More Than Words: Stories of Hope

by Diana Palmer; Kasey Michaels; Catherine Mann

  Jake’s jaw tightened. “You talked to Gary? On your own?”

  Laura rolled her eyes even as she rolled up a pair of Jake’s black socks. “Yes, on my own. They do let me out of the Helpless Females Club once in a while, you know. Why shouldn’t I have talked to Gary?”

  “Because…” Jake let his arms fall to his sides. “I don’t know why, sweetheart. Of course you could talk to Gary. But this is all happening pretty fast, don’t you think? And Charlie’s all charged up, talking about how he wants to help coach the team, and Sarah was on the phone with one of her friends earlier, rounding up a cheerleading squad, for crying out loud. It’s just moving too fast. I don’t think you and your friends have really thought this thing out.”

  “It’s already the end of May, Jake. If we’re going to float a team, we have to move quickly.”

  “Field a team, Laura, not float a team,” Jake said, grinning over his shoulder at her even while searching in a drawer for his toiletries bag, the one she’d given him when they were newlyweds. He unzipped it and headed into the bathroom, calling back over his shoulder, “Tell me more about this field you found.”

  Laura punched her palm with her fist. She wasn’t going to get away with it, she would have to tell him about the field. “I thought you didn’t care,” she said as he came back into the bedroom, trying to zip the stuffed bag shut again.

  Jake stopped in front of her, his shoulders sagging. “Charlie cares, Laura. You care. Sarah cares, bless her heart. I’m sort of stuck with having to care. Now, tell me about the field.”

  Maybe she could sell sand in the desert. Or at least she could give it the old college try. “Well, the land belongs to Cherise Johnson’s father-in-law, and he’s delighted to let us use part of it for the kids. It’s about five miles north of town—plenty of room for parking right in the field. When I was out there today the birds were singing and the sun was shining, and I could just close my eyes and imagine how it’s all going to look once we do a little work. Just what these kids need, you know? Fresh air, sunshine, exercise. The camaraderie…”

  “Yeah, I get that part. Now maybe you’d like to enlarge on what you mean by a little work?”

  “Well, you know, Jake. It’s a field. But it’s flat, and once the weeds are gone there should be no problems. And Cherise’s brother is going to use some of his big machinery, so that will get rid of the weeds.” And the rocks. And the beer bottles. And the dog poop…at least, let’s hope it’s dog poop and there aren’t any wild animals out there…“So, can I sign you up?”

  “To rake the field? Sure, why not. You’ve got to get all the stones out of the infield, Laura, and with these kids, the infield and a little bit of outfield is all you’re probably going to need. So you don’t have to worry about planting grass—just putting down a layer of good rolled clay. And that’s expensive, by the way.”

  Laura mentally added good rolled clay to her list. “Where do we get that?”

  Jake closed the suitcase and zipped it shut. “I have absolutely no idea, sorry. But, then, it’s not my project, is it?”

  “You’re still angry,” Laura said, following him downstairs as he put the suitcase in the foyer, then headed for the kitchen and a bottle of soda from the refrigerator. “You still think we’re going to fall flat on our faces and Charlie and the other kids are the ones who will be hurt.”

  Jake closed the refrigerator door and turned on her, so that she involuntarily stepped back. “Look, Laura, don’t make me into the bad guy here. I’m thinking about our son.”

  “Then do that, Jake, think about Charlie. He’s over the moon with this idea.”

  “Idea? More like a pipe dream. I guess we have different names for it. I said I’d help, Laura, and I will, when I get home from Boston. But I’m not going to pretend to be happy about any of this. Charlie isn’t going to enjoy himself, and you know why?”

  “No, Jake, but why don’t you tell me why.”

  “Oh, that tone. Don’t patronize me, Laura, because I’m not being unreasonable here. All right, I’ll tell you anyway. Charlie’s not going to like it because it isn’t going to be real baseball. It can’t be.”

  “Half a loaf is better than none,” Laura said, and then winced at the old saying.

