“Ha-ha,” Laura said, wincing at Jake’s joke. “Not until next Wednesday?” she asked, trying to keep a Sarah-whine out of her voice. “But the Heroes start practice on Monday night. Their first game is that Saturday.”
“I know, and I want to be there. I will be there, Laura, I promise. What’s that noise in the background? Where are you?”
“I’m at the ball field,” Laura said, looking around at the bald, scraped earth that stretched out around her. “I think I’m pretty close to third base, as a matter of fact. It’s really coming along, Jake. There are only three parents who haven’t been able to volunteer, and that’s because they’ve got new babies at home, or they already work three jobs. But everyone else has been out here as much as possible. We’ve got twenty-six kids now—can you believe that? All it took was those flyers, and the phones started ringing off the hook. Maybe next year we’ll—”
“I miss you, Laura.”
She sighed, her muscles relaxing as she crossed her legs and put her other hand on the small phone—physically drawing herself away from the noise and dust of the ball field and into that small, cozy cocoon that was Jake and Laura’s World. “I miss you, too, sweetheart. Are you eating enough? Sleeping enough?”
“I’m on an expense account in a four-star hotel, and I feel guilty as hell about that lobster I enjoyed last night while you guys were probably eating macaroni and cheese, but I’ll get over it.”
“Hot dogs and hamburgers.”
“What? Hon, you’ll have to talk louder. You’ve got a lot of noise around you.”
“I said, we had hot dogs and hamburgers—and lots of other great picnic food. Sharon Baxter, one of the moms, had us all over to her backyard for dinner after we got done here. I wish you could have been there, Jake, to meet some of the other parents, some of the other kids. Did I tell you we’ve got twenty-six kids now?”
She could hear Jake’s frustrated sigh all the way from Boston even as she winced, realizing her mistake. God, she was nervous. Nervous, speaking to her own husband! “Yes, Laura, you already told me. You have quite the social life all of a sudden, don’t you? I thought you didn’t like being around other mothers of sick kids. I thought all the depressing sick talk upset you.”
Laura stood up, began walking into the outfield, away from anyone who might overhear her. “But, Jake, this isn’t sick talk. This is something positive we’re all doing for our kids. Nobody’s having a pity party here. We’re having fun! The kids are having fun. We’re climbing mountains, Jake. And if those mountains are things like making sure the baselines are wide enough for a wheelchair or walker, or making up flash cards so that Johnny Ryan can, hopefully, memorize the bases and where to run to first after he hits the ball—well, we’re climbing them. One by one. Even Kenny Baxter is going to play, and that’s fantastic.”
Jake’s voice sounded more resigned now than angry as he asked, “What’s so special about Kenny Baxter?”
“He’s blind, that’s what’s so special about him.”
“Blind? You’re kidding, right? What the hell position do you have him playing?”
Laura took the phone from her ear and looked at it for a moment—glared at it—before putting it to her ear once more. “That should be obvious, Jake…he pitches,” she all but growled.
And then she snapped the phone shut and waited to see if it would ring again, which it did, five seconds later.
“What?”
“You hung up on me.”
“I know that.”
“And you should have yelled at me more before you hung up on me. You should have called me a few choice names, too.”
Laura smiled as she gripped the phone, one of Sarah’s expressions coming to mind. “All right. You’re a dumb bunny. Oh, and your mother wears combat boots, whatever that means.”
“I never did figure that one out, either,” Jake said, and even though the connection was good, he had never sounded so far away, or quite so tired. “Oh, cripes, hon, I’m sorry. I just wanted Charlie away from all that. I wanted him to get his transplant and get back into life. I thought we both wanted that, Laura—that we all just wanted to be normal again. I mean, I heard you the other night, and I think I understand. Hell, I know I understand. I just have to get from understanding to accepting. And it isn’t easy, Laura. It just isn’t.”
Laura looked back toward home plate to see Charlie standing behind young Toni D’Amato, positioning her hands on a bat and helping her swing at the ball on the rubber T. He’d been working with the girl for over an hour, his expression one of almost angelic patience. “Charlie’s doing what he wants to do. If you were here, you’d see that.”
