by KG MacGregor
“Aww, it can’t be that bad.”
“Prodigal daughter returns home alone and penniless.”
“So fucking what, Britt? You’re looking at this all wrong. Face it, Candice fucked you over. Break up with somebody, fine. That bitch took your livelihood too—”
Five. “And my house. Don’t forget my house.”
“And she left you with jack shit. Now you get to rub her fucking nose in it. Candice did you a big-ass favor, girlfriend. You know why? Because you’re about to get very fucking rich. She shit all over you for a job in Reno—fucking Reno—making what, eighty thousand a year? You would never have done that to her. And now you’re going to make millions and you don’t have to give a single fucking fuck about her.”
“Right, all I have to do is go back to Kentucky with my tail between my legs.”
“Are you listening? Because fuck that right now, Britt.” Reading the moment, the tenor of Holly’s voice had gone from teasing to compassionate to fiery, which was why she was Britt’s favorite friend. “Flip the script. You’re not going back home. You’re relocating for a better job. That’s how successful people advance their careers. So go for it. What’s a little change of scenery? Work your magic and get filthy, stinking rich. Then you can live wherever the fuck you want.”
Twelve.
Britt could get on board with that. Rather than feeling humiliated that her father was trying to help rescue her career, she could celebrate the fact that he was giving her this tremendous opportunity because of what she brought to the table. There needn’t be a stigma attached, no tacit admission of failure. Just the opposite, in fact.
“Thanks, Holly. You’re good to have around whenever I need a kick in the ass.”
“Fucking-A. What are friends for?”
As she pulled into the driveway at her father’s house, another call beeped in, JT Sharpe. She quickly made loose plans with Holly to hook up when she returned to San Diego to pack up her apartment.
“JT?”
“Hey, I just got the certification letter hand-delivered from the league. We’re good to go. And I sent the press release over to the Gazette, so all of Leland is gonna chase you down tomorrow and hug your neck.”
“If they really want to show their thanks, they can come to the ballpark.”
That made it official. First thing tomorrow, she’d walk into the offices at Leland Field and introduce herself to the folks Duffy Barnett had hired to run his failing team. With luck, she’d find them competent and hard working, missing only the leadership she and her dad would provide.
Still sitting in her car, she scrolled through her recent calls for the number she’d added two nights ago. Ninah would be thrilled with her news, Carly too. Of the two of them, Ninah was more devoted to the team. Though tempted to show up at her door to deliver the news in person, she found herself too excited to wait.
Ninah answered on the second ring, her voice holding a trace of panic. “Hey, is everything all right with your dad?”
“Yes…yes, he’s doing great. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. You got a minute?”
“Sure, I just walked in the door right this second. Only one more day of school and I’m done for the summer. It’s totally insane. Wish me luck.”
“You got it. Now let me know when you’re sitting down.”
“Uh-oh. Is this gonna be good news or bad news?”
“I think you’re going to like it.” She tried to picture Ninah’s face. “You remember Justine saying JT wanted to meet with me? You’re not going to believe this.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Dad bought the Longdogs.”
“He what? Are you serious?”
“That’s what the meeting was about. He called two minutes ago to say the league signed off on it. It’s a done deal. We just sent out a press release so it’ll be in the paper tomorrow, but I wanted you to hear it from me first.”
“Oh my God, this is so cool!” She was almost shrieking. “We’ve been worried about an out-of-town buyer and it was your dad all along. You had no idea?”
“Not even a hint.” She briefly explained about the land on Pinckard Road, and how JT and her dad had thwarted the sale to Gard. “They were going to make the announcement that night at the party, but then Dad’s aneurysm hit. And get this. He needs me to stay and run all the events at the ballpark. Contests, games, theme nights. I had no idea how big a deal that was at—”
“Wait a minute. Back it up, Lucille.”
Britt chuckled at the expression. She’d give anything to see Ninah’s face right now.
