Don't Make Me Beautiful (2 page)

“That so?”
 
Hank looks at Liam.
 
“You feeling lucky tonight, little man?”

Liam nods.
 
“My dad and I are ready.
 
We polished the stand before we came.”

Hank nods in appreciation.
 
“Well then, you’d better catch a ball tonight.”

The announcer interrupts their conversation, so Hank waves once and takes his seat.
 
Brian rests his glove in his lap with his hand loosely inside.

Liam looks up at his father, a blob of ketchup on the corner of his mouth and some mustard on his nose.
 
“Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“Do you really think we’ll get lucky tonight?”

Brian smiles.
 
“I think we have just as good a chance as anyone else out here.”

“Maybe better because we have your lucky glove, right?”

Wrapping his arm around his son’s skinny shoulders, he faces the field.
 
“You got that right.”
 
Brian holds up his glove sideways and Liam gives him the high-five he’s waiting for.

Chapter Three

MAYBE I’LL GET LUCKY TONIGHT and he’ll cheat on me and sleep somewhere else
.
 
Nicole says that to herself as a joke. He definitely cheats on her, but he never sleeps anywhere else, probably because he worries she’ll decide to go out again.
 
He should know better.
 
She’s too well-conditioned to dare doing that again.
 
Besides, the locked doors make it kind of difficult.

She glances over at the table by the door that’s lit with the streetlights’ glow coming through the transom window.
 
The framed picture is there, mocking her.
 
She’s tried to get rid of it several times, but the monster won’t let her.
 
It has to stay, he says, to remind her of what she’s done.

The sound of a car coming down the street makes her entire body go tense.
 
She’s gotten very good at detecting the type of vehicle that approaches by the sound of its engine.
 
This one roars loudly, so she knows it’s a truck.
 
She gets up from the couch, her body stiff, and shuffles towards the front window.
 
Twitching the curtains to the side the slightest bit is enough to tell her.
 
Yes.
 
It’s him.

She twists around and looks at the clock behind her.
 
It’s late.
 
Where has the time gone?
 
I must have been dozing off again.
 
Dammit!
 
He’s been to the local bar after work.

Rushing to the kitchen, she gets a beer out of the refrigerator and scrambles to open the drawer where the opener is kept.
 
Her hands tremble as she fits it into position over the bottle and uses it to lever the cap off.
 
As the top flips over, she loses her hold on it, and it falls to the floor in the dark kitchen, rattling around on the tile.

She puts the bottle down on the counter and nearly cries when some of the beer foams up and comes out the top to spill over the edge.

“Find the cap!
 
Find the cap!
 
Where are you, dammit?” She moans, patting the floor desperately with her hand, nearly weeping with relief when her fingers finally make contact with its jagged metal edges.

The engine goes silent.
 
A moment later the truck’s door shuts with a muffled clunk.

“Shit, shit, shit!” she whispers, grabbing the dishtowel off the hook and hurriedly wiping the bottle and counter down.
 
They cannot be wet, no matter what.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the front porch comes through the door.

She quickly hangs the towel on the hook, dropping the bottlecap into the trash on her way out of the kitchen.
 
Positioning herself in the front hallway next to the picture, she takes a deep breath and lets it out as the lock turns and the door opens.
 
Her entire body is trembling and sweat is coming from every pore.

The monster is home.

Chapter Four

IT’S THE LAST INNING AND the Marlins are at bat.
 
Bases are loaded and their team is down by three runs.
 
Liam looks up at his dad, his sad puppy-dog eyes saying everything Brian’s thinking.
 
“I guess it’s just not our day today, Dad.”

“Next game, buddy.
 
Next game.”
 
Brian looks down the field at the batter standing at the plate with his bat back and his head tipped down.
 
This guy hasn’t hit a fly ball worth anything in three years.
 
Game over.

“What if we never catch one, though?” asks Liam, no longer paying attention to the game.
 
“What if we come to every single Marlins game there ever was and we still don’t catch a ball?”
 
He seems almost stressed about the idea.

“I don’t know.
 
I don’t even think about that, because I know it’s not going to happen.”
 
Brian pats his son on the leg.
 
“I have faith, and my faith tells me if I’m patient enough and if I believe enough and want something bad enough, good things are going to happen.
 
I’m going to get that ball.
 
We’re
going to get it.”

“And catching a fly ball is a good thing,” says Liam, smiling once again, no longer stressed.

“Damn … darn straight.”

“Uh-oh.
 
You said damn.”

“Nah, I said damndarn, which technically isn’t a swear word.”

“Mom would say it is.”

Brian frowns, feeling a little guilty.
 
His ex-wife works so hard and she can’t be around as much as she’d like.
 
She’d hate to know that Liam’s recently controlled potty-mouth is going downhill again.
 
“Well, Mom’s not here, so we’ll just go with Dad’s definition for right now.
 
I won’t say it again, I promise.”

“Don’t worry.
 
I won’t tell.”

“You can tell.
 
We don’t keep secrets from Mom.
 
She’ll understand.
 
We’re at a game.”

“And anything can happen at a game, right Dad?”

“Yep.
 
That’s the way it goes.”
 
He points out to the field.
 
“Let’s see if Wilson can hit a home run.”

Liam snorts.
 
“He hasn’t hit a home run ever in his
life
, Dad.
 
He’s not going to hit one now.”

Brian laughs.
 
“How’d you know that?”

“I’ve been studying the stats book you gave me.”

Brian nudges him as he watches the pitcher wind up.
 
