Asked For (29 page)

“Your glove.”

James frowned at Mr. Morgan. Christmas was there in those dark eyes, that Christmas long ago when he’d received the glove. Pop had been upset, Magdalena had been thrilled, Mama had… Mama had been beautiful. That’s when James had seen it, seen Mr. Morgan was right, Mama was beautiful. James didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t touched the glove in maybe a year. He hadn’t played ball since he’d failed at the tryout.

“I want you to use it again.”

James shook his head. “You gave me the glove?”

“What were you thinking about when you ate the sundae this evening?”

“Baseball.” James sighed and looked down. “And Andy.” The things that lay in his soul. He looked up at Mr. Morgan.

“It’s time to be James again. James the ball player. You’re ready.”

Something bubbled to life inside. James didn’t know if he could drag Andy away from the girls he’d discovered long enough to help him, but these muscles he had were surely good for something. He could pitch again, somehow force Andy to catch. Mr. Morgan was right, he needed to be himself again.

“I’ll provide the sundaes.” Mr. Morgan grinned.

James wanted to hug him, but he didn’t. His life was charging forward, like a burst of acceleration when riding with Magdalena. “Thank you, thank you again, Mr. Morgan! We all thank you!” James couldn’t wait. He couldn’t wait to slip the glove over his hand. He couldn’t wait to tell Andy, Magdalena, his other sisters, and Harold. And Mama. Beautiful Mama. Maybe this would bring beauty back into her eyes.

Chapter 41

Lana 1940

Magdalena opened the door to Mr. Morgan’s restaurant and held it, waiting for Lana to enter. Her daughter’s ease at what she was doing impressed her. There was no shyness on Magdalena’s face, no evidence of feeling ashamed.

“Come on, Mama.” Magdalena stretched to her toes. She grinned. She was excited. “They’ll be all right. Even Carla. You and I will sit here for awhile until their movie’s over. We’ll have fun!”

Lana stepped through the door. She wanted to ask about Ida, whether Ida was here and what she’d think of Lana’s children seeing their first movie while she spent some leisurely time at a restaurant. “Maybe we should go to the other café. Maybe we should have stayed at the movie.”

“Mama, you know Betsy wanted to be in charge. Let her. She’ll be proud.” Magdalena wasn’t fooling her. She had chosen Mr. Morgan’s restaurant because she knew how her father despised the man. “Come on. The food’s good here.”

Harold and Alex had begged Cletus for money before he left for work. They wanted to see a film and had promised to work extra hard if he’d let them. Lana was shocked when Cletus slapped money on the table. Magdalena swiped it up the moment he walked out the door, counted it, did the math, and said there was enough for her and Lana to have a soda, something Lana’d never had.

The restaurant buzzed with a pleasant early afternoon hum. Booths lined both walls and small Formica-topped dining tables with matching covered chairs were scattered throughout the center. She hadn’t noticed the colors before. She’d only seen the darkness of Cletus’ shop, the closed office door. In the back of the restaurant and off to one side was a long, shiny counter with silver fountains and glass containers full of brightly colored candies.

“It’s sure pretty, ain’t it, Mama?”

Lana scoured the faces for Ida. If she was here, she was in the back. “It’s wonderful, but…”

“Let’s sit down.” Magdalena headed to the left, passing a number of booths until she came to the same one the children had sat in before. Magdalena slid in one side and pointed to the seat across from her. “Sit there, Mama.”

Lana slid in opposite her daughter, almost missing the seat, her eyes taking in the colors, the lines, and the bustle around her. “This really is nice.”

Mr. Morgan fell into her line of perusal. He was behind the fountain, leaning an elbow on a tall silver canister. His face danced with animation, he was engaged in conversation with another man, who was feasting on something colorful in a tall fountain glass. Mr. Morgan’s laugh carried above the restaurant din. He sounded happy, he looked content. He threw his head back as he laughed, and then he spotted her and his eyes changed. He finished his conversation and looked her way again. He snatched up a small white towel, wiped his hands, and walked toward their booth.

Her face heated as he drew near. Mr. Morgan certainly knew, knew what Mr. Kline had insinuated and Ida had fairly stated. He had to know what Ida thought of her, also.

“Maybe we should go.” Lana leaned forward and whispered to Magdalena.

