after he found out I cut you. Number two, Allen Gentry, who was going to be our back up first baseman, left the club. His father is ill, and his family needed him to come back home. If it weren’t for that, it would have been you leaving, trust me, even if Killian did fire me. Killian may make me keep you for now, but he can’t make me play you, and you haven’t earned it. I hope you’re ready to be on the bench a lot. Pinch-hitting and the occasional DH spot is about it for you. Welcome to the team. We leave for Missouri on Sunday. Be here for the bus at 6 AM.”
John opened his office door, so Wes could leave. Most of the other players scattered off by the time he got out, all going back to their host family homes. Wes discovered early on that he was the only one on the team staying at a hotel because he was the only one who could afford it. Wes stripped out of his uniform, and tossed it into his locker angrily, and sat down.
“You okay?” a voice said from behind him.
Wes turned to see Emil Stanton standing there. Emil, the left fielder on the team, had the most talent of all the young players. Even though Emil was just twenty, Wes knew Emil had all the tools. Wes saw it enough in the past to know when a player stood out. Emil had the bad luck of getting hurt his senior year in college, so no team wanted to take a chance drafting him.
“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just been… well, it’s been a long year, I guess,” Wes lamented.
“I hear you,” Emil nodded. “I didn’t ever think I’d recover from my knee injury last year, but you know what? You inspired me.”
“Me?” Wes questioned. “How did I inspire you?”
“When you got cut last spring by the Pirates after you struggled following your knee surgery, you still came back and set that home run record with the Reds. Damn, that was some couple of games you had. After that, I knew I had to keep going too. I worked extra hard, and even though I didn’t get drafted, I came here and now, here I am.”
“You didn’t make it because of me, Emil,” Wes told him. “You made it because you’re good, really good. You outclass everyone here by a mile. You won’t be here long. Scouts will see you play and they’ll come calling. Just watch.”
“Thanks, man,” Emil said, smiling proudly. “You know, I saw you play a bunch of times. My family went to a ton of Pirates games.”
“Oh yeah?” Wes said as he pulled on a clean t-shirt.
“Yeah, I think the first time I saw you play I was about seven…”
Wes cut Emil off.
“I don’t need to hear anymore, Emil, thanks. You guys already make me feel like I’m 75. But thanks for saying that. It was nice of you.”
Emil laughed heartily.
“Okay, man. You have a great night,” Emil said, slapping hands with Wes.
“You, too, Emil.”
Wes returned to getting dressed, and Emil popped back into the locker room right as Wes tied his sneakers.
“Hey, if you aren’t doing anything, do you want to grab some dinner?” Emil asked Wes.
“Gee, I thought about going back to my hotel room to drown my sorrows and watch TV, but, sure, I could eat,” Wes said.
“Awesome,” Emil said. “I’d love to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind, I mean. I think if I worked on my swing some more, maybe I’ll get a little more pop, hit some more line drives.”
“You bet. I’d be happy to help. I think there’s a nice bar nearby with some good burgers and wings and some beers. Let’s go there. I’ll drive.”
“Great, but… well, I won’t be drinking,” Emil answered as they walked out of the locker room.
“Oh, sure, there’s a game coming up in two days. I get it,” Wes answered.
“No, man, I’m only twenty,” Emil told him. “They’ll ID me, and that’s it.”
Wes groaned.
“Never mind, Emil,” Wes told him as he slapped Emil’s shoulder. “I still know a place we can go to get some food.”
“Alright,” Emil said excitedly. “You’re buying, right? We haven’t gotten a paycheck yet.”
17
“This will be perfect,” Kristin said to Karen enthusiastically as they walked through the barn corr
idor. “We can get it decorated all pretty with some strings of lights, and there's plenty of room for all the tables you need, and a dance floor and the DJ. And over here…”
Kristin walked out of the open barn doors to a large grassy area that overlooked the expanse of the farm. “We can put a tent over here, so you have the bar with some tables out here for people who want to enjoy the scenery. I think it will look wonderful, Karen.”
“Wyatt and Jenny are okay with all of this?” Karen asked cautiously.
“We’ve already been over all this.” Kristin put her hands on her hips and sauntered back towards Karen. “I asked them about it, and they said they were happy to do it. They have space and are already working on getting the barn looking its best for your day. Stop worrying about it, Karen. It will be beautiful.”