“I didn’t know you knew how to read.”
 
He holds back a smile.

Liam nudges him back.
 
“Stop teasing me.
 
You know I can read.
 
I read you the newspaper this morning.
 
That article about what’s-his-name.”

“See, I told you you couldn’t read.”

Liam rolls his eyes.
 
“Whatever.”

The pitcher winds up and sends a curveball over the plate.
 
The umpire signals a strike and Wilson steps back for a moment before getting into position again, the bat hovering over his right shoulder.

“He shoulda swung at that one,” says Liam, shaking his head in disappointment.

Brian smiles at his son, amused at how he’s copying something Brian knows he does all the time.
 
Running commentary on the game is one of their favorite parts of the sport, and at six, Liam’s already an expert.

“What do you think’s coming next?” asks Brian.

“Fastball.
 
I’ll bet he swings at it too.”

Brian pushes his hand into his glove.
 
“I guess I’d better get ready, then.”

Liam’s eyes are glued on the batter.
 
“Come on, Wilson.
 
Hit that ball to my dad.
 
We’re ready for ya.”

Brian wraps his right arm around his son’s shoulders and rests the gloved hand in his lap.
 
The end of another game, and they’re going out with hope in their hearts.
 
This is how life should always be - sitting by someone you love, enjoying the moment, waiting for something exciting to happen.

Wilson’s bat comes around as the fast ball Liam predicted goes sailing towards the plate.
 
It’s the most perfectly-timed swing Wilson has ever made in his six-year career.
 
The crack made by the bat meeting the ball echoes around the field, and he takes off running, dropping the bat on his way.

“Dad!
 
It’s a fly ball!
 
It’s a fly ball!” screams Liam, jumping up out of his seat.

Brian sees the ball coming into high left field, a tiny, white speck getting larger and larger as it gets closer.

“Fly ball!
 
Coming our way!” yells someone nearby.

Brian puts his glove in the air.
 
“I got it!
 
I got it!”

“Get it, Dad!
 
Get it!”
 
Liam has a grip on his dad’s leg that’s pinching the hairs there.

Brian barely notices. His heart is beating so hard and so fast, he can feel it on the inside of his ribs.
 
His breath comes in short, excited puffs.
 
This is the moment they’ve been waiting for.
 
The one he waited for with his dad that never came.

The ball keeps going, higher and higher.
 
Up and over the wall it sails.

Brian puts one foot on the seat and stands up, stretching his arm as far as he can and throwing his gloved hand up into the air.
 
The ball’s too high.
 
Too high!

And then his pocket catches the edge of the red-threaded white leather.
 
The ball doesn’t go in neatly like he’d always imagined it would.
 
It falls down as he bobbles it, trying to keep it in the glove.

Hands reach out from all around him, trying to steal the ball.

Brian battles to keep it close to his body, prepared to hug the thing to death if he has to.
 
This is his ball, his and Liam’s.

He has it in his forearms for a brief moment, before it slips through.
 
It would have dropped to the ground if a pair of hands right below Brian’s elbows hadn’t been there to stop its descent.

Brian comes back down to the ground, breathless, searching all over for the ball he almost had.

Liam is standing there with his hands out, a surprised look on his face and an almost brand-new baseball resting in his little fingers.

“You got it, Liam!” Brian yells, half excited, half incredulous.

“I got it, Dad!” screams Liam, sounding hysterical, looking scared to death.

Brian grabs his son and picks him up to hold him high.
 
“My boy caught the ball!”

Fans around them are cheering and clapping.
 
Liam’s shining face is displayed on the jumbotron, and the announcer is saying something about the fan catching Wilson’s only fly ball of his career.

Liam holds up his prize, his eyes glowing, his smile bigger than any he’s ever worn before.
 
Looking down at his dad, he leans over to hug his head.
 
“I knew we could do it, Dad.
 
I just knew it!
 
Teamwork, right?”

Brian lowers him down a little so he can give him a bear hug.
 
Squeezing the small boy to his chest and burying his face in his son’s neck he responds.
 
“You got it, Li-Li.
 
That’s the
best
kind of teamwork.
 
I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too, Dad.”

He puts Liam down, but the little boy is too excited to sit.
 
He bounces around on the tips of his toes as he holds up the ball over his head and searches the field for Wilson.
 
The crowd is too happy for him to complain about him blocking their view of the runners moving around the bases, each one of them tapping a foot on home plate to add another run to the scoreboard.
 
The last few minutes of the game pass in a dream as the Marlins take the win and Wilson gets a standing ovation from the crowd as his teammates put him on their shoulders and parade him around the field.

“This is the best game ever of all time, Dad,” says Liam, sliding his small hand into his father’s larger one.

“You said it, buddy.
 
You said it.”

“I never want this minute to end.”
 
Liam looks up at his dad.
 
“Do you?”

Brian shakes his head, wishing he could freeze time right here in this moment with his son.
 
“Nope.
 
I want it to always be like this.”

Chapter Five

IT’S ALWAYS LIKE THIS.
 
THE waiting.
 
The nervous fear.
 
The inevitable.
 
Nicole wishes she could go to sleep and wake up a year or ten later.
 
Skip all the parts in between.
 
But that’s not how her world works.
 
Each day goes by with agonizing slowness, until this moment.
 
The moment the monster pulls into the driveway and shuts off his engine.
 
Then time moves forward with lightning speed, bringing him to the doorstep and through the front door where she’s waiting in the hallway.

He steps inside and flicks on the light, not looking at her.