Page 3 of Striking Out In The Mountains

“Okay,” I say, swallowing hard. “Kylee can go second.”

The cops take the field and are throwing around balls, warming up. Ryland keeps looking at the parking lot as he takes the mound, warming up his throwing shoulder.

“Where’s your secret weapon?” I ask with a grin. “She ditched you?”

He curses under his breath and ignores me. I hope she doesn’t show up at all, whoever it is.

“Play ball!” Greg shouts and everyone watching cheers.

Doug pets Bubba and Charlie for good luck before grabbing a bat and strutting over to the plate. He swings on the first pitch and connects, but the ball hits the dirt, barely rolling three feet. But it’s good enough to get him onto first base.

You’d swear he hit a grand slam in the ninth inning of the World Series with the way he’s dancing on first base and acting all cocky.

Kylee bats second and pops it up. Emmanuel is playing third base and easily catches it.

“Sorry, Chief,” she says as she walks back to the bench with her shoulders slumped.

“No worries, Kylee,” I say with a smile. “You’ll get ‘em next time.”

My turn. I’ll show these boys how it’s done. I’ll show them what a real hit is.

I grab a bat and head to the plate.

“Come on, Grandpa!” a girl shouts from behind me while I’m staring Ryland down.

“Hit it with your walker!” another girl says.

I turn around, shocked until I see who the hecklers are. It’s Tina and Tiffany, the two weird twins who work at the Greene Mountain Lodge. They both have the same round glasses and black bob haircut. They’re sitting on the grass behind home plate.

This is going to be a long afternoon with them heckling…

“I’m only fifty-two,” I tell them as I swing the bat a few times.

“More like a hundred and fifty-two,” one of them says.

“More like you were born in 1952,” the other one adds.

I shake my head and ignore them, narrowing my eyes on Ryland as he gets ready to pitch. I visualize pounding theball and smacking it over those white-capped mountains miles behind the players in the outfield.

Ryland takes one last look at the parking lot—probably waiting for his secret weapon to arrive—before he pulls his arm back and launches the ball at the plate.

I take a deep breath and swing as hard as I can.

The ball connects right in the sweet spot and explodes off my bat.

It’s a home run. I don’t need to watch it sailing over the centerfielder’s head to know it’s going over the fence.

“Grandpa can hit,” one of the twins says as I drop the bat and start jogging to first.

Doug is ahead of me, dancing and taunting the cops as he rounds second base.

I grin at Ryland who won’t stop glancing at the parking lot as I finally stomp on home plate, making it 2-0.

So far, this game is going just as planned…

CHAPTER TWO

Cara

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