Heart of the Game

by Rachel Spangler

  She glanced at the woman beside her. Was Duke responsible for this lull in her stress level? Had she somehow bewitched her children? Joe certainly seemed enamored with her, but the idea of bewitching felt discordant with a new mustard stain gracing the front of her shirt. Molly’s earlier resolve to punish Duke waned. Despite the still-palpable fear and rage Duke had inspired by walking off with her son, she now seemed closer to a likeable muck than a child predator. What kind of woman left her job in the middle of what had to be an important time to make amends with a child and his combative mom? A sweet one, maybe. A thoughtful one, certainly. Then again, if she’d been a little more thoughtful in the first place, she wouldn’t have needed to apologize. Still, she was pretty hard to stay mad at when she seemed so earnest.

  “What?” Duke asked when she glanced away from the game and caught Molly studying her.

  “You have mustard on your shirt,” Molly said, simply because it was easier to explain than her other thoughts.

  Duke looked down, then lifted the fabric to her mouth and tried to lick the yellow dab off.

  “Good Lord, are you a five-year-old boy?”

  “What?” She rubbed her thumb over the spot she’d just had in her mouth.

  “Here.” Molly reached into Charlie’s diaper bag to grab a wet wipe.

  “Thanks, these are handy.” She started to wipe her shirt, but froze at the sound of the bat. Jerking her head up, she tracked the ball into the outfield, muttering, “Get down, get down, get down.” When it hit the ground she gave a fist pump and grabbed her tablet. Her thumbs flew over the screen the way a boy’s would a video game controller. Her focus was sharp and consuming for those few seconds, then with one emphatic tap, she put it back down.

  Molly’s curiosity piqued. “What happened?”

  “Cayden Brooks got a hit.”

  “No, I meant with you. One minute you’re licking your shirt, and the next it’s like you can’t see anything but your keyboard. You looked like a power shark sealing a business deal or something.”

  “Ah, I went into work mode.” She held up the tablet. “I’m live-tweeting the game.”

  “So you typed that what’s his name got a hit?”

  “No, the team has people who do play-by-play. I stick to color commentary, fun facts, side notes, things that add to the bigger picture. So I tweeted that the first base coach tossed the ball to the dugout, and visitors to Cayden Brooks’s home would likely see it on his mantel.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s his first hit since being called up to the major leagues.”

  “You know that off the top of your head?”

  “Of course. It’s my job. Shirt licking aside, I’m serious about my work and good at what I do.”

  She believed her. Her confidence wasn’t cocky or boastful, but sincere. “What exactly do you do, other than tap a screen?”

  “I interview players, I study the team, I report on trends and changing conditions. I write pre- and post-game reports for the biggest website in professional baseball. I live-post social media updates of my observations on the game. That’s about it.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Molly teased. “How do you find time to buy hot dogs for all the mothers you offend along the way?”

  Duke laughed, a good-natured laugh, hearty and unrestrained. “Well, it’s not easy, but I have to pay those concession stand bills somehow.”

  “Are you here every night?” Joe cut into the conversation.

  “Almost. I’ll get a series off every now and then, like the players do, but if I want to stay at the top of my game, I have to show up ready to go every night, at home or on the road. What about you? How many games do you get to see each year?”

  Molly hesitated, not sure she was ready to admit to Duke or herself how often their paths might cross. Joe shared none of her unease. “We’ve got season tickets.”

  “Really?” Duke sounded surprised, and Molly’s defenses rose. Why did everyone assume a single mother of two couldn’t afford season tickets? Probably because she couldn’t, but she still hated the implication in Duke’s raised eyebrows.

  “You’re the luckiest boy I know, Joe,” Duke continued amicably. “You, too, Charlie. I would’ve given anything for season tickets when I was your age. I can’t think of a better place to spend every night than at the ballpark.”

  Molly could think of several other places, a bubble bath for instance, but then she looked at her boys, and part of her agreed with Duke. They were happy here, and that made her happy. Still, her inner mom voice demanded she manage expectations. “Not every night. Not night games on school nights.”

  Joe and Duke both wore the same facial expression of disappointment, but thankfully Duke was mature enough to toe the party line. “Good call, Mom. School comes first.”

  “You go to fifth grade?” Charlie asked.

  “Nope,” Duke said. “I finished all my grades and then went to college and worked hard there, too. I studied more and worked harder than everyone else so I could watch baseball and get paid for it. Which reminds me, I better get back up to the press booth.”

  “You can’t do your work from here?” Joe asked.

  “Joe,” Molly said in a gentle correction, “she’s been more than generous with her time. We’ve probably already got her in trouble for keeping her away this long.”

  “It’s okay. I like to get out from time to time, and I’m glad I got to know you all, but I really should check in.”

  “Thank you for hanging out,” Joe said dutifully, and Molly felt a hint of pride he’d remembered his manners even through his disappointment.

  “Yes,” she added. “Thank you for your time, and the hot dogs.”

  Duke met Molly’s eyes and held them with a focus akin to the attention she’d given the game moments earlier. The gaze warmed her in a way that felt disconcerting, but not necessarily unpleasant. “Thank you for giving me a second chance.” Then with one last grin, Duke wove her way back into the crowd.