“I’m trying, Laura. I’m really trying. But this is all happening so fast.”
“It’s all right—we’ll all be all right,” Laura said, heading into the outfield once more. “And I’m as guilty as you are. We spent so much time in the hospital, watched so many kids suffer, so many kids die—there were times I thought we’d never recognize normal again when we saw it. I agree, we need to remember what normal life is, what it’s like to just be two people trying to raise our kids. But there’s a need here, Jake. I didn’t really see it, I just wanted Charlie to play ball because he wanted to play ball. But Charlie saw the need, and he’s really happy. Please be happy for him.”
There was another long pause before Jake said, “What would I do without you? I want to be home with you. I want to hold you, just hold on to you.”
Laura blinked back tears. For a woman who had willed herself not to cry for more than two years, she certainly was making up for lost time lately. “I want to hold you, too. We’re going to be all right, Jake. It’s only been six months since the transplant. We’re still learning how to live again, that’s all. And I think Charlie’s showing us how.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Clay was a great thing. And it was even greater when it came free, courtesy of three separate landscaping companies in the area. Clay wasn’t full of sharp stones that could prove to be a problem for the kids. Clay looked really terrific when neat white chalk lines were drawn on its reddish surface. Clay, in short, made Hero Field appear, if not professional, then at least pretty damn good.
Clay did not, however, look good on people, clothing or bathtubs, all of which Laura and the other volunteers found out as thirty extremely filthy adults and several children, armed with rakes, spread, rolled and variously stamped down the clay over the course of three long, hot, sweaty days.
But the worst was over, another mountain had been climbed—and if anyone knew how to climb or even move mountains, it was the parents of very special kids—and now it was time to play ball.
“I think I’m developing some definition in my biceps,” Jayne Ann said, flexing her muscle in Laura’s face as the two of them loaded canvas bags full of used baseball equipment into the back of Jayne Ann’s van. Cherise’s sister who worked at the township had come through with bats, mitts and even a dozen batting helmets. “Larry says he can already feel the difference.”
“Larry does, does he?” Laura teased, grinning. “And how was the lasagna last night? And no, that’s not a euphemism for anything else.”
“Bobby was home, and Larry brought Jacob with him,” Jayne Ann said, slamming the van door. “Believe me, it was strictly a G-rated evening. We’re doing it again tomorrow night, after our first real game. So, do you think Sarah would want to be a flower girl or a junior bridesmaid? I’m open to either.”
The two women slid onto the cracked-leather front seat and Laura shook her head at her friend. “One plate of lasagna, and you’re hearing wedding bells?”
Jayne Ann turned the key in the ignition and Laura winced as the gears made a grinding sound before the engine reluctantly came to life. Jayne Ann had told Laura that her ex had a BMW and his new wife had a minivan that did everything except steer itself, but that was all right, because “Old Bessie still has a couple thousand miles left in her.”
Jayne Ann winked at her.
“Never underestimate the power of my lasagna, Mrs. Finnegan. Besides, Larry’s lonely, Laura. I’m lonely. His mom is getting older and is making noises about moving to Florida to live with her sister. Shared loads are easier to carry. He can’t be put off about Bobby’s problems and I can’t moan about Jacob’s problems. We understand problems, and we know how to deal with them. Besides,” she said, grinning rather lasciviously, “he’s hot.”
“He’s short, skinny, and when he gives up on those few long strands he combs over the top of his head, he’s going to be bald. Cute maybe, but not hot.”
“Eye of the beholder, Laura, eye of the beholder. And relax, I didn’t mean it about the flower-girl thing. We’re friends, Larry and me, that’s all. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to immediately fall for the first guy I think is cute—I mean, look what I ended up with the first time. Where to now?”
“Home, please,” Laura told her, quickly buckling her seat belt as Jayne Ann threw the van in Reverse and all but did a wheelie out of the township parking lot…and directly past the police station. “Jake will be home in about an hour and I want to have dinner ready for him before I leave again to pick up Charlie at the field.”
