Page 61 of Mom Ball

When they get to the fence, I hop down from the truck and meet them. I take the chairs from Carlton and loop both around my right shoulder. I reach for the cooler, but he shakes his head.

“We’re headed that way.”

I’m relieved I don’t have to carry the cooler again, but I’d never admit it to him.

Timothy breaks free from Brooke’s arm and comes to me. “Did you see me catch the ball with my foot on the base?”

“I sure did, buddy. Y’all played good today.”

“Thanks.” He beams. “Did you see both our games?”

“I did.”

“What was your favorite part?”

“Probably Andrew carrying Herrington.”

The other adults around us laugh.

“I didn’t even know that was legal,” Carlton says.

“They have to run the bases in order, and they did.”

“Something tells me Bubba will be adding that play to the rule book for next season,” Aniston says.

I chuckle. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

Carlton sets the cooler beside Brooke’s car. I wait for her to unlock the trunk, then set everything inside. My shoulder catches as I lift the cooler, but I keep a straight face. If she knew carrying her stuff bothered my shoulder, she’d feel horrible. The last thing I ever want to do is make Brooke feel horrible.

“Thanks.” She smiles up at me once everything is put away.

“You’re welcome.”

I turn to Timothy, mainly to break my old habit of kissing Brooke after ball games. It’s been nine years since that’s happened, but this is the first game I’ve been to with her since then.

I used to stare blankly into the stadium and imagine she was somewhere in the crowd watching me. Maybe she was, or at least watching on TV.

But she was never close enough for a kiss.

“You did good.” I hold out my fist for Timothy to bump. “We’ll work on a few things later. Go home and rest.”

He hugs me unexpectedly. My heart melts a bit, and I can’t blame it on the heat, as it’s only March. I’ve become attached to this kid.

I make eye contact with Brooke over his head. Maybe it’s my imagination, but she blinks back a tear. I pat Timothy on the side, and he slowly releases me.

“Y’all be careful going home.” I nod toward the field. “I’m gonna stick around and scout some.”

Brooke smiles. “Don’t let Jeffrey give you a hard time.”

I laugh. “Too late for that.”

“I guess so.” She scrunches her nose back at Jeffrey, then grins at me.

Before I get too carried away, I retreat to my truck. By the time she and Timothy are driving away, I’m dipping another chicken finger in sauce. Timothy waves out the window, and I lift my non-chicken hand.

I thought the two-run carry was the most entertaining part of the day, but Jeffrey warming up to pitch to kids beats that a million to one.

Every pitch starts with a windup. And why is he looking around like he plans on picking someone off? There’s no stealing in coach-pitch.

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