  Second chance? Was that what Molly had given her? A second chance at what? Whatever it was seemed important to Duke. How had she conveyed so much in so few words?

  Charlie shifted on her lap, squirming down to a standing position before facing her, raising one fist and saying, “I want a lion.”

  She and Joe looked at each other and laughed. The moment for deep thoughts had passed, once again leaving only her and her boys watching a baseball game.

  *

  Molly set the final book on the floor and climbed out of Charlie’s bed as she began to sing “You Are My Sunshine.”

  His big eyes remained open. His gaze followed her around the room as she turned on a night-light and pulled down his window shade. He watched her as though she were the center of the universe and if he were to blink she might disappear. He probably suspected she and Joe threw wild parties, jumped on the furniture, and ate ice cream as soon as he went to bed. Even at three, he had an imagination capable of creating such a scenario. Maybe he resisted sleep out of a simple desire never to miss something fun, but part of her, the guilty part, worried he followed her so closely because somewhere deep down, in a place before memory, he knew he’d been left before. She had to tamp down that fear, her own fear, lest it convince her to climb back into the bed and refuse to let him go.

  “Good night, my sweet prince,” she said, bending down to kiss his forehead and nuzzle his nose with hers. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you so much, Mommy,” he whispered back, making all the hours she’d spent wrestling with him instantly worth it. She straightened up and walked away before the emotions could overwhelm her. Closing the door quietly, she whispered a prayer for his safekeeping and sound sleeping through the night.

  Tiptoeing down the hall, she knocked softly on another door. “Joe, you about ready for bed?”

  “I’ve got fifteen more minutes,” he called back.

  She pushed open the door and found him lying on his bed with a book in front of him. His we
t hair indicated he’d already showered. “Did you brush your teeth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you pack your backpack for tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you wash behind your ears and in your belly button?”

  He smiled. “Yes.”

  “Really? Do I need to check?”

  “No.” His cheeks flushed pink. “I’m too old, Mom.”

  He might be right, but that didn’t mean she had to like his increasing independence. “Want to talk about the game?”

  He finally set the book aside. “Really?”

  “Of course, but you have to scoot over and let me in.”

  He acquiesced without much thought, which led her to wonder if he wasn’t too grown up to cuddle with her after all. Then again, maybe the chance to talk baseball overruled all else.

  “So, what did you like best about the game today?”

  “I liked meeting Duke,” he said without hesitation. “I can’t believe a real sportswriter sat with us.”

  Molly stifled her defenses. She’d long been used to not being the coolest person in her son’s life, but she still worried about his choice in role models. “Why was that important to you?”

  He looked at her as if she might be a little slow. “She’s a real sportswriter. She knows everything about the Cardinals. She’s the person other people ask when they have questions about baseball. She can talk about baseball forever and not get tired of it.”

  “I bet you’d like a job where you get to talk about baseball all the time.”

  “Who wouldn’t?”

  “You know you can always talk to me, about anything, right?”

  “I know.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a girl.”

  She made her most offended face. “And girls can’t talk baseball?”

  “No,” he corrected quickly, “Duke’s a girl, too…I guess.”

  Molly tried not to laugh at his “I guess.” “Girl” was not a word she would’ve used to describe Duke. No girl she knew would’ve licked mustard off her shirt or wandered off with a child without thinking about his mother. She didn’t walk like a woman or talk like one either. She occupied her space with a comfort and ease that usually accompanied entitlement. Still, she had a woman’s softness to her eyes and her body, even under her gender-neutral attire. No pair of cargo khakis ever hung off a man’s hips the way they had Duke’s. She blushed.

  “Duke likes baseball, though,” Joe said. “She’s…like a tomboy, but grown up.”

  A butch. Molly knew the term and recognized its fit for Duke, but she withheld it from her son for multiple reasons, some obvious, others she chose not to examine. “I like baseball. What’s more, you like baseball, and I like to share the things you like.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “So, what was your favorite part of the game?”

  She pretended to think hard. “The Clydesdales.”

  He laughed and pushed her out of bed. “The horses aren’t part of the game.”

  “Sure they are, for St. Louis anyway. But I also liked that the team won. That’s a good omen for the season.”

  “You can’t win ’em all if you don’t win the first one.”

  Duke’s echo was thick in his voice, not just her words, but her hopeful inflection, her slow, low tone, her slight Missouri accent. Molly’s defenses rose. She wanted to be everything for him, not out of selfishness or inflated ego, but because she was the only person she could trust not to let him down or walk out on him or hurt him. She wanted the world to be fair and honest and decent, but since she couldn’t make that happen, she at least wanted to keep him innocent for as long as she could. Every outside influence reminded her she couldn’t bubble-wrap him and lock him in his room.

  She bent low and kissed his forehead. “You know I love you more than anything, right?”

  “I love you, too.” He eyed her suspiciously, as if sensing there was more to her non sequitur. He’d always been sensitive to her moods, probably more so than he should have had reason to be.

  She brightened quickly. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

  “’Night, Mom.”