“Jake won’t come along?”
Laura shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t want to push him.”
“Have you considered simply bopping him over the head with a heavy object?”
“Funny. He’s promised to come to our first game tomorrow, and maybe that’s when he should see the Heroes for the first time. You know, with their shirts and caps and everything. Hey, do you think Toni D’Amato is going to be there? She really took a hit yesterday when Johnny Ryan ran over her.”
“Yeah. Poor kid. We forgot she couldn’t hear us yelling get out of the way—she was too busy watching Sarah and Brenda practice their cheers. And Johnny was so happy to get a chance to show he knows where third base is that he plowed right through our shortstop. Lucie sure picked a heck of a time to visit the Porta Potti, didn’t she? But Toni’s fine, I’m sure she is. She was laughing when she got up, wasn’t she?”
“We need another rule.” Laura had said that a lot lately as their dream rapidly evolved into a reality. Only two weeks ago, Hero Field had been nothing but a dream. “One volunteer on the field at all times for each two players on the field, not three players. How does that sound?”
“Crowded,” Jayne Ann said with a grin. “Relax, Laura. They’re kids. They bounce.” She pulled up in front of the Finnegan household. “Uh-oh, look who beat you home.”
“Jake,” Laura said, struggling with the door handle of the van. “Not until eight o’clock, right?”
“Right. Now go—and wipe that goofy smile off your face. Some of us are still at the lasagna stage.”
Laura ran into the house, stopping in the foyer to call Jake’s name, then racing upstairs when she heard his voice. She trotted into the bedroom and barreled into Jake’s open arms with at least as much happy abandon as Johnny Ryan had shown rounding second, and the two of them fell back onto the bed.
“I’ve got to go away more often,” Jake said into her hair as he held her close after they’d kissed. He ran his palms up and down her back. “Have you lost a little weight?”
“You try pushing fifty wheelbarrows full of clay, Jake Finnegan. I may even be developing biceps,” she added, stealing a line from Jayne Ann. “Are you impressed?”
“That’s one thing I am,” he teased, cupping her bottom with both hands. “Where are the kids?”
Laura propped herself up on her elbows and grinned down at her husband. “Charlie stayed at the field—I’m picking him up at eight o’clock—and Sarah is at a sleepover at Brenda’s, so we’re alone. Why? Did you have something particular in mind?”
“I’ll assume that was a rhetorical question,” Jake said, rolling her over onto her back as she laughed and held on tight.
Ninety minutes later, freshly showered and munching on the last of the cold chicken sandwiches Laura had thrown together in lieu of the supper she’d planned, they were on their way to Hero Field, and Laura’s nervousness was back.
“It’s not perfect,” she told him as he drove along what, to her, had become very familiar country roads. “The backstop is in pretty bad shape, and Cherise’s brother still has to level more weeds for a parking area. Oh, and Miranda Gilbert’s father still hasn’t quite mastered the line-marking machine, so the third-base line is a little crooked today.”
“Miranda? Which one is she?”
“She plays right field for Heroes Two. Oh, you mean what’s her problem? We really don’t think about that much, except when we’re planning how to help the kids play better, but Miranda has cerebral palsy. Duane says he’s jealous because she only has a brace on one leg, so Cherise told him she could arrange for a brace on his head. You’re going to love Cherise. To her, kids are kids, and she doesn’t tiptoe around their problems, not one bit. Everyone adores her.”
“Just one big happy family, huh?”
Laura snuggled deeper into the leather seat of Jake’s sedan. “Yes, we are. John Ryan—the pediatrician, remember? Anyway, John got serious the other night and talked about what we’re doing. How we’re building confidence and self-esteem, instilling sportsmanship, improving social skills, teaching the kids how to work together, cooperate with each other the way you have to do in team sports. He talked about helping to increase their physical coordination, showing them how to interact with their peers—all those really good things.”
“And?” Jake asked, turning onto the road that led to the ball field.