Magdalena scrunched up her face. “Why?”

“Good afternoon, ladies.” Mr. Morgan was beside the table, an aroma sweeping with him, a blend of fried food, sweet fruity flavors, and pine soap.

“Hello, Mr. Morgan.” Magdalena looked up and grinned. “I brought Mama back.”

Lana looked up as Mr. Morgan looked down. His eyes sparkled, but still she knew. She could see it in his gaze, what everyone thought, what everyone probably was aware of. Her face grew warm.

“Welcome to my restaurant. Since you didn’t have anything the first time, my offer still stands. For both of you. Whatever you want is on me.”

“Oh, goody!” Magdalena bounced in her seat.

“No, no, we couldn’t.” Lana reached across the table toward her daughter.

“You could. And I insist. What would you like?”

“One of those big burgers with cheese and onions and catsup. Oh, and dill pickles. And some of those fried potatoes, with pepper on them, and a soda. Make that a root beer float.” Magdalena fired her order off. Lana frowned.

“How about double that?” Mr. Morgan grinned.

Lana wanted to ask—ask what she should do. His eyes were so kind, and so was he.
Don’t get your needs confused with the way men are.
He turned and walked away. She watched him disappear to the back and through a door.

Her needs. She didn’t even know for sure what they were, but they were there. And they hurt.

“See that man over there?” Magdalena leaned across the table and whispered, her eyes alight, almost with sparks. Lana looked at a man she didn’t know, while Magdalena whispered on, telling a bit about him, and then another. Sitting in Mr. Morgan’s restaurant with her daughter was like watching a movie. A panorama of people strolled in, ate and conversed, then walked out while Magdalena kept a running narration, whispering everything she knew about each person.

Lana eyed her daughter. “How do you know so much?”

Magdalena shrugged.

“Here you go.” A waitress appeared with their food. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” Magdalena said, stuffing a fried potato into her mouth.

The waitress disappeared, and Lana lifted the sandwich from her plate. It looked delicious. She tasted a fried potato—crisp, salty, peppery, and greasy. This was nothing like what she made at home, nothing like anything she’d ever had before. She devoured every bite.

“This was truly wonderful.” Lana closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. There were fewer people now, fewer customers, and more sounds of cleaning than cooking and talking, the odor of pine overpowering the smell of fried food. Lana relaxed, drifting along with the last few minutes of quiet, of adults interacting with each other, before she was to meet her children outside the theater.

The bell tingled on the door. She heard it open, and she listened, counting the footsteps of whoever’d come in. It was one person, not two. Soft steps, rather brisk, probably a woman. The footsteps approached from behind, passed near their booth, and continued to the back of the restaurant. A chair scooted out, and Lana heard the person sit. She imagined the person looking around, deciding what to order…

Then that smell. A sweet odor caught her, billowing in the wake of whoever had passed. Lana straightened and opened her eyes. She saw the back of her, the woman she’d only seen once but now smelled for the third time.

“Let’s go.” Lana slid to the end of her seat and stood. Magdalena followed Lana’s gaze to the woman’s back.

Lana fumbled with her cloth bag, searching for the money Cletus had given her.

“No need for that.” He was near. She hadn’t heard him or seen him approach. Mr. Morgan was there beside her, between her and that woman.

“Please, I insist,” Lana whispered. She glanced around Mr. Morgan, at the woman’s back.

The woman turned, out of curiosity, nosiness, or impatience. She stared at Lana for a moment before her face changed and Lana felt the color drain from hers.

Suddenly Magdalena was there between them, her back to the woman and her face toward Lana. Mr. Morgan’s arm threaded through hers, but she pulled back. “I can’t,” Lana said. “Your sister, other people…”

“Pay no attention to Ida,” he said close to Lana’s ear. “She means well, but she imagines far more than she knows.” He steered her to the door, her arm wedged within his, Magdalena behind them closing off the view between Lana and the woman.

Mr. Morgan opened the door and let loose of Lana’s arm. “Do come back,” he said. “Any time.”

Magdalena thanked him as the door closed between them and the woman. Lana looked back.

“Don’t, Mama.” Magdalena turned toward the theater. “We’ll go back, like he said. And next time we’ll have beef stew. But don’t look back. I never do.”

