Page 23 of Mom Ball

I choke and cough loudly. He means baseballs.

“Want some water?”

I nod. He goes toward Timothy and returns with a bottle of water. A new bottle, without his germs.

I chug it like I’m stuck in the Sahara.

“Better?” Nate asks.

The bottle is half empty when I lower it and nod.

“Good. Make yourself at home. I’ll get Timothy started.”

He leaves my side, and I survey the area. There’s a well-worn couch near the TV. I sit on it and turn so I can watch where he’s taking Timothy.

They start at a wall filled with bats. Timothy’s face lights up when Nate pulls down several smaller ones for him to try. Not that I would recognize any of them, but I’m sure they’re Nate’s from over the years.

His mom never had a lot of money, but she spared no expense when it came to helping supply him with baseball equipment. He might not have had the flashiest or newest supplies, but he always had what he needed. Even when she didn’t.

I always admired and respected her sacrifices for him. Little did I know I’d one day be a single mom to a son.

They settle on a bat and go to the cage. Nate adjusts a tee and sits on a bucket nearby. He explains some things to Timothy, then stands and helps him position the bat.

Out of nowhere, my eyes start to water. I stand and exit through the smaller door on the opposite end of the building. It’s all I can take seeing them together like father and son.

All the whys and ifs that plagued me for years hit me like a head-on collision. If I had to put myself through a CT scan right now, I’d find plenty of internal damage.

* * *

Nate

Maybe it’s because I’m not used to younger kids, but Timothy is impressive to have never played ball.

He has great hand-eye coordination and picks up on everything I teach him quickly. His form is already good, and he’s showing a lot of potential.

I need to find Brooke. I bet she’d like to see how well he’s doing.

“Hey, you want to show your mom what you learned?”

He nods enthusiastically.

I stand from sitting on a bucket and scan the shop. There’s no sign of Brooke, and I don’t hear anyone.

“Let’s find her.” I lift the batting cage net, and Timothy follows me outside. The sun is lowering and it’s cooling down.

“You think she ran home to cook dinner or something?”

Timothy shakes his head. “Mama never leaves me for too long, especially not with a stranger.”

“I’m not a stranger.”

He wavers his head. “Technically, no, but how well do we really know you?”

I laugh. He’s a sharp kid, and funny.

“Your mom and I actually go way back.”

“Didn’t you grow up here?”

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