  She closed the door and leaned up against it, praying once more for her sons, then with a deep breath, mentally segued into her nightly routine. With the boys bathed and safely in bed, she could now turn her attention to preparing for tomorrow. She’d already laid out clothes for the morning, but there were still backpacks and diaper bags to pack, lunches to make, dishes to do, and, for the love of all things holy, she could not forget to set the timer on the coffeemaker. There would be no time to think, to reflect, to wonder about the future, and she liked it that way.

  A part of her might have enjoyed the luxury of letting her mind wander to Duke, to think of her simply as the most interesting person she’d met in a long time, to wonder what it would be like to have a conversation with a woman that didn’t have anything to do with kids or work. To consider, for a second, their shared sexual orientation, or question whether or not Duke had picked up on it as well.

  Probably not.

  Duke seemed focused on the game, on her job, on the boys. She was such a guy, and Molly’d had enough guys in her life, in too many forms. She’d spent too much of her life trying to fight off men who wanted to rescue her. An ex-husband who saw her as a way to atone for his sins, an ex-father-in-law who saw her as a second chance at parenting, and a slew of men who wanted to save her by playing daddy to her kids. While Duke in no way reminded her of the first two, she could easily fall into the latter category, and Molly wouldn’t have anyone, man or woman, use her as a ticket to a ready-made family. Duke and Joe might share baseball, but her family wasn’t a game to be played.

  Why was she fighting Duke in her head? She sighed. Duke had been absentminded, but sweet and good-natured. She hadn’t tried to placate Molly when she blew up, handled Charlie with the sense of humor he required, and deferred to her on all parenting decisions. Why was she already listing the reasons they couldn’t date when Duke had done nothing to suggest her interest, or even awareness of that possibility? Had she gotten so used to fighting she didn’t know how to do anything else? Or was this another wall she’d thrown up to protect herself? She didn’t want to be alone forever, but she’d settled before, and it never ended well. She swore this time around she’d listen to her instincts, and right now they told her to be careful. She’d had to fight hard for everything she had, and risking everything for a little fun didn’t seem wise.

  Maybe she wasn’t ready to get back in the game after all.

  *

  “Mom, am I still ballpark grounded?” Joe asked.

  “Yes, it’s been only two games. It takes just a few minutes to break someone’s trust, but a long time to earn it back.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he said, looking properly apologetic.

  “But if you don’t mind your old mom coming with you, we could all go down and watch batting practice together.

  He threw his arms around her. “Thank you.”

  Shifting Charlie on her hip, she slung the diaper bag over her shoulder and wove through the seats until they were on the edge of the field. Joe immediately pulled out his notepad and began to scribble while Charlie inspected the cup holders in front of them. She took the downtime to sit back in her chair. The seats this close to home plate were green, probably to remind people of all the money they cost. She preferred the red ones in their section. Red was cheerier. It felt more like part of the crowd, not that their seats were much cheaper. Her chest tightened with the sense of debt. She had to let go. The season tickets were a gift to her sons from someone who loved them, despite Molly’s own misgivings about his motives in other areas of her life. She wished she could untangle his good deeds from her own resistance to giving up control.

  Charlie said something that sounded like “Duke,” but maybe she’d heard him wrong.

  “What?”

  “I want a hot dog.”


  “No, what did you say before?”

  “I want a hot dog.”

  “In the third inning.”

  “Duke get it,” Charlie sang to a melody only he knew. “Duke get a hot dog. Duke get a hot dog on the baseball game.”

  Joe and Molly looked at each other, then turned to the field. They needed only a second to pick out Duke striding toward them. By women’s standards she was tall, probably five-nine, but every man on the field dwarfed her. She was also the only one out there looking back at them. She flashed a beautifully unrestrained smile. Molly raised her hand in a little wave of recognition, but Joe jumped up and blocked her view. “Hi, Duke.”

  “Hiya, kiddo.” A security guard opened a gate and let her into the stands. “I thought you might be here, since it’s not a school night.”

  “You remembered when we’re allowed to come to the games?”

  “Sure. I might be slow to learn your mom’s rules, but once I do, I keep ’em all right up here.” She tapped her temple with her index finger and winked at Molly.

  Winked? Really?

  “And with those rules in mind I promise I won’t try to sneak you off to the bullpen today.”

  Joe frowned, but Duke grinned, tucking a tablet under her arm and shoving her hands into her pockets. “But if your mom wanted to go see the bullpen, I could show her, and since you’re probably still ballpark grounded, I guess you’d have to come with us.”

  Molly rolled her eyes at the transparency of Duke’s plan, but the hope animating Joe’s features left little doubt as to how she’d ultimately answer.

  “What do you say, Molly, have you ever wanted a sneak peek at a major league bullpen?”

  She pursed her lips, trying to play hard to get. “I can’t say that I have.”

  Duke shifted her weight and met her eyes, either seeing through her ploy or refusing to be deterred by it. “You don’t know what you’re missing. Big, strong, sweaty men, flexing muscles and, you know, stretching out.” She wrinkled her nose, as if the act of describing the people she covered purely as pieces of meat rankled her senses.