“Does this mean you’re moving to Leland? Because that would be freaking awesome. The Longdogs are gonna be so much fun now. I can’t wait to see what—holy crap! This means you’re my boss.”
“Oh, right. You’re the official scorekeeper. Assuming you survive the first round of personnel cuts. You know how these takeovers go.”
“Britt Iverson, corporate raider.” Ninah laughed. “I can’t believe Vernon pulled this off, that old sneak.”
“Tell me about it. He didn’t even think to tell his own daughter. And he won’t be showing up for work for who knows how long. I have to walk in there tomorrow and act like I know what I’m doing.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, ask away. I mean that. You need a crash course in the Longdogs? I’m your tutor.”
It was an intriguing offer, especially since JT said Ninah knew as much about the team as anyone. “I might just take you up on that. Let me go in tomorrow and get the lay of the land. Just don’t be surprised if you find me waiting on the schoolhouse steps when you come out.”
“This is fantastic news, Britt. Not just the team, all of it. This is gonna sound totally selfish, but I’m really glad you’re staying.”
Only for a while, she almost said. Her eagerness to make it clear that she wasn’t attaching herself to Leland was quieted by a sudden intrigue over the fact that Ninah was glad she was staying. Not exactly what she’d call a silver lining, but definitely an attractive consolation prize.
Chapter Eight
Iverson, a Leland native and longtime season ticket holder, secured the team’s commitment to the town with an extended lease on Leland Field to the year 2042. Councilman Aaron Cobb proclaimed the deal “a home run for generations of Leland baseball fans.”
Ninah read the story again as she waited for her coffee order. She couldn’t have been happier if the Longdogs had won the World Series. Especially given that two days ago she and Carly were practically mourning the team’s inevitable exit. This was Christmas in June.
Brittany Iverson, a promotions planner from San Diego, joins the Longdogs office as vice president. “Our goal is to make Leland Field the place to be on game night. Come for the baseball, stay for the family fun. We promise something for everyone.” The Longdogs open their 32nd season on Friday night against the Cookeville Moccasins. Game time is 7 p.m.
“You sly dog,” she said under her breath. Vernon had this up his sleeve all along. That’s why he’d sought her help to convince Britt that Leland was a great place to live.
The barista called out, “I’ve got one hot mocha latte for Ninah.”
She snaked through a group of people waiting at the counter to claim her drink.
“Someone’s in the kitchen with Ninah,” he sang, a convincing impression of his music idol, Nat King Cole. “Strumming on the old banjo. Fee-fi-fiddly—”
“Nice try, Ike,” she said sharply, cutting him off. Waving the newspaper in his face, she added, “The Longdogs are staying in Leland and it’s the last day of school. You can’t possibly spoil this day, not even by sticking that stupid song in my head for the next six hours.”
A former student of hers now in his mid-twenties, Ike Martin styled himself the World’s Greatest Barista. Jokes, impressions, and irrepressible earworms were a hallmark of the service he delivered to his regular customers. He’d also sold a few tunes of his own and hoped one day to write the mega-hit that would launch his songwri
ting career.
Folding a dollar into his burgeoning tip jar, she added, “By the way, your brother did a bang-up job this year as president of the GSA. You can tell him I said that.”
“But then I’ll have to listen to an hour of Thaddeus moaning, ‘Oh, Miss Faust. She’s my favorite teacher ever.’” He batted his eyes to mock her.
“And that’s a problem because?” She craned her neck toward the back room of the shop in search of Carly. High fives were in order after the news about the Longdogs. “Is Carly back here?”
“You missed her by a couple minutes. Maybe she saw you coming.”
“Or maybe she heard you singing.”
As they shared a laugh, an unfamiliar young man abruptly approached the counter and sniped at Ike, “How about you fix our coffee instead of monkeying around for tips?”
The language was jarring, a white man telling a black man not to monkey around. Judging from the hush that fell over their side of the shop, Ninah wasn’t the only one taken aback. The Bean was known for its neighborly vibe. Painted placards all around the shop promoted kindness to others.