  Jake pushed his fingers through his hair. “Half a loaf? Is that what Charlie fought for all these years? Half a loaf? Is that all he gets? All he deserves? It’s not fair, Laura. It’s just not fair.”

  “We have to accept that, honey. Sooner or later, we have to accept that. Life isn’t fair. If it were, kids like Charlie and Bobby and the rest would be just like all the other healthy kids on the planet. And, by the way, our idea isn’t all that far out. I was looking around on the Internet, and—”

  “Oh, boy, this ought to be good.”

  “Well, it is, Jake. I found this great site for an organization in Saint Louis. They call themselves TASK—that stands for Team Activities for Special Kids. We tried that with the Heroes, but we couldn’t come up with words that fit—well, that’s another story. Anyway, this group started about ten years ago, pretty much the way we’re starting, with just a little over two dozen kids and a T-ball baseball team. Now, ten years later? Jake, they’ve got over eight hundred kids involved, and not just in baseball. It’s big—a year-round deal.”

  “And parents started this TASK deal?”

  “It wasn’t their idea originally, no, but that of a woman who worked with special kids. I talked to her by the way, when I called down there. She was a huge help. Parents are a big, big part of everything, along with community volunteers. These kids play tennis, golf, softball. Twelve different sports in all, I think. They have their own social club and hold three dances a year.”

  “And you think that’s what you’re going to do here?”

  “Of course not! Well, not at first. But others have done it for their kids. Why shouldn’t we try it for our kids? Face it, honey, if anyone can find a way to make this work around all the possible pitfalls, it’s parents like us, who’ve had to learn how to fight for their kids.”

  “Golf, huh? I’ve been thinking about golf for Charlie. He wouldn’t have to make a team, you know? It would be just Charlie against the golf course, with nobody saying he’s too small.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, Laura. You’re biting off an awful lot, don’t you think? We’ve barely got our own lives back on track without trying to fix the world.”

  “Just our part of it, Jake. I think we need to fix just our small part of it—you and me and our kids. I hate to say this as much as I know you hate to hear it, but we’ve been handed some lemons. Maybe it’s time to make some lemonade. We can’t get back what we lost, Jake, that’s impossible. But we can’t stay like this, either, in this limbo we’re living in now. We have to accept that we can’t get our old lives back just because Charlie finally has his new kidney. We have to find a way to move on, and this idea might just be what we need. Please, Jake.”

  Laura reached out a hand to him but he waved her away, heading into the family room. “I need to think about this some more. I don’t know that I’m ready to give up yet, Laura, throw in the towel on what we had, what we thought we were fighting so hard to get back. I…I’m going to try to catch the travel forecast on cable, then watch the sports report for the line scores. Don’t wait up.”

  Laura threw up her hands, both literally and figuratively, and went back upstairs, because a long bubble bath was the most polite way she could think of to keep a closed door between herself and her husband. “Another closed door,” she muttered. “We’ve already got one.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Mom?”

  Laura had been staring out the kitchen window at nothing in particular, her chin in her hand. Jake had been up and gone before the alarm went off at six, but he’d left her a note on his pillow: Kissed you goodbye, Sleeping Beauty. I’m sorry—again—and I love you. So she guessed they were all right, which was what most marriages were most of the time—all right, or not al
l right.

  Without looking around, she said, “Yes, Charlie? What’s up? Your math homework is on the dining-room table.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got it, Mom, thanks,” Charlie said, slipping into a chair on the other side of the table. “I’ve been thinking about something we should do.”

  Laura sat back against the chair and gave an exaggerated sigh. “That’s usually dangerous. How much will it cost?”

  “Not a lot,” Charlie said, his expression serious. “But that’s not why we should do this.”

  Laura watched as Sarah reached into the pantry closet and came out with an icing-covered cherry toaster tart. “Ahem, madam,” she said, and smiled as Sarah returned the box to the shelf in exchange for a box of cereal. “You’re learning,” she told her daughter. Laura got up and headed to the refrigerator for a carton of milk. “Why we should do what, Charlie?”

  “Not play hardball.”

  The milk carton almost hit the floor, but Laura recovered in time. “What? You don’t want to play?”