Chapter 42

James 1959

“Whose car is this?” James looked at the red and white monstrosity Magdalena drove into the lane. She idled to a stop and cut the engine smoothly instead of throwing it into a violent death. Mama stood next to him. They watched the driver’s door open and Magdalena’s curly head pop out, a cigarette balanced between her lips.

“Kevin’s,” she said, squinting in her own smoke.

James looked at Mama,
Who’s Kevin?
in his glance. Mama was probably wondering the same thing, but she kept it to herself, nothing in her expression letting anyone know if she was surprised.

“Ready to go?” Magdalena took the cigarette from her mouth. She gazed over the top of the car at them.

“Sure.” James opened the passenger door for Mama. She slid in, and he closed it for her. He slipped into the rear seat and slid to the middle so he could lean on the back of the front seat to hear and talk. Magdalena jumped in, started the car, and backed up. They were on their way. A baseball game. James patted the glove on the seat next to him.

Playing baseball was harder than it used to be. James didn’t play for fun now, and it was no longer because he wanted to be good enough so Pop would come. He played for real again, even more so than he had before, played more than town games. He had to go farther away, try harder to find games and teams that would challenge him, put him in front of the people who mattered. This game, the one Magdalena was driving him to, was that game. A tryout. Scouts were supposed to be there, scouts from the Lakewood team he’d tried out for before. James stared at the road. Magdalena drove plenty fast, but not fast enough. He dug his knees into the back of the seat, pushing the car harder and faster. He wanted to be there now.

“You ready for this?” Magdalena shouted over the engine, the sound of the wheels biting at the dirt and rock in the road.

“You bet,” James shouted back. He thought of all the nights he and Andy had stayed late in Pop’s shop because it was cold and wet outside, Andy crouched, catching, while James pitched. Over and over, night after night. Pop never knew. James never told him. Pop would have locked James out, taken back the key James carried. He and Andy pitched and caught, pitched and caught, until finally Andy would beg for relief and they would cut through the alley to Mr. Morgan’s restaurant, where he waited for them, ready to make two heaping ice cream sundaes so they could talk baseball.

Mama smiled over her shoulder at James, her gaze resting on Magdalena before she returned it to the road. The smile waned. James knew Magdalena would tell them who Kevin was when she was ready. And she’d let them know about Max, whether he was still her husband or not. Pop made sure Magdalena had no safety net. He wasn’t there to catch her between beaus or between husbands. She wasn’t allowed to stay at home anymore. She had to go from one fellow to the next if she wanted a place to stay. It didn’t seem to bother her. She never asked to come home, she never seemed heartbroken, either, for the Maxs, the Earls, or the Joes she left behind.

Dexter was over an hour away. James had left work early, and Mama had left fixing supper to Betsy. Neither he nor Mama said it to the other as they’d stood side by side in the drive, waiting for Magdalena. They both knew this was the way things were now. Pop would manage without them.

“There it is!” Magdalena shouted like a child. James jumped, craned farther forward against the front seat. Dexter loomed ahead, houses and buildings waning to insignificance as James spotted a big crowd of cars on the right. That must be the ball diamond. He grabbed his glove and scooted to the door. Magdalena pulled in behind the cars.

“See you after the game.” He slammed the car’s door behind him and ran toward the field. Other players, some he’d played with before, milled around, tossing balls back and forth while they waited. He became lost amongst them.

James forgot about time, the rest of his life, the parts of it that pitted failure against success. Mama’s voice pierced his concentration when he was near the fence or coming to bat, Magdalena’s Indian war whoop embarrassing him. He pitched, he batted, he played infield and out. He watched the other players, he studied the crowd, anyone who looked like a scout, anyone who didn’t.

Finally he saw him. Them. One he’d seen before, when he’d tried out last time. The man next to him was new, different, but there they were, notebooks on their laps and pencils in their hands.

“Batter up!”

James tapped the sides of his shoes with the bat, then let it swing loosely at his side as he walked to the plate. This was his third at-bat. The first two had been easy, and the pitcher this time didn’t look any tougher than those. He stepped to the plate and squared himself, the bat high in the air until he was settled. Someone said something—it came from the stands. The umpire raised his hands and stepped back. James looked around. One of the scouts was at the fence. He was pointing his pencil, and the umpire hollered, “Time out!”