She immediately connected this man, with his high-and-tight haircut and white polo shirt, to the muscle car that had stalked her and Thaddeus two days earlier. Clearly he had a problem with African-Americans. Not so long ago, her impulse would have been to step back and leave Ike and this stranger to hash it out, but she was woke, as her kids would say, to the new reality that silence in the face of racism was tacit consent. Addressing the man, she said coolly, “Ike’s job is customer service. Judging from all that cash in his tip jar, I’d say he’s pretty good at it.”
“He won’t be getting any tip from me.”
Al Pennington, a loan officer at Bank of Leland, looked up from his phone and said calmly, “Take your time, Ike. Extra buck from me.”
“Me too, bro.” That from Tim C, whose business cards identified him as the guy to call to fix your computer.
Before the young man could escalate the confrontation further, Ike nonchalantly slid a covered cup toward him. Under his breath, but loud enough that those nearby could hear, he said, “One delicious vanilla latte for…Seth Seth bo-beth, banana-fana-fo-feth.”
Seth’s jaw twitched with anger and humiliation as he stormed out, leaving Ninah and the others to trade looks of indignation and relief. Ike appeared unfazed, at least on the outside. It was remarkable how he’d met the insult with humor.
The last three years had seen a rise all over the country in people like Seth, men and women captured in viral videos setting upon people they felt were beneath them, either because of their race, ethnicity, religion, or sexual orientation. Hillary Clinton had famously called them “deplorables,” a word Ninah found perfectly descriptive. With Leland slowly becoming more diverse and inclusive, she hoped Seth and his ilk would soon discover their views were no longer welcome.
As she turned for the door, a pair of teenage girls shuffled in, each glued to her cell phone. Ninah recognized them as Sabrina and Kylee, rising seniors from her civics class. In the fashion of the day, their long T-shirts obscured their very short shorts, making it appear as if they were wearing nothing underneath.
“I can’t believe they let him stand there on the sidewalk. He smells like a garbage can,” Sabrina groused. “And why’s he wearing that nasty coat when it’s, like June already?”
Clearly she was talking about Judd Stover, a homeless Vietnam veteran who lived on the streets of Leland. Judd sometimes hung out near The Bean in the morning, panhandling customers as they came and went.
Kylee sarcastically replied, “Could it be—I don’t know—because he doesn’t have a closet to hang it in? He can’t just leave it lying around, Sabrina. Somebody will steal it, and then he won’t have one when it gets cold.”
“Then he should get a job so he can buy a new one.”
One girl callous, the other compassionate. For the life of her, Ninah couldn’t understand how two people so fundamentally different remained such close friends.
“’Morning, girls.”
“Miss Faust. Got your caffeine fix?”
“You bet. I need all the help I can get on a day like this.”
“Us too,” Sabrina said. “I couldn’t function without my frappé.”
“Better get a move on. Rumor has it they add an extra hour of detention on the last day of school.”
Still stewing over Seth’s treatment of Ike, Ninah stepped out onto the sidewalk and scanned the street for the gray Dodge. She hated to think its owners were staying somewhere nearby. That would put them within walking distance of The Bean, the high school, and more importantly, her house.
Handing a folded dollar to Judd, she described Seth and asked if he’d noticed which way he’d gone.
“Got in a 2014 Dodge Challenger, granite crystal. I seen one like it at B&T Motors. Might be the same one.” He stroked his grizzled chin. “It sat right there in the handicapped spot with the motor running.”
“Figures.” The Alt-Right movement was bigger than white supremacy. It disrespected virtually all marginalized communities. “What’s this world coming to, Judd?”
“I try to focus on the nice people.” He smiled and tipped his worn cap. “People like you.”
It was a good philosophy in theory, but Ninah knew from thirteen years in the classroom that ignoring the troublemakers only went so far. She suspected Seth and his friend were intent on causing havoc.
