Pitcher's Baby (5 page)

“Come on, baby, I want to show you
something,” she whispers in my ear and then turns to my brother. “Hey, tiger, I
think I hear someone at the door. Can you run and check on it for me?” He jumps
up, racing toward the front door while Mom rushes me out the back. We jump on
the golf cart she keeps by the door for running errands in the trailer park. She
turns the key and presses the pedal to the floor. The cart jerks several times,
losing its grip on the icy ground before gaining traction and carrying us away.

“Can I drive back?” I ask her.

“Not today, baby. We have to hurry.” She
replies, speeding across the trailer park toward Kenny’s house.

I don’t think anything of it at first.
Even still, when we ride over to Kenny’s, I just figure she remembered
something she needed to do, and besides, I’m excited to tell Natalie, Kenny’s
daughter and my best friend, about my presents, but she doesn’t let me go
inside. Instead, she crawls in Kenny’s Oldsmobile and tells me to get in and
buckle up. I do, and as we speed out of the trailer park, passing what had been
my home for the last three months, I see a beat-up blue Chevy parked in the
grass of our front yard. The driver’s side door is wide open. I press my hand
to the passenger's side window and choke on a sob that erupts from deep within
my chest. That explains why she was acting so funny. I process the thought, detached.

My wish has finally come true—at least,
for my brother. As we drive down the long driveway, I strain my neck, looking
backward until we turn around a sharp curve and I can’t see anything except the
long, windy road behind me. Closing my eyes, I pray for a miracle. Behind my
closed lids, I see it all over again—my brother standing on the front steps of
the porch with his Power Ranger pajama top pulled up, and he lifts his arms as
high as he can reach and wraps them around my daddy’s neck. He has found us.
Tears fill my eyes unknowingly and spill down my cheeks.

Merry Christmas, Bubba . . . I love you.

Chapter Seven

Lucas

It’s the bottom of the fifth inning. The
score on the board across the field shows 5 to 1 in favor of the Angels, who
are playing here this week. It’s not looking good in our favor. Scott Shelton
opened as pitcher this afternoon, and after four innings our pitching coach,
Coach Traps, and Coach Matherson have both made a visit to the mound. Coach
Matherson pulls him from the game, sending in the relief pitcher, Jeremy Banks.

I just hope it wasn’t too late.

Glancing out the corner of the fence of
the bullpen, I can see Charlee and her new friend, Ashlin, in the family
section of the stands. Everly is on her bouncy chair with an umbrella shading
her from the hot Arizona heat beating down on the concrete. Every once in a
while, I see Charlee take a small battery-powered fan that mists water and let
it spray down on her sleeping baby girl.

They seem to be enjoying the game. Ashlin
is jumping up and down like a cheerleader at a football game every time one of
our teammates makes a run, causing quite a few head shakes from the wives
around them, not that either of them seems to care one bit.

Aaron steps up to the batter’s box and
takes a few test swings, getting used to the weight of the bat in his arms
again. Charlee scoots forward on her seat as the announcer overhead plays his
stats across the big screen, flashing his pretty mug for the world to see. The
ladies in the crowd go nuts, screaming and yelling, but she tunes them out
completely in focus on her brother. He glances into the stands and tips his
helmet to her before stepping to the plate.

I can almost feel the determination
pouring off him in waves right now, but I don’t watch him. I watch Charlee.
She’s braced on the very edge of the plastic red seat. I see her lips moving,
counting, but I don’t know why. Her sight is set on the pitcher and his pre-windup.
She’s watching him intently, the way Aaron watches me from behind the plate.

I don’t look back down the field. I don’t
have to. A hush has fallen over the crowd. Everyone is holding their breath,
waiting to see what will happen between these two. The tension in the air is
thick.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Swing.

I can read her lips now, even from this
distance. I hear Aaron tap the bat against the base and then kick his feet into
the dust, scuffing them against the dirt around home plate. Charlee stands and
leans against the railings, watching her brother who is watching the pitcher.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Swing.

The crack of the ball against the bat can
be heard for miles. It shatters the silence in the stadium moments before the
fans stand, screaming for Aaron to run. There is no need. He knocked the ball
clear out of the park, bringing in four total runs counting himself.

We are now tied.

