Heart of the Game

by Rachel Spangler

  “But maybe you could have been the best.”

  “Maybe. More likely, though, I would’ve been average or below average. Maybe I would’ve been terrible. Maybe I would’ve enjoyed it anyway. At least I would’ve been out there. I would’ve known for sure.”

  “I don’t play baseball either,” Joe mumbled.

  “Why?”

  He wrung his hands, and Molly fought the urge to jump in and save him the way she had when his grandfather and then Duke’s father started this same conversation. Only this wasn’t the same conversation. Duke’s tone held no judgment, merely curiosity. By making herself vulnerable, she’d made Joe safer. Molly suffered a twist of envy at both the vulnerability and the safety.

  “I’m not very good.”

  “So you’ve played?”

  “I played T-ball.”

  “Is it fun? It sure looks fun.”

  “Sometimes, but it’s not fun to lose. It’s not fun when people tease you.”

  Molly’s chest ached. She understood how it felt to worry you were doomed before you began. She identified with the impulse to avoid situations with high rates of failure. She’d mastered the art of anticipating and preempting other people’s judgment of her. Had she handed down those skills to him?

  “You’re afraid you can’t play, so you don’t play,” Duke summarized. “I’ve been there. I don’t blame you a bit.” The sense of camaraderie in her voice softened the obvious lesson immensely.

  “Thanks,” he said, seeming relieved but not happy.

  Then, focusing her attention on him in much the same way she had Molly, Duke added, “You’re awesome at so many things. You don’t have to prove yourself to me or anyone else. Ever. But if you want to give it another try sometime, just for the love of the game, I’d help. You know, like another chance for me, too.”

  Joe nodded solemnly and stared back at the field. Duke playfully turned his hat around backward. “Now, let’s lighten up. I need a concession stand run before I get back to work. What do you guys want?”

  “Popcorn, please?” Joe asked.

  “I could actually use another coffee,” Molly admitted.

  “I want a hot dog,” Charlie said.

  “You got it.” Duke bounded up the stairs and out of sight.

  *

  “Mom,” Joe said, as the game wound down.

  “What, honey?” She absentmindedly bounced Charlie on her knee.

  “I’ve been thinking about what Duke said.”

  “What about it?”

  “About how you can’t let the fear of striking out keep you from swinging the bat.”

  Damn Duke and her catchy phrases. She’d done plenty of thinking, too. It was bad enough having to use every win as a learning experience, but now she couldn’t even check out emotionally during an obvious loss. “What have you been thinking?”

  “Could I play baseball this summer?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I think so.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. She didn’t need him putting himself at risk to please Duke. “Why?”

  “I like baseball,” he said simply.

  She pulled him into a one-armed hug. “Good enough for me.”

  Her heart swelled with pride. For most people a little boy wanting to play baseball would’ve been pretty standard fare, but he wasn’t any little boy. He was her little boy, smart, thoughtful, and sensitive, with impossibly high standards. He came by all those traits honestly, but he must have gotten his bravery somewhere else, though certainly not from his father. Either way, he’d taken a big step to look past his fears and focus on the heart of what he wanted.

  “Hey, guys,” Duke said from behind them. “I don’t want to interrupt family cuddle time, but I was hoping to talk to Molly real quick before the game ends and I descend into the unhappy place that will be the clubhouse tonight.”

  “Sounds serious,” Molly said, untangling her arms from each of her boys. “Joe, don’t let Charlie get up,” she warned, but Charlie was clearly fading fast, and she stepped only far enough into the aisle to allow Duke space enough to whisper without being overheard.

  “Thank you for what you did for Joe earlier.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She searched Duke’s eyes looking for any hint of false modesty but found none. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “We just talked about baseball like we do every night.”

  Maybe that was how Joe learned courage. He’d seen it so fully displayed in Duke’s willingness to be completely open about what she loved. She didn’t see her actions as unusual because for her they weren’t. Molly had the urge to touch her face, to run her fingers across the smooth skin of her cheek, to place a soft kiss against her temple.

  She stepped back. Where had that come from? Had Duke’s vulnerability inspired hers?

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” Molly said, as if a resolute tone could make it so. “What did you need?”

  “Well, I have an off-day next week, I mean the team does. They don’t play on Thursday. And I thought maybe I could have a play date with the boys.”

  “A play date?”

  “Yeah, I mean that’s what you call it when I come over and play with them, right?”

  “You want to come play with my children at our house?”

  “Yeah.” Duke blushed. “That sounds kind of creepy doesn’t it?”

  “A little bit.”

  “Would it sound creepier if I said you didn’t have to be there?”

  “Yes, much creepier.”

  Duke hung her head. “I’m not good at subterfuge.”

  “It’s not your strong point. How about you try the straight shooter thing you’re so fond of.”

  “I thought you might like a break. A night off to go out to dinner, or dancing, or a movie. You could call a friend or go someplace quiet. I’ll feed the boys and get them to bed.”

  “That’s very sweet of you, but I don’t need—”

  “I know you don’t need the help. You’re a great mom. The best. Which is why you deserve a night off. And I’m being selfish, too.”