  “Relax, Mom, I said hardball, not baseball.” Charlie opened his social studies textbook and pulled out a sheet of paper, which he laid on the tabletop. “I’ve been thinking about this. Aluminum bats, regulation balls? I don’t think the Heroes are going to be up to that. I think we need to play rubber ball, like I used to play. And maybe even use Ts for some of the kids. You know, like I did when I was a kid?”

  Laura closed her eyes against the pain. When he was a kid. Before the kidney disease. Before he had to grow up years before his time. God bless the boy.

  “I remember, Charlie. That tall black rubber stand, or whatever it was, with the baseball perched on top so you could hit it. But…aren’t you a little beyond that?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, taking the cereal box Sarah had just put down and pouring a liberal amount into the bowl in front of him. He still ate his cereal dry because he hadn’t been allowed enough liquid to have milk on it. Now he liked it dry. “But I’m not going to play much, you know. If it’s all right with everybody, I’m going to coach.”

  His words skittered through Laura’s brain and she pretty much had to totter back to her chair and sit down. “Coach,” she repeated. “Not play? I know you said that, but I didn’t really think—Charlie, you love baseball.”

  “I still love baseball, Mom, but what I like best is being on a team. Practicing. I can still do that. I’m not good enough for the township team, but I’m probably a little too good for the Heroes. What Dad said the other night? He was right. You don’t have to play baseball on a team to be a part of the game. I think I’ll be a pretty decent coach, too.” He grinned. “All I have to do is remember not to do anything Coach Billig does.”

  Laura rested her chin on her hand once more as she grinned back at her son. “I love you to pieces, Charlie Finnegan.”

  “Oh, gross!” Sarah said, picking up her empty cereal bowl and heading for the sink. “I can still be a cheerleader, can’t I? Brenda says we can get matching outfits and her mom will buy us pom-poms when you choose the team colors.”

  “How about red and blue, like my favorite superhero?” Charlie suggested, peeking up at the wall clock. “Come on, Sarah, or we’ll miss the bus.”

  “Okay,” his younger sister said, grabbing her lunch bucket from the counter. “Oh, Mom? Do we have any Popsicle sticks anywhere? I have a diorama of an African hut to do for geography class.”

  Laura narrowed her eyes, remembering a scene very much like this a few years ago, except that Charlie had waited until the night before the project was due to tell her about it. She’d ended up using toothpicks for the hut and nearly a full jar of oregano for the landscape around it. Charlie had only gotten a C+, but his project had smelled good. “Due when, little girl?” she asked, dreading the answer.

  “Tomorrow,” Sarah said, already halfway out the door so that her mother’s groan barely reached her.

  The phone rang just as Laura had her hand deep in the freezer in search of Popsicles, then decided it would be better to make a run to the local hobby store than to have the three of them go on a marathon Popsicle-eating binge.

  “Hello?”

  “Back at you. I’ll be by to pick you up in twenty minutes. No, make that a half hour. I still have to walk the dog, and he’s looking faintly constipated.”

  “Jayne Ann?”

  “Who else do you know who’d admit to a constipated beagle? Cherise just called, and we’re all meeting for breakfast at that little place at the other end of the strip mall from Riley’s. She says Larry has all kinds of good news for us. I knew I liked that man.”

  Laura looked down at her pajamas, which consisted of a pair of pink, pull-on knit shorts and one of Jake’s old navy blue Penn State T-shirts. “How about I meet you there?”

  When Laura found the others at a large round table at the back of the small restaurant, the first thing she noticed was that there were three people she hadn’t met yet.

  Larry Cohen did the honors. “Laura, I’d like to introduce you to my boss, Harry Walters, who is going to hand over a check for five hundred dollars as well as help us to set up a free checking account and anything else we need. And this is my son’s pediatrician, John Ryan, who’s agreed to act as official team doctor. His son Johnny hopes to play with the Heroes. And last but certainly not least is Arthur Brightstone, who has generously offered to provide us with all the hats and shirts and whatever other gear we need. Gentlemen, genius and founder of the Heroes—Laura Finnegan.”

