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Summer was out in full swing when Shane pulled up. Muggy and hot by mid morning. The sun beat down on the parent volunteers spreading chalk lines, manicured outfield unnaturally green, foul lines crisscrossing the infield like railways. He kept his sunglasses on in the hope they’d shield him from the full fury of his hangover.
“Didn’t think you would make it,” Lori said as he slid onto the bleachers beside her.
“Said I’d come, didn’t I?” He smiled, or tried to. Moving muscles this dehydrated was hard. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
A small figure dragging a metal bat behind it like a tail waved at him and began jumping up and down. Carl had to be corralled by one of the coaches into stopping. Shane waved back even though just the motion made him nauseous. He wondered how mad Lori and the other parents would be if he hurled.
Lori laughed, oblivious to his agony. “He’s been practicing all week in the backyard. He’s been throwing balls at the fence and trying to catch them when they roll back. He said you told him it was important to work on his grounders.”
Shane had thought the fresh air and sun might warm him up to feeling human. It was having the opposite effect. But watching Carl swing at the tee and miss completely took some of the sting out of his head. “Our first t-ball practice, a ball bounced up into my face and broke my nose. Rick cried more than I did and never played baseball again. I’m hoping history won’t repeat itself.”
Lori tensed. All the joy and laughter slipped away from her like shifting sands. “He’s missing it.” Her gray eyes went hard as steel, cold as moonlight. “It’s his son’s first baseball game and he’s not here.”
“We’re short staffed on weekends now that Johnson and his wife moved to Florida. Someone had to volunteer.”
“It didn’t have to be him.”
They watched together as Carl swung again and made contact. He hit the base of the tee and the ball tipped forward onto the ground. Carl dropped the bat as big as he was and started running, arms and legs churning up a huge cloud of dust.
The it should have been you sat unsaid between them. It should have been Shane, the man without commitments and responsibilities, the one with time all his own. But sitting here, Carl running down the wrong line, toward third, then rounding on second, as the catcher stood with the ball in his hand, unsure what to do with it, he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“If it helps,” Shane said, because the silence bit his skin like teeth, “he knew he’d be partnered with Leon today. It might be his way of doing penance.”
Lori hid a tiny smile. “Well, so long as he’s a little miserable.”
Carl made it to home plate when the next batter, a tiny girl with pigtails, blasted the ball way out into left field. Carl pulled off his helmet, hair matted to his head like a knit cap, and waved at them again. They both gave him thumbs up and Shane whooped, just once, before he had to put his head between his knees and groan. “You think they’re selling hotdogs?”
“At ten in the morning?” Lori rolled her eyes. She dug through her purse for a bit and tossed a packet of Goldfish crackers into his lap. “Oh and I brought you this.” She handed him a coffee that, bless her heart, was spiked with whiskey.
He drained half the thermos in one go. He ate the crackers in a single handful. He felt less like a battered piece of meat left in the sun to swelter after that.
As he watched, Shane remembered, a long time ago, senior year and his first game of the summer. The hot weight of his blood coursing through him, heart fattened with promise. The wine-splotch of hickeys on his collarbones like a necklace. He’d kept glancing at the stands, peripheral vision cut by his faceplate, and each time a pang of disappointment cut him, until he had to look away.
Rick caught up to him later. He pulled his truck over, then got out, confused, when Shane kept walking down the road. The burden of Shane’s duffel slung across his shoulders was nothing next to the hard heaviness that had settled inside his chest. He could go for miles.
“Hey, come on,” Rick chased him down. “Shane, look at me.” Rick planted his feet, and it would be so easy to knock him over, knock him down, and let him feel it. Let Rick be the one left behind.
But they both knew Shane didn’t have it in him.
“One of the waitresses, Lori, needed a ride home. Her cousin never came to pick her up after her shift. I couldn’t just leave her.”
“Yeah man, I get it.” Shane tossed his gear into the truck bed. His uniform stuck to him with sweat. Shane said nothing else, preferring to watch the scenery fly by, blurred like tears, while Rick drove him home.
There were moments like this Shane thought he could feel the world spinning. Everything in his life moved around him, moved past him, but he stayed static through each rotation. Everyone else had a life they’d started and people to share it with, had built themselves a home.
The game ended without much fanfare. There was no talk of score. The teams high fived each other, cheering. Then they split in all directions, clutching juice boxes and plastic baggies of oranges, sprinting into open arms.
Carl came bouncing up to Shane and Lori, cheeks aglow. “Did you see me Shane? I hit the ball so far.”
Shane swung Carl up and onto his shoulders, giggling. “We better call the Hall of Fame and tell them to start getting your plaque ready, bud. Carl Grimes—most homeruns in history.”
Lori smiled up at Carl sweetly. She tweaked his nose. “I am so proud of you baby. You did great.” To Shane, she said “are you still coming over to barbecue when Rick’s off at two? Rick said he’s already pre-marinated the chicken.”
Shane nodded hard enough his upper body moved. Carl shrieked and wrapped both arms around Shane’s head to steady himself. His baggy of oranges smacked Shane in the eye. “Uh huh, and you tell Rick I’m bringing steak if that’s the case. The only rosemary I’m willing to eat works down at the A&W.”
Lori’s eyes went comically big and she smacked him on the arm. “Shane!”
Carl munched on an orange happily, a dollop of juice dribbling out of his mouth and onto Shane’s forehead. It slid down and over the bridge of his nose. Lori winced and dabbed at him with a napkin. “Can I go with Shane mama?” Carl asked, mouth full.
Lori raised her eyebrow. Shane just shrugged. The next orange Carl bit into splattered his hair with more juice. “I don’t mind. Now that we’re sticky we might as well go back to my place. Play in the hose. You up for a water fight Carl?”
Shane took Carl’s roar of excitement and flailing limbs as a yes.
Lori pointed her finger in accusation at them. “Okay. But no ice cream. You hear me? If either of you eats ice cream before lunch you’re both getting a spanking.”
“We promise,” Shane said, holding his right hand up like they did when they had to testify for the prosecution. “Right Carl?”
“Yeah. Pinky promise.”
“Alright. I’ll see you both at two. No . Ice cream .”
Once Lori was out of earshot, Carl whispered, “are popsicles ice cream?”
“You know bud, your mama was real vague about that.”
Shane watched Lori walk toward her and Rick’s house alone, arms wrapped around her body. Her hair stuck to her neck. She walked with the phantom load of more than just gear across her back.
It was nice, amid all life’s changes, to know that some things stayed the same.