  She shook her head, skeptical of even the notion that Duke had a selfish bone in her body.

  “Really. All the games next week are at night, then we head out on a weeklong road trip. I don’t want to go two full weeks without seeing the boys.”

  Molly noticed Duke only mentioned the kids. Did that mean she didn’t mind going two weeks without seeing her? What a silly thought. Duke had made an amazing offer to babysit on the only night off she’d have for weeks. Why wouldn’t she accept gratefully?

  Perhaps because she didn’t know what she’d do with the time. She hadn’t had a night to herself in years. What if she didn’t know how to be anything other than a mom anymore? Could she even handle a purely social situation? Who would she call? She knew people from work, or parents of Joe and Charlie’s friends, but they never hung out. She couldn’t think of any one person in either of those circles she wanted to get to know on a deeper level.

  There was someone she did want to spend some time with, though, someone who sparked a set of conflicting emotions, someone whose persistence more than piqued her interest. She met Duke’s eyes, a subtle stirring of hope and fear swirling through her chest. It would be a risk. She’d have to be the one to make the move, to make herself vulnerable.

  “Come on,” Duke urged. “I can see the wheels spinning in your head. You’re thinking about it. What are you afraid of? I’ll take care of everything.”

  Molly nodded. She’d be fine, more than fine, she’d be wonderful. Molly’s reservations now rested solely on her own ability to seize something she’d claimed to want for a long time.

  “There is something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now. I’ve been too wrapped up in all the reasons I couldn’t, or shouldn’t.”

  “Sounds interesting. How can I help?”

  “You’ve already done so much,” she said, gratitude tight
ening her throat. “You gave me the opportunity and inspiration to take a chance.”

  Duke straightened her shoulders proudly. “Well, good for me. Does that mean I’m babysitting on Thursday?”

  “Maybe. Would you mind if I asked one more favor of you?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Would you watch the boys for a minute now?”

  “Sure.”

  Molly ducked into a quieter pocket of the concourse, grateful the lackluster performance of the team had significantly quieted the crowd. Pulling a card from her purse, she dialed the unfamiliar number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Lauren, it’s Molly, Molly Grettano, from, um, the restaurant.”

  “Molly, I know who you are,” Lauren said in a tone as soft and warm as a caress.

  “Good, well, the thing is, my Thursday night opened up rather unexpectedly.” Her mind flashed to Duke with her broad smile and her passionate blue eyes, but she shook the image away. “It looks like I might get the break I needed after all, and I hope your offer still stands.”

  “Of course. May I buy you dinner? Let someone serve you for once?”

  Molly’s stomach fluttered. “I’d like that a lot.”

  “Good, I would, too. Pick you up at seven on Thursday?”

  “Yes, I’ll text you my address.”

  “Great. But before you go, can I ask what changed your mind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just your schedule, but I got the sense something else held you back before.”

  Duke’s soft, sincere voice echoed through her ears, and she had to shake off the accompanying chill. “Let’s just say I decided not to let the fear of striking out keep me from swinging the bat.”

  Top of the Third

  If You Want to Be the Best, You Have to Beat the Best

  The midday sun shone brightly on the expanse of grass and clay as if God herself were smiling down on Busch Stadium. Today was a new and glorious day. Early June in St. Louis brought enough warmth to help lift the balls over the outfield wall without the oppressive heat that zapped stamina and shortened fuses. During pre-game warm-ups, most of the players seemed eager to put last night’s loss in the review mirror, and Duke had no immunity to their energy. She wanted to face the new day with excitement and anticipation. Certainly the game itself offered promise, like always, but despite the buzz on the field she found herself looking to the stands.

  A one o’clock start time on Sunday should be perfect for Molly and the boys, but if they were coming, it wouldn’t be in time for batting practice. She checked her watch again as the grounds crew signaled for the press to exit. With her pre-game report already filed, this was her downtime. She could review game notes or statistics on the visiting team. She could talk trends with the other sportswriters. She could check scores from the games starting on the East Coast, but still she lingered. The time before the game was her best chance to see Molly and the boys, and sometime over the last six weeks she’d come to anticipate the moment when her eyes met Molly’s as much as she did the first pitch.

  She strolled a lap around the stadium relishing the sights and sounds of the crowd, the hum of energy, the smell of hot dogs and fresh-cut grass. Her eagerness to see Molly didn’t lessen her enjoyment of the ballpark. It added to it. She was truly blessed to share her favorite place in the world with her new favorite people.

  As she rounded the backstop, her heart rate sped in anticipation, and a smile stretched her cheeks when she caught a peek of Molly’s glossy black hair above two little red ball caps. They still had their backs to her as they worked toward their seats. They moved so well together, such a tight little unit, a family. Even in the crowd of similarly dressed people, anyone could see these three belonged with one another. Longing pushed at a spot beneath her rib cage, an inborn desire to share in their connection.

  Then Charlie turned, looking over his shoulder as if he could sense her affection, and maybe he could, since it always seemed to be Charlie who noticed her first.

  “Duke,” he called as she walked toward them. “Do you know God?”