  Laura looked at her friends, who were grinning from ear to ear, and then numbly held out her hand to each of the three men.

  She simply let the conversation wash over her for a few minutes. She thought it was nice of Larry to call her the founder of the Heroes, but everything would still be just one big daydream, wishful thinking, if it weren’t for Jayne Ann, and Cherise, and Larry, and…“Volunteers!”

  “What, Laura?” Jayne Ann asked around a bite of toast.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I said, ‘Volunteers.’ We’re going to need a bunch of them.” She smiled at Harry Walters. “Please forgive me. I have this tendency to think out loud, and usually at inappropriate times.”

  “Geniuses do that, Mrs. Finnegan,” he told her. “You know, Larry here was rather vague—not that I wasn’t immediately intrigued and knew the Heroes is something the bank very much wants to be involved in. Perhaps you’d like to tell me more about the program?”

  The program. Well, that was terrifyingly formal, wasn’t it? It seemed that the moaning about the lack of a team for Charlie and Bobby to play on had turned into a program. A program with a team physician and free checking, no less.

  Laura didn’t know if it was her lost expression that brought Cherise to the rescue, but she was soon sipping her coffee and making polite comments while her friend talked about the “field of dreams” that was even now taking shape five miles out of town.

  By the time the check came and Mr. Brightstone graciously picked it up, no one could have been faulted for thinking the Heroes was all but a done deal, with their first practice only days away.

  Once the men, including Larry Cohen, had gone, the women pulled their chairs closer together and looked at each other. Just looked at each other.

  And then Jayne Ann began to giggle, rapidly joined by Cherise and Laura, until all of them were in gales of laughter. Their waitress, a woman who looked as if she’d been born harried, plunked down a fresh coffeepot and commented that she wouldn’t mind a sip of whatever “hard stuff” they were slipping into their cups.

  “It’s not that funny!” Jayne Ann gasped as she held on to Laura and tried to catch her breath.

  “Yes, it is,” Cherise told her sternly, then laughed and snorted at the same time…and set all three of them off again.

  “We’re really doing this,” Laura said. “We may not know what we’re doing, but we’re definitely doing it.” She wiped her streaming eyes. “God, I haven’t laughed this hard in…I don’t even remembe
r, to tell you the truth.”

  “Well, maybe we all needed a good laugh,” Cherise said, pulling out her electronic organizer yet again. “Beats crying all to hell, girlfriends, doesn’t it?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Laura dug into her shorts pocket for her cell phone, then collapsed onto her backside in the dirt, hoping whoever was calling wanted to recite the entirety of the Declaration of Independence in her ear, because then she’d have a good excuse to rest for at least ten minutes.

  She had muscles today she hadn’t known she owned three days ago, and all of them ached. She’d broken three fingernails and finally given in and cut the rest of them down last night after soaking in the bathtub until both her fingers and toes were pruney. She had a bandage on her left knee, a blister at the base of her right thumb, and she was pretty sure that she’d be tasting dirt in her mouth whenever she chewed for at least the next year.

  “Hello—ouch,” she said into the phone, reaching beneath herself to pull out a fairly sharp rock and toss it into the basket beside her. “Hello?”

  “Laura, honey?”

  She covered her other ear with her hand because several eighteen-wheelers were passing by on the highway. “Jake? Is that you?”

  “You keep a list of men who call you Laura, honey?” she heard him ask, and she smiled in the general direction of the entire world.

  “I do, I do. But it’s a short list, with only one name on it. Where are you?”

  “Back in Boston after a four-day tour of the suburbs. But that’s the thing, honey. I’m going to have to stay a couple of extra days.”

  “What’s a couple of extra days? You won’t be home until Sunday?”

  “Try next Wednesday. But there’s a good chance we’ll see a nice bonus out of this, so I said yes to the plan—think how happy all our creditors will be. I found a Laundromat a few blocks from the hotel, and I’m going to head there now, so you don’t have to worry that I’ll get hit by a truck and the doctors and nurses will find me in dirty underwear.”