Starting From Scratch (5 page)

learn to move to the ball and gave them time to do so.

Nobody played any particular position at that point; I just

wanted them to get used to being in the field, to going

after the ball. I also didn’t want to have them run the bases

yet. Just to have fun batting. We’d run the next day.

A petite African-American boy named Gabriel was

up to bat first. He knew very well how to hold the bat and

he sent the ball sailing on his very first try.
Hey, maybe

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this’ll be easier than I thought,
went zipping through my

head as he proceeded to connect with the next eight balls I

set on the tee for him. Of course, I jinxed myself right then

because Gabriel was the only kid who hit it on the first

attempt.

When one of the Brittanys was up, I heard a woman’s

voice from the bleachers. “Come on, Britty! You know how

to do this!” I took a quick glance; she was on the edge of

her seat, hands fisted, looking way too invested in whether

or not her five-year-old could hit a plastic ball off a tee

with a plastic bat. e phrase Helicopter Parent flashed

into my mind. Terrific.

Brittany proceeded to whack the crap out of the tee

itself, but had trouble actually connecting with the ball.

“Eye on the ball, Brittany! Just like at home! Come

on!”

I was reasonably sure her mother’s continual shouts

weren’t helping. When I saw her big brown eyes start to

well up, I felt a little ache for her and spoke softly. “Hey,

let’s try again tomorrow, okay? Give yourself a break for

now. You’ll get it. Don’t worry.”

She nodded and sniffled, quite obviously trying not to

cry as she picked up her glove and went back out into the

field. I noted no encouraging comments from the

bleachers, only silence, and it forced an irritated breath

from my lungs.

Max the latecomer was next. He was a really cute kid

with enormous brown eyes and hair that was almost black.

His eyelashes were the impossibly long variety that most

women would kill for and when he gripped the bat, his

tongue poked out at the corner of his mouth in

concentration. I couldn’t help but smile at him. It took him

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three tries, but the third one, he hit over the heads of the

first line of fieldsman.

“Nice!” I cried.

e first thing Max did was whip his head around

toward the bleachers, his face a glowing smile of pride. His

mother was still on her cell and wasn’t even looking in his

direction. His smile dropped right off his face and he

turned back to the tee. I wondered what the opposite of a

Helicopter Parent was.

“Okay, gang, bring it in,” I called as the last kid, David,

finished his round at bat. Various vehicles were starting to

pull into the parking lot and I was happily surprised to see

that an hour had already passed. “Come here and sit down

for a minute.” It had only been one practice, but I felt like

I’d learned a few things and I wanted to talk to the kids

about them. “You did great. You did really, really great. I’m

proud of all of you.”

Gabriel snorted a laugh. “Brittany and Jordan couldn’t

even hit. At all.”

“Shut up,” Jordan snapped, his manhood obviously

bruised. Brittany just flushed a light pink.

I bit my lip to keep from snapping out a retort that

Gabriel’s parents probably wouldn’t appreciate. “You know

what Gabriel? First of all, this is a team. We’re all supposed

to work together and do you know what that means? It

means that the people who are good at certain things need

to help out the ones who might not be and that way the

whole team will get stronger together. So just because you

can hit the ball, it doesn’t mean you get to laugh at those

who might not have the hang of it yet. Making fun of your

teammates is not something I want to hear happening.

Understood?”

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Nods and murmurs rippled through the group, at least

from those who were paying attention. Katie was pulling

grass out by the roots and Mikey was sprawled out on his

stomach looking so comfortable that I wondered if he

might actually be napping.

“So, the fact remains that you all did well. You tried

your best and you’ll do it again tomorrow. at’s why we

have practice, so we can get better. Right?” At their nods, I

waved my hands as if shooing them away. “Good. Go. Go

home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

ey scattered like leaves in the wind.

I was picking up balls and putting them into Maddie’s

nylon bag when the lone male from the bleachers came to

say hi.

“Jake Weber,” he said, shaking my hand in a grip that

was both solid and friendly. “I’m Samuel’s dad.”

I fumbled in my brain to try to pick out which of the

boys was Samuel and finally settled on the quiet redhead

with the freckles and shy smile. “Of course,” I said, noting

Jake’s darker version of Samuel’s hair. “Samuel not Sam,” I

teased, using the phrase the boy had used to tell me his

name. “I’m Avery King.”

“Pleased to meet you.” His smile was kind and I liked

him right away.

“Samuel seems like a really nice kid.”

“He is. A little shy,” he added with a chuckle, “but a

good boy. He’s been looking forward to this since winter.”

He scratched at his neck. “Anyway, I just wanted to say

hello and meet the coach.”

“I’m glad you did,” I replied and meant it.

As Jake headed back to his son, Brittany’s mom

approached from the bleachers. Maddie hadn’t warned me

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about all this parent interaction and I made a mental note

to slap her the next time I saw her.

“Hi there,” she said, holding out her hand. “Marjorie

Sullivan.” Her clothes were designer, her makeup was

flawless, and her short hair was the color of spun gold and

perfectly highlighted. Everything about her said this was a

woman who was used to being listened to, used to getting

what she wanted.

“Avery King,” I responded, shaking her hand and

using effort not to wince as she overdid the firmness on her

end. “Nice to meet you. You’ve got a really nice kid there.” I

nodded in Brittany’s direction.

“ank you. I was just wondering if there was

anything my daughter should be doing at home to help her

with her batting skills.”