“Oh, and it had a boot sticker in the back window.”
“A boot sticker…” That was a parking permit for the boot factory, which confirmed they’d come to Leland for work.
As she started up the sidewalk toward Leland High, she recognized a familiar face closing in from the next block. “Well, well. If it isn’t the new owner of the Longdogs.” She greeted Britt with an exuberant hug, which Britt returned. “I’m a hugger. Hope that’s okay.”
“I’m not complaining,” Britt said. “It’s funny that I’ve only been in town for three days and already I’m running into people I know.”
“That’s a small town for you. It’s why we’re all so nice to each other, because if you make enemies, there’s no way to avoid them. Makes us try harder to get along.”
Britt was stunning in a smart black pantsuit and crisp white shirt that exuded authority and seriousness. She shuddered to realize it was also the sort of thing she might have packed for a funeral.
“I take it you’re on your way to work?”
“Assuming they don’t laugh me out of there.”
“That would be unwise, considering you’re the boss now. And something tells me that in a matter of days you’ll know more about their jobs than they do.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I need to learn as much as I can if I’m going to make this work. I just wish Dad were walking in with me. Or JT, for that matter, but he had to go to court in Frankfort.”
Ninah didn’t know what to make of that. Britt didn’t strike her as a shrinking violet who depended on men for support. “JT and your dad obviously think you can handle it. So do I, since I can’t imagine they’d drop this in your lap otherwise.”
“Let’s hope you’re right. It’s hard to overcome first impressions.”
Sabrina and Kylee emerged with their frappés, bouncing in the direction of the school. “Don’t be late, Miss Faust. Last day of school, you’ll get detention for the whole summer.”
“I’m right behind you,” she called, trying to stretch the moment with Britt. “If I weren’t running late, I’d buy you a coffee.”
“Your last day, my first. And later this afternoon, I’m supposed to meet the guy from the Gazette who wrote up our press release. Wesley Hodges. Do you know him?”
“Yes…yes, I do.” She didn’t want to say something that might bias Britt and get her off on the wrong foot with the paper’s primary sports reporter. Wesley took seriously his belief that the press should be adversarial to those in power and hold them accountable for mistakes
. And he never pulled his punches. While it made for interesting reading, his blunt criticism of high school coaches and athletes didn’t always go over well in the community. “Wesley has a tendency to focus on the negative. You’d do well not to give him too much ammunition.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” Britt shook her head and sighed. “You wouldn’t believe how much web-surfing I’ve done on minor league baseball in the last forty-eight hours. Thousands of articles and videos, and I swear I’ve seen them all. I can’t believe how much I don’t know about baseball. As soon as I open my mouth, everyone’s going to realize I’m an idiot.”
“Only an idiot would take you for an idiot.” Ninah gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re the owner now. That automatically makes you the authority on everything.”
“Yeah, except baseball.”
“I’ve got that covered. All you have to do is ask.” She took a reluctant step toward the school, briefly toying with the possibility of calling in sick. Nope. Sabrina and Kylee would hang her out to dry. “After three thirty today, I’m all yours if you want it.”
“Be careful what you ask for.”
The bell sounded as Ninah reached the schoolhouse steps. She’d replayed Britt’s last line a dozen times in her head, giddy to think it might have been flirtatious. Alone in the stairwell, she laughed to herself. “Careful what you ask for, Britt Iverson.”
Chapter Nine
The operations center of the Longdogs was on the top floor of the stadium, one level above the concessions concourse. Accessible by private elevator and a stairwell tucked behind the ticket window, it housed a conference room and several offices, and provided entry to the press box and owner’s VIP suite.
Five of the offices were presently unoccupied, with the administrative staff down to only two—general manager Archie Davenport and his daughter-in-law Misty, an administrative clerk. Right away, Britt staked out the office farthest from Misty’s jazzy ringtone. While the room itself was small, a wide window yielded a grand view of the baseball diamond below.