I glance back up at Charlee, but she’s no
longer standing. No, now she’s back in her seat, holding Everly in her arms and
staring straight at me with a soft smile playing at her luscious mouth.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she
knew how to read the pitcher.

That, or she’s psychic, and since I don’t
believe in all that nonsense, I’m left with one conclusion, and conveniently,
one question.

I wonder if she can read me?

“Damn good hit, man. Knocked it out the
park,” Rorry, one of our outfielders, says, congratulating Aaron when he comes
back in the dugout.

“That was the plan, man,” Aaron says,
coming to sit next to me.

“Did you see my hit, or were you too busy
staring after my sister?” I know he’s just busting my chops, but the fact that
I was staring after his sister makes this situation feel insanely awkward.

“Dude, can she read the pitch?” I ask,
trying to change the subject. It works, thank God.

“Yeah. She’s always been able to. Actually,
she’s the one who taught me how when we were kids. It just came naturally to
her. Hell, everything to do with sports came easy as hell to her, but she never
really cared about them. One day, I showed my ass, swearing up and down she was
cheating, and she asked me why I didn’t just count the ticks and wait like she
did. I had no fucking clue what she was talking about, but after a lot of
practice, I managed to grasp it.”

“Seriously? Why didn’t she go into sports?
If not to play, as a scout or coach? Hell, anything. People pay out the ass for
someone who can do what she does.”

“She never wanted to. I don’t know, man.”

“Wow. That’s crazy. You think she can read
me?”

“I’ve never found an athlete she can’t
read. Baseball, basketball, soccer, football. It doesn’t matter. She always
knows when he’s going to release. She can pinpoint his pattern in fewer than
five minutes, and after that, there’s no outsmarting her.”

“Damn. You know I’m gonna have to test
it.”

“Go for it. Maybe she can help you hide
your ticks so others won’t be able to read you either.”

“Hell yeah. You think she will?”

“After she finds out that gift on her bed
wasn’t from me? Yeah, she will. She’s going to want to repay you somehow. My
advice to you man . . . let her. And in the future, if you want to make her
happy, don’t do it by buying her stuff. She is as far from materialistic as
they come. Seriously. That girl would rather live under a bridge and be happy
than live in a mansion and be miserable.”

“Dude, you know I didn’t buy it for that.”

“I know that, but she won’t.”

“Fuck.”

“Oh shit. Easy there, Luc, Saint Peter
might come down here and snatch you up right now if he hears you cuss again.”
Aaron laughs, picking at me for my aversion to cussing, but I don’t laugh back
with him. I can’t stop thinking about Charlee and how she’s going to react to
the camera when she finds out I bought it for her.

Never in a million years did I think she
would get pissed off, but then again, I wasn’t really thinking at all. I saw
the way her eyes lit up when she saw that flyer for the photography class, and
then when she said she didn’t have a camera anymore, the heartbreak in her
voice just about destroyed me right then and there, so I pretended to have to
use the restroom, and instead, I ran into Wilson Camera and asked the clerk at
the counter for the best professional camera and any lenses she may need to go
with it. I didn’t care how much it cost. It didn’t matter to me at all. All
that mattered in that moment was making her smile.

“Hey, man, don’t sweat it too bad. If you
want, I’ll just tell her I got it for her.”

“No. I don’t want to start this off by
lying to her. Something tells me she has had enough of that in her life. I’ll
tell her and pray she doesn’t kill me.”

“Kill you? Nah. She’s more into brutally
maiming people nowadays.”

“Thanks. I feel so much better.”

The next two batters strike out, and
before I know it, we’re back on the field. Coach Matherson puts in Troy Grayson
as relief pitcher, and I watch as he goes through his warmup with Aaron.
Charlee watches for a second, but after a quick shake of her head, I have about
as much faith in us winning this game as she does. I wish there was a way to
get her opinion on what she thought he needed to do, but we aren’t allowed to
leave the dugout during the game unless we’re going on field.

Glancing up toward her and Ashlin, it
seems Charlee has had the same thought as me, because now she is holding up a
sign and facing our dugout.

Tap. Tap. A picture of a donut.

Tap. Tap. A picture of a pencil.

It takes me a minute, but I get what she
is saying.

“Coach.”

“Yeah, Bouchard?” Coach Traps calls back
to me.

“A word, please, sir?” He walks to the
dugout fence, where I meet him. I can tell he isn’t happy about being called
away from the game, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to help us win this thing.

