Page 28 of Mom Ball

“So you really love this old house that much?” I still don’t get the appeal in a nineties-model mobile home with plastic shutters. I’ve been after her to upgrade it for years.

“More what’s in it.”

“Mom, we could’ve moved your stuff.”

She wavers her head. “I know, but you already have an oven.”

“The oven?” I widen my eyes. “That’s what you didn’t want to leave?”

“Well, yeah. It took me some time to learn how long to cook everything in it to perfection.”

I can’t really argue with that.

Jeffrey’s truck backfires, and we stare across the yard. Luckily, Mom’s home is still in one piece.

He parks it in a nice little clearing, far enough away from my baseball shop to give her some privacy.

Once I’m sure it’s safe, we start toward the truck. A bigger guy and Jeffrey are securing it in place when we get to them.

“What about my porch?” Mom asks.

“I’ll build you a new porch.”

“That one was perfect for my wind chimes.” Her face falls.

“Mom, I tried, but the trailer park said it was there before us so it had to stay.” I put my arm around her shoulder.

“You mean modular-home neighborhood.” Jeffrey enunciates every word like he’s teaching me a new language. In a way, he is.

“Huh?”

“Our business is rebranding.”

“Oh, okay, then.”

The guy beside him pulls a rag from his back pocket and wipes sweat from every piece of skin showing.

“Would you guys like some water?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” the man answers.

“Give me a minute.” I hurry to the shop and grab two bottles of water from the refrigerator in my kitchen area. I don’t want to leave them alone with my mother for too long. Not that I think they would do anything to hurt her in a predatory way, but they might accidentally run over her.

They both thank me for the water. I notice “Bubba” sewn on the pocket of the other guy’s shirt. Makes sense. He looks like a Bubba.

“Thanks, Jeffrey,” I tell him.

“You’re welcome.” He chugs some water, then turns to Mom. “Ma’am, we tried to tie down the furniture best we could, but ran out of ratchet straps when we got to the spare bedroom. My apologies if anything is in shambles.”

“That’s okay. As long as the oven still works.”

I sigh. I’m beginning to think Mom loves that oven more than me.

“I know you paid me already, Nate, but I want to ask a favor.”

Dear God, please don’t let him ask that I put in a word for his kids.

I don’t know Jeffrey well, but I’ve already heard he’s one of those guys who thinks his kids are going pro. Even though they’re still playing coach-pitch and rocking baby teeth.

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