  “Well, in a way, I suppose I do.”

  “Is he a lion?” Charlie asked.

  “Hmm, have you been reading some C.S. Lewis?”

  “Yes,” he said seriously.

  “No,” Molly explained patiently. “They talked about Daniel and the lion’s den in church this morning.”

  “Oh, you went to church this morning?”

  “Does that surprise you?” Molly asked, the defensive edge back in her voice.

  Duke wasn’t sure what she’d stepped into, but she wasn’t surprised she had. Molly, she’d learned, was a complicated woman who didn’t like being told she couldn’t do something. She would’ve said she found the trait endearing if she didn’t fear Molly would find the term patronizing. “Not surprised, impressed.”

  Molly eyed her suspiciously, but Duke met her gaze and held it to show she had nothing to hide. Finally Molly sighed. “Well, you shouldn’t be. I mostly did it so I could have a few minutes of quiet while they were in Sunday school.”

  “So you’re not a true believer?”

  Molly shrugged. “I’ve seen it all go so horribly wrong, seen religion hurt so much more than it helps, and cried out for answers only to find none. Then every night I look in on two sleeping angels, and it’s hard to believe they could be some sort of accident.”

  “Wow.” Tears stung her eyes.

  “Sorry.” Molly brushed off the emotion. “I didn’t mean to bring you down on game day.”

  “No, you didn’t. I get it. What you just said. I know what you mean.” She was babbling, but she ached to cement their connection, to make Molly feel what she felt for this place, this game, the way it tied them to each other or to something larger than any of them. “I don’t get to go to church much anymore. My schedule doesn’t allow it. But sometimes I look out on all of this, the field, the stadium, all the people coming together in hope and anticipation to believe in something bigger than them. I know it’s not the same thing, but I feel a spirit moving here. It’s something you can’t see and no amount of science can quantify. It’s something we’re all a part of and yet so much bigger than any one of us.”

  Molly’s lips parted slightly and her cheeks colored a delicate pink as she rested her hand on Duke’s arm. “Exactly. I want that for my boys. I want them to be able to believe in something bigger than themselves. I don’t want them to be limited to their immediate concerns or the things they can explain. I want them to have the capacity to love something they have no control over.”

  The words and the sentiment behind them were beautiful, and so was the woman who’d given them voice. Molly’s eyes shone brightly against her tan skin, and her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders. Duke’s stomach tightened at the surge of attraction pulsing through her, but what sent her over the edge was the gentleness of Molly’s fingers on her bare skin, as if she’d somehow perfected the blend of sweet and sexy, intimate and elusive. God, she wanted this woman.

  “Boo!” Joe called, jarring Duke out of her haze and reminding her why she needed to be more careful with how she directed her attention.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They announced Jacob Burell.”

  “And you booed him? What are you, a Yankees fan?”

  “No, but I hate that guy.”

  Duke’s eyes widened and she clamped her jaw tightly to keep from snapping at him. She turned to Molly, who looked as surprised as she felt.

  Charlie ultimately broke the stalemate. “Hate’s a bad word.”

  “It’s not a bad word,” Joe replied, too casually.

  “Maybe not a cuss word, but it sure is an awful thing to feel toward another human being.” She sat down on the step next to Joe’s chair. “What did he ever do to you? Did he kick your puppy? Punch your grandma? Spit on a baby?”

  “No. He threw a shutout in the playoffs last year to keep us out of the
World Series though.”

  “Ah, yeah that one hurt.” She scrubbed her face with her hands. “I was here. I saw Yadi make the last out in the ninth. You know what he did before he went back to the dugout?”

  “Did he cuss?”

  “Nope. He tipped the bill of his batting helmet.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means he respected Burell. He beat him fair and square. It means he recognized Burell as a worthy opponent.” She sat for a moment to let that sink in. “Do you know what a worthy opponent is?”

  “Yes,” Joe muttered. “They’re good. They play the game right.”

  “You got it. They’re among the best in their field. They can break your heart, but ultimately they are the guys you want to face in big games.”

  “I don’t want to face him ever.”

  She laughed. “Don’t get me wrong. I love those weekends when we play the Cubs because they’re fun and easy, but they don’t make us better. They don’t tell us a whole lot about ourselves other than we’re not the worst. But I don’t want to judge myself against the worst. I want to be the best, and to be the best you have to beat the best.”

  Joe nodded, looking like he wanted to disappear under the bill of his cap. “Okay.”

  “Hey,” Duke said, grazing a knuckle under his chin, “buck up, slugger. The great thing about baseball is, every day is a new chance to prove yourself.”

  “Do you think the Cardinals really are the best? We got beat pretty bad last night.”

  “On any given day, anyone can be the best or the worst. The best teams in the league will still lose a third of the time, and the worst teams will still find a way to win a third of the time. The best hitters get out, seven out of ten at bats, and even the best pitchers to ever live give up home runs. It’s the long run that makes a real champion.”

  Joe smiled brightly. “I like the way you talk.”

  “I do, too,” Molly said, her chin resting on Charlie’s head and her eyes resting on Duke. “You ever consider a career in sports writing?”