It was difficult, but I managed to keep my face neutral.

At least I hoped I did. “I think she’ll get the hang of it

during practice. is was only the first day and sometimes

it takes a little while. No need to worry, there’s plenty of

time. She’ll be fine.” What I wanted to say was,
Are you

serious? She’s five, for Christ’s sake. Give the kid a break.

Marjorie Sullivan didn’t look all that impressed with

my answer and I suspected I’d just dropped a couple

notches on her list of esteemed teachers and coaches.

“Well, maybe I’ll have my husband work with her anyway.”

I nodded, not that it mattered because she was

walking away. I followed her with my eyes, still just this

side of a little freaked by the amount of pressure she put

on her kindergartner. Before I pulled my gaze back to my

own world, I noticed Max and his mom. She was finally off

the phone and as she handed him a water bottle, she

looked at me. And totally sized me up. She was a good

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twenty feet from me, but her eyes crawled up my body so

intentionally I could almost feel them. I didn’t normally

mind when somebody checked me out. Hell, it was

flattering most of the time. But this just felt…a little dirty.

She wasn’t unattractive, but the way she leered at me made

her less good-looking than I might have originally

thought.

Okay, so Max’s mommy might be family. I wonder if

Max’s daddy knows that.

I filed it away, along with the fact that though she

couldn’t be bothered to come and introduce herself, she

apparently had no qualms about undressing me with her

eyes right there on the baseball field with her son standing

next to her. Shaking my head, I forced myself to look away

and continue cleaning up. When I finally ventured another

peek, the Lexus was pulling away.

1

“So? How’d it go?” Maddie’s voice wasn’t quite as

exuberant as usual, which I blamed on pain medication.

Much as I wanted to give her a hard time, I suspected she

was feeling crappy enough on her own without me adding

to her misery.

“Not bad at all. It was interesting, that’s for sure. And

different.” I mixed some tuna in with Steve’s dry food as I

spoke into the phone. He did a little tap dance on the

kitchen floor at my feet, giddy with anticipation. “You

didn’t tell me some parents might stay and watch.”

“Ooo, did I leave that part out?”

“Conveniently, yes.”

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“Sorry about that. It doesn’t happen often. Usually

they just want to dump their kids and come back later.

Anybody give you any problems?”

e way she said it made me think she’d had some in

the past and a feeling of dread sat in my belly like a peach

pit. “Not today. ough there was one mom who was a bit

overzealous in her cheering. I mean, it was practice, for

God’s sake.”

“Yeah, you’ll get that.” Maddie sighed and I could hear

her grunt as she shifted positions. “Some aren’t involved

enough and some are so over-involved you’re afraid you

might bump into them, they’re so close.” She seemed to

hesitate a little bit and then said, “Um, did anybody ask

about your marital status?”

“My what?”

“It’s just…I tend to keep my sexual orientation under

my hat.” I groaned and she went on. “I know, I know. I

don’t like it either, and I know how you hate feeling

closeted, but it’s just better that way. Trust me, there will

always be somebody who thinks a homosexual teaching

their kid is a gigantic no-no, and they’ll be sure to make a

big stink out of it.”

I hoped my silence told her how much I hated this

little wrench in the gears.

“I know,” she said again. “I know.”

I let her off the hook after a couple more seconds of

icy quiet. “How are you feeling?” I asked as I set Steve’s

bowl down before his little head exploded from the

waiting.

“Owie.”

“I’ll bet. Pain meds helping at all?”

“If I take extras, they do.”

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“Yeah, well, be careful of that,” I warned sternly. “e

last thing we need is for you to become a Vicodin addict or

something. at stuff can mess you up.”

“Hey, you know what would make me feel a lot

better?” she asked, her voice softening. “Some of those

triple chocolate cookies you made around Christmas time.

Remember those?”

A few minutes later I poured myself a glass of

Cabernet and donned my favorite apron, a simple black

one with brightly colored spatulas all over it that Grandma

bought me at least ten years earlier. Pulling mixing bowls

and ingredients out of cupboards, I set to work making

cookies for Maddie.

My love of baking comes from my grandmother. I

know it. She was a practical woman stuck raising her

daughter’s child, not something she ever expected to be

doing, I’m sure. She was fifty-five when my mother took

off and left four-year-old me with her, an age where she’d

been thinking about retirement, not how to entertain a

small child. She wasn’t the kind to play catch with me or

teach me to ride a bike (though she managed to do the

latter), but she made a mean chocolate chip cookie, among

other sweet confections. I still remembered shards of the

very first time I helped her. I must have been five or six and

she was working at the counter. I slid my little chair over

and stood on it so I could see what she was doing. Once I

was quiet enough, she simply began giving me

instructions. “I need an egg. Be careful with it.” “is is a

sifter; just pull on this handle until all the flour goes

through.” “ere’s a bag of chocolate chips in that

cupboard. Grab it for me.” And that’s how it began. It was

sort of unspoken, but that ended up being the quality time

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I spent with Grandma and it didn’t take long for me to

grow to love it. Cookies and cakes were her way of

showing me love, because I think she was so frustrated and

disappointed in her own child, she didn’t know what to say

to me.

So we baked.

I sometimes thought how weird it might have seemed

to somebody looking in from the outside. Somebody who

didn’t know, who wasn’t there during my childhood. But

Grandma took care of me; she clothed me and fed me and

put off her own retirement so I could go to a decent

college. She wasn’t terribly verbal in the emotions