“Make it quick, 23. I got a game to
coach.”

“Yes, sir. Grayson is giving away his
pitch, Sir.”

“No shit. I just can’t figure out how.”

“When he goes to throw a curve, he taps
his foot twice and then circles it in the dirt, but when he’s throwing a
fastball, he taps twice and draws a straight line.”

“No shit? How did you figure that out?”

“I didn’t. Cooper’s sister did. She’s in
the stand.”

“Thank her for me, 23.”

“Yes, sir.”

I turn back to Charlee and tip my hat to
her and mouth the words
thank you
. Charlee, ever the smart aleck, bows
at the waist and curtsies me.

We end up winning the game 6 to 5. I have
no doubt that if it hadn’t been for Charlee’s quick eye and smart thinking, we
would have lost the game. Thanks to her, our winning streak continues. After a
quick shower and change of clothes, I meet Aaron and Charlee at the entrance to
the stadium.

“This chick has decided she is starving.
You wanna run and grab a bite to eat?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

“Alright, you guys wanna follow us or how
do you want to do this?” Aaron asks Charlee and Ashlin.

“Yeah, we can follow you. I’ve got
Everly’s base in the car already.”

“Mexican sound good?”

“Mmm. Fuck yes. My favorite,” Charlee
says.

The restaurant is packed when we arrive,
but we are able to find a seat outside on the balcony without much wait. It’s
nice to sit at the table with friends and enjoy a nice, quiet meal without a
lot of drama and crazies interfering. Of course, I should have known that
wouldn’t be good enough for Aaron.

“Who wants to hit up the club when we
leave here?”

“Not me. I’m going to the house. I need to
get my bags packed for tomorrow.” We head back out of town tomorrow, this time
heading to Boston.

“Of course you don’t want to go. You don’t
know how to have a good time,” Aaron says sarcastically.

“Whatever,” I reply.

“I need to get Everly home and in bed, so
I’m out too.”

“I’ll go.” Ashlin offers. “Can I invite a
few friends?”

“Sure, the more the merrier.”

Chapter Eight

Charlee

Ashlin chatters on and on about what she’s
planning to wear to the party tonight, and I try really hard not to shut her
out. I want to be a good friend, so I really do try, but parties and clothes
and all of that have never meant much to me. I have never understood the appeal
of the world of fashion. I mean, what's the point in spending tons of dollars
on something that you may only wear once or twice? I'm a much simpler girl.
Give me a baggy t-shirt and some comfy jeans paired with my favorite Converse,
and I am set. On occasion, I'll slip on a summer dress, but usually only when I
haven't done laundry that week and I don't have anything else to wear—like
today.

The first look Emma got at my closet four
years ago sent her into shock. I worried that she might have a heart attack
looking in at the lack of clothes and accessories. She stood there staring at
my meager belongings with a disgusted curl of her lip. I wanted to say
something, to take up for myself, but I couldn't even muster the energy, so I
just kept my mouth shut and let her dress me whenever the occasion called for
it, which, according to Emma, was often.

“Is Andy going with you?” Andy and Ashlin have
been dating off and on now for the past two years, but apparently, things have
been different lately. He’s been acting strange, and I have a feeling they aren’t
going to last too much longer.

Picking a book off the shelf in the living
room with a striking cover on it, I flip it over and read the synopsis before I
set it back down. I'm not too big into sci-fi romance, especially when alien
inhabitants are mating with humans, creating a new race of genetically altered
beings. I pick up another, quickly reading the back of it.

Arsema believes she is just a regular sixteen-year-old
girl until a week before the start of her junior year, when she starts to
experience strange occurrences. Soon after, she is thrust into a world that
feels more like make-believe than reality.

To make matters worse, she is being hunted
by two ancient races of supernatural beings, one looking to find and save her
life and in turn save their race, the other looking to use her to bring an end
to the world as she knows it.

After being attacked and kidnapped by her
best friend's boyfriend, she is rescued by the guy she has been having reoccurring
dreams about. Soon, her life is not the only thing she is in jeopardy of losing
as she finds herself falling hard and fast for her rescuer, Lyon. But will she
be able to see past who or what he really is and accept him as he is?

Sounds like my cup of tea. I slip it on
top of my ever-growing stack of “
to read soon
” books and keep browsing.