“And Cherise told him, heck, don’t scare us with all this technical talk—we just thought we were showing the kids a good time.”
“You’re right, I’m going to like Cherise. The last thing those kids need is to be told this is good for them. Keep the technical jargon out of it, and play ball.”
“I knew you’d be okay with this.”
“It took me awhile, and I’m sorry for that. But yeah, I finally get it. What’s in the bag?”
Laura reached down to pick up the plastic bag she’d brought with her at the last moment, and pulled out a blue shirt with white lettering on the back.
Jake nearly ran the car into a ditch. “Brightstone’s Funeral Home?”
“These are for Heroes Two. Heroes One wears red. Look.” She shoved the shirt back into the bag and pulled out a red baseball cap with the same logo sewn on the front and stuck it on her head. “Mr. Brightstone’s our main sponsor. Bless him, his grandson died last year. Brain tumor. He told us Stevie loved baseball.”
“Poor guy, and that’s a damn nice gesture. But, Laura, don’t you see anything a little strange about plastering the name of a funeral home on shirts for these particular kids?”
“We talked about that, but when Charlie and Bobby told us they thought it was sort of funny, we realized we were overreacting. Kind of. Sort of.” Laura smiled. “I guess it is sort of funny, if you just don’t think about it too hard. There’s the field—on your left.”
There were at least twenty other cars pulled into the mowed weeds, and Laura saw that Jayne Ann and Cherise had made it there ahead of her. With her hand on the door handle, Laura turned to Jake. “Now remember. This is not your ordinary baseball team. Some of them hit from the T-stand, some of them swing on their own. One of the volunteers pitches, not one of the kids, because that’s sort of difficult for a lot of them, although Jayne Ann’s Bobby pitches for Heroes One. Patty Gerbach runs the bases in her wheelchair, and that takes awhile because she has to blow in a straw to get the thing to move—it’s a pretty neat chair, actually—so she gets more time to reach first base. Oh, and Nick O’Brien still uses his walker, but his hip replacement was only last month, so he’s really coming along, and—”
“Laura, honey, stop trying to convince me, okay? It’s going to be fine. You said Charlie’s okay with all this, and if he’s okay with it, I’m going to learn to be okay with it. I had a lot of time in
Boston to think about everything, and the Heroes aren’t a half loaf. They’re just a different loaf.” He grinned at her as he took her hand. “I’m thinking maybe pumpernickel.”
“Are we pumpernickel, too? Not a half loaf, just a new loaf.”
“Yeah, I guess so. We’re still here, we’re still whole. We’re just a little different now.”
“Okay,” Laura said as they walked toward the ball field. “But I want to be raisin bread. With white icing.”
Jake squeezed her hand. “It’s a deal,” he said, then sighed. “We almost lost it, didn’t we, hon?”
Laura pretended not to understand, hoping to find time to come to grips with what her husband had just said. “It? What it?”
“Us. That it. It’s funny, really. We made it through the bad times, only to start to self-destruct once Charlie got better. But we’re going to make it now, right? We’re going to talk, and not be afraid to yell when we feel the need. We’re allowed to fight. Married people fight sometimes. We’ve just got to realize that not everything is a life-and-death decision anymore, thank God, and that sometimes that other shoe just isn’t going to drop. We’re a team, and we’ll always be a team. We’re going to be…we’re going to be—”
“New-loaf normal,” Laura said, squeezing his hand. “I love you, Jake Finnegan. Even when I don’t.”
He grinned at her, then looked out over the field. “Hey, there’s Charlie. What’s he—oh, God…”
Laura watched as Charlie stood behind Kenny Baxter, who was taller than Charlie by at least eight inches. Kenny Baxter, who had been blind since birth. Charlie had his arms wrapped around Kenny, his hands gripping the bat over Kenny’s hands. “Come on, Mr. Johnson, give us your best stuff,” he called out to Cherise’s “little” brother. “You ready to run, Kenny? We’re gonna nail this one.”
Walter Johnson leaned forward and tossed the ball in a soft underhand.
More Than Words: Stories of Hope Page 15
