Page 22 of Mom Ball

“Well, did you?” He hops in and slams the door.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. You didn’t eat much at lunch.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

He buckles his seat belt, making me proud. I wasn’t going to insist since we’re maybe a mile at best from our destination, but it’s nice to know I taught him safety. I buckle mine too.

“You’re wearing lipstick.”

“As I do every day.”

“But you only put it on in the morning.”

I put the car in drive and stare ahead. I refuse to be interrogated by a second grader. He takes the hint and doesn’t say another word until we turn into Nate’s drive.

Timothy opens the door and jumps out with my brother’s old glove and a ball. That’s all we could find short notice, but I assured him Nate would have baseball stuff.

Nate comes from the backyard, smiling. “I was fighting off a nap. I thought y’all weren’t coming.”

“Mama had to put on makeup.” Timothy smirks at me.

“Um, I put on Chapstick.” Not a total lie, since my lipstick is tinted Chapstick.

“It looks nice,” Nate comments.

My cheeks heat up and I turn my head.

“Let’s get started.” He claps his hands together, bringing me back to attention.

We follow him down the slope to the backyard, past several blackberry bushes. An old metal building comes into view when we get to the clearing. He leads us to it and lifts the rolling door effortlessly.

My mouth drops as I scan a room of baseball equipment, complete with a pitching machine and batting cage. In addition to that is free weights, an exercise bike, and a TV.

“Wow.”

“Jonah had the house in great shape, but this was an old shop. I slowly had it renovated after buying.”

“Who did it?”

“A moving company brought my own equipment, and Jonah helped with facilitating it all. He knew a really nice guy who turfed the church soccer field and Evalene Mayberry’s carport.”

I lift my chin, curious as to how Jonah had a hand in this and I didn’t hear about it. His wife and business partner, Carolina, isn’t exactly Fort Knox when it comes to keeping things hush.

Metal clanks, and I crane my neck. Timothy’s head pops up behind a counter.

“Timothy, stop snooping, son.”

“Sorry, Mama. He has a kitchen too.”

I turn to Nate. “Really?”

“A mini fridge full of sweet tea and Mountain Dew, plus a microwave.” He shrugs. “The previous owner had a wet bar, so I decided to leave it partially intact.”

I laugh.

“The sink has come in handy when I need to clean my balls.”

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