“Who knows? I am so over Andy. I mean,
don't get me wrong. He is ah-mazing in the bed, but the problem is that I can't
keep him in
only
my bed. I swear, that boy thinks I’m dumb or something.
Like I can’t see what’s going on right under my own nose? Pshhh. Please.”

“Oh my God, Ash. How long have you known
that?” I am the worst friend in the world. I’m so lost in my own world that I
didn't even realize my friend was hurting. I can't believe it.

“Oh, I've suspected it for a while, but ya
know how it is. When you’re comfortable you don't want to change it. You don't
wanna have to think about a life alone, so you stay even when you know it's not
what's right. I guess I finally got to a point where I'd rather be alone than
deal with it anymore.”

“I feel so bad. I don't know what to say,
Ash. God!”

“No worries, babe. I'm good.” She laughs.
“Now help me zip this thing up.”

I pull the two ends of her dress together
and zip it up for her while she slips her feet into a pair of nude high heels.
While I watch her finish getting ready, my mind wanders back to the night we
left North Carolina. I can't believe it's been thirteen years since the last
time I saw Meika. I wonder how she is. Would she remember me?

No.

You didn't mean shit to her.

She forgot about you before your
taillights faded in the night.

Thirteen
years earlier...

Tap. Tap. Tap. My mind registers the
incessant knocking just before Granny T yells through the door. “Charlee, that
friend of yours is here.” I jump up from my seat by the window, where I must
have drifted off, and run out the back door to meet Meika, my only friend here
in Kannapolis, North Carolina, our new home.

We drove for over ten hours on Christmas
morning and arrived here at Frank’s Granny’s house around nine that night.
Frank showed up about an hour after us in Mom’s trusty El Camino, loaded down
with whatever he could escape with. To say Granny T is a gracious host would be
like saying Meika is a tall, beautiful blonde babe. She’s not, but she’s my
best friend, my only friend if you wanted to get technical.

When we first arrived, I was sullen and
reclusive. I refused to talk to anyone or to play with any of the neighbors,
and after about a week, they all gave up trying. Well, everyone except Meika.
She was relentless in her chase. I swear, it was like she just KNEW that I
needed her. I was alone. I was scared. I was hurting, and at ten years old, I
had no idea what to do with the pain I was feeling. I had no idea how to be
more than what I had become.

My past defines me. It's who I am.

I am . . .

Unseen.

Unheard.

Unwanted.

That is what I am . . . if I’m anything at
all, and I have no idea how to let someone close enough to me to see beyond
that.

Meika didn’t care.

She didn't want me to be anyone except
whoever I was in that moment. She would come over and just sit next me in
silence some days, and then others, when she thought I might need more, she
would tell me about her life. I learned a lot about her in those first few
weeks, about the kind of life she had, and I realized that even though I didn't
have who or what I wanted right that moment, I did at least have someone.

The back door slams behind me, startling
Meika from her perch on our trash can. She bounces down, her rubber boots
hitting hard on the snow-covered ground. It’s falling faster now. Almost all of
her short black braids are peppered white from the dusty snow. She sticks out
her tongue and circles with her arms wide, trying to catch the falling flakes.
I laugh out loud at her.

“Come on, you nut, before we are late.” I
grab hold of her coat sleeve and pull her toward the path that leads to our
church. Sunday school starts in fewer than twenty minutes, and it’s a good fifteen-minute
walk on a pretty day. Chances are, we are going to be late anyway. We take off
running through the woods, dashing under branches swollen with winter dusting
until finally, the church yard comes into view.

Meika and I make it back home just after one
and go our separate ways. I round the corner of the house and immediately hear
Granny T inside yelling.

“I’m telling you, you better keep a better
watch on that girl of yours! Letting her run around with that niglet! It ain't
right, Frank. You know it ain't. Don't nothing good ever come from hanging out
with that kind!” I stumble to a stop under the kitchen window and listen,
waiting to hear what Frank has to say. I am shocked. And angry. I knew Granny T
didn't like Meika. She refused to let her come in the house, even to just use
the bathroom, but I never would have guessed it was because of the color of her
skin. It just doesn’t make any sense to me. She could no more help what color
her skin is than I could. It made me wonder if she had any idea that my Granny
in Alabama is black or that I am part black. Would she throw me out if she
found out?  I wait, shivering in my threadbare coat, for someone to take up for
Meke, but no reply comes.

