Page 27 of Mom Ball

Jeffrey grits his teeth and cuts his eyes toward her before turning back to the bleachers. “If there’s no other questions, that’s all I have. Thanks for coming out tonight.”

He disappears somewhere in the back of the gym, leaving Bubba to fold up the table and chairs. He’s probably on the run from Tami, since she has it out for him. Or Morgan, or Maribelle. The man sure knows how to turn women against him.

As we’re exiting the gym, Morgan pulls me and Maribelle to the side. “We need a game plan to get more players. I want y’all to think of everyone who might want their kids to play ball.”

“What if we don’t like them?” Maribelle frowns.

“Then we hope Jeffrey drafts their kid. If y’all want your kids playing baseball here this year, we need warm bodies who identify as kids under eight.”

“I’m really fine with Timothy not playing this year. I think he’s not—”

My eyes cross and focus on Morgan’s fingers pinching my mouth shut. “That boy’s gonna play, and I’ll get him on Andrew’s team.”

I try and ask how can she guarantee that, but it sounds more like gibberish.

“Trust me, Brooke.” She lets go of my mouth. “See y’all soon. Text me names.”

Morgan disappears into the night toward her van. I wiggle my lips to try and rid them of that post-dental-work feeling Morgan induced.

“I guess we better get to it.” Maribelle gives me a tired smile.

“I hope it works out.” I give my best fake smile in return. “Good night.”

“You too.” Maribelle crosses the parking lot.

I shove my hands in my scrubs pockets and try to think positively. I wasn’t sold on the idea of Timothy playing in the first place. Maybe this whole wait list thing is a blessing in disguise.

Headlights turn left and right as people leave. Soon I’m standing alone, except for Jeffrey in the distance checking his tires. Probably for slashes.

That’s my cue to leave.

* * *

Nate

The trailer beeps as Jeffrey navigates around the blackberry and blueberry bushes on my property.

I shake my head. Why in the world did I agree to this?

Mom steps beside me and smiles wider than the offensive bumper sticker on Jeffrey’s truck. That’s why I agreed to this.

“This is so nice. We’re going to be neighbors,” she says.

“Again, Mom, you could’ve just moved into my house. You literally wouldn’t have to see me unless you wanted to.” I thought she’d jump at the chance of moving away from the mobile-home park.

“Of course I want to see you.” She pats my cheek. “I just didn’t want to give up my own home.”

“So you had no problem moving, as long as you could take your actual home?”

“You finally get it.”

Shows how much I know about women.

She laughs and walks carefully down the steep hill on the side of the house. I hurry and catch up to her in case Jeffrey isn’t paying attention.

He doesn’t strike me as the most careful driver. On top of that, I don’t think he sets up many trailers in backyards. Or maybe he does. This is Apple Cart County. Not a lot of zoning and property restrictions in a place that shares a golf course with cows.

Mom takes a seat in one of my back patio chairs and watches Jeffrey like it’s free entertainment. In a way it is, except that I’m paying him to move her trailer.

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