I don't know how long I stay there,
refusing to go back in her house, but the sun is setting and my teeth are
chattering uncontrollably. I thought about going to Meika’s house, but that is
one rule I am too scared to break. Her family didn't let many people come over.
Ever. Even though my mom is allowed there, I’m still not. I'm not sure if that is
her decision or Garrett, Meika’s uncle’s, decision. The closest I’m allowed is
the tall oak that separates our yard from theirs. There is a tire hanging from
a thick branch that we like to swing back and forth on. I head there now, too
cold to sit still any longer.

Mom is walking across the back yard when I
reach the swing. I watch as she peeks back over her shoulder, and then she
notices me and picks up her already hurried pace.

“What are you doing, Charlee? Come on,
let's get inside,” she says as she pulls me along with her. I think about
telling her what Granny T and Frank said earlier, but something tells me now is
not the best time. She is practically dragging me across the yard, her steps
are so quick. I’m having a hard time keeping up. We hurry through the back door,
and she locks it tightly before pulling the curtain back and looking over to
Meika’s yard again. I want to ask what she is doing, but I don't dare. Instead,
I go to the bathroom and run some warm water, excited at the thought of finally
warming my bones.

It's not much later when I crawl from the
warm embrace of my bath water, but already my Mom has most of our things packed
into large black trash bags. I look around curiously, wondering for a moment if
Frank decided we couldn't stay here with someone so hateful anymore. Nothing
would make me happier. Mom notices me and tells me to go grab something to eat.
“Grab a few granola bars and some sodas to take with us, baby.”

It's pitch black outside now. Mom won’t
let me turn on any lights in the house. She says it needs to look like we are
all asleep, so I leave them off and do my best to not run into anything as I
take another load out to her El Camino. I'm turning to head back inside when
Meika surprises me. She runs up to me, grabbing my hands, and that's when I
notice she is shaking uncontrollably.

“Charlee, y'all have to go. Go right now!”
She is whispering, but it’s forceful. I get the impression that if she could
talk normally, she would be screaming at me.

“Why, Meika? What's wrong?” I ask her,
confused, and she slaps her hand over my mouth.

“Shh. Whisper, ok?” I nod yes, that I will
whisper, and she removes her hand.

“My uncle . . . he says your mom took
something from him. He's really mad, Charlee. I don't know what it was, but
he's called others over and they all have guns and stuff. Charlee, y'all have
to go, right now. I'll stall them, but you need to leave. Promise!”

I'm shaking with fear now, remembering the
way my mother was acting earlier when she came from their house. I wrap my arms
tightly around Meika’s thin waist and tell her goodbye, and then I run back
into the house, no longer caring what I run over.

I search every room, yelling as quietly as
I can for my mother. I can't find her anywhere, then I see a small light coming
from under the bathroom door. My heart is beating in my chest, like it is about
to pounce straight out. I don't knock. We don't have time. I shove open the
door, my eyes finding her immediately.

I will never forget the way she looked
when that door flew open. She sits, straddling the toilet, with her greasy hair
sticking to the side of her sweaty face, which is cast downward toward the
dirty floor. The brightness in her deep, sunken eyes fades as she slides the
needle farther into the vein in her arm. I stand there for a moment, unable to
tear my eyes away from her thin, bony hands as she gently pushes the orange
plunger down farther and farther until all the murky liquid is gone.

My mind notices other things too. Things
that I didn't even realize it has seen until much later—like the coffee cup on
the bathroom counter and the spoon lying haphazardly next to it. How many times
had I seen this over the last few months and never questioned it? Is this what
she had been doing this entire time? What exactly is she doing?

I stand there, unable to break the spell
she has forcefully woven over me. I’m not even sure she notices me until she speaks.
Her words slur unattractively. “Hey, babyyy. ‘Mere.” She motions for me to come
closer. “You wanna try it?” she asks, holding up the needle she just pulled
from her arm. “I won't ‘ive you too much. Jus nuff so you know what it'sss
like. It makes you feel soooo good.”

I have often wondered what my face must
have looked like in that moment.
I just stand there,
staring at her with my mouth hanging open, wondering silently who this woman in
front of me is. How did I end up here?