Spring Rain (20 page)

After a mercifully short speech by the mayor and a pep talk by the local baseball commissioner, during which the boys and girls in uniform behaved remarkably well, the teams gathered in circles, giving each other high fives and fanny pats. Then each team ran around the diamond as they were announced, waving their hats to the stands. Parents cheered, calling the names of their various offspring as they passed. Leigh yelled just as loudly as the rest.

“Hey, Billy!” Clay called as the Purple People Eaters ran past. He put his fingers in his mouth and gave an earsplitting whistle.

Billy’s face lit up, and he jumped up and down, waving both hands over his head to them. One of his team members grabbed him in passing and pulled him back into the throng.

Clay turned to her and asked, “How does one ever get up the nerve to yell, ‘Go, Purple People Eaters’?”

She answered easily. “One doesn’t. We shorten it to Eaters.”

“Go, Eaters?”

They grinned at each other at the absurdity.

Ceremonies over, Leigh and Clay climbed down, his hand on her elbow to steady her.

“Now what?” he asked when they stood on the ground.

“Field two in fifteen minutes.”

Billy raced up to them, halting in a cloud of dust. Leigh noticed that most of the other Eaters had run off in a cluster to field two.

“I’m hungry,” he announced to Clay.

“Me too,” Clay said.

“Billy, you ate lunch already.” Leigh shot her son a look that said no begging!

“What’s a ball game without a hot dog and a Coke?” Clay began to look around. “Where’s the concession stand?”

Billy led them toward the stand with a proud smile, which dimmed significantly when he saw the huge line snaking all the way down the center of the parking lot.

“You’ll never get anything before the game,” Clay said. “We’ll fill you after, okay?”

With a disgusted twist to his face, Billy ran off to join the other Eaters.

Clay kept walking, falling into place at the end of the line. “Unlike Billy, I didn’t get any lunch. I’m starving.”

Leigh nodded. She was too. She had been too upset to eat earlier.

“Will we miss anything important if this takes a while?”

Leigh gave a wry smile. “Unfortunately not, at least from my point of view as the parent. My somewhat limited athlete doesn’t usually play until the last two innings, and only then because the rules dictate that they have to play everybody at least two innings. Then he plays left field.”

Clay frowned. “That bad?”

“Not bad exactly. Just not good. But at least he doesn’t daydream out there like some of the kids.”

Eventually they reached the snack shack window and purchased three hot dogs and two large Cokes. They threaded their way carefully through the crowd, Leigh carrying the Cokes and Clay the hot dogs.

“It’s hard to avoid painting someone’s back with mustard in a crowd this thick,” he said.

“I thought you were buying Billy’s food after the game.”

“I am.” He glanced at her as she walked beside him and saw her eyeing the third hot dog. “That’s for me.”

“Ah,” she said as a bat cracked loudly just over the fence to her right. “Big man, big appetite.”

A cheer went up at the crack, then quickly turned to groans, then to shouts of, “Heads up! Foul ball!”

Leigh looked up to see a baseball speeding in an arc, its trajectory aimed right at her. A gurgling noise erupted from her throat as she knew with certainty she would be hit. She turned to run.

She’d taken one step when she plowed into an older man standing directly behind her. Her Cokes went flying, drenching the man. His eyes went wide as sticky brown liquid pocked his glasses and dissolved the hair spray that held the long strands that he combed with evident care from one side of his skull to the other.

Leigh didn’t even apologize. She ducked, lifted her hands above her head, and braced for the wallop when the ball connected. She waited for her life to flash before her eyes.

Nothing happened.

A cheer went up, and she opened her eyes to see Clay’s hand just above her, the baseball seated firmly in his outstretched palm. He grinned down at her as he held the ball aloft for everyone to see.

She began to breathe again. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He held the ball out to her. “My pleasure.”

She shook her head at the proffered ball. “This isn’t the Phillies. We can’t keep it. We have to throw it back.”

As he lobbed it over the fence to the umpire amid the wash of more cheers, Leigh turned to apologize to the man she had given the cold bath. She felt terrible, imagining how he had come to cheer some grandchild to victory and instead endured a frigid
shower. Hopefully he had a strong heart.

He was gone. She looked over and around all the bodies between her and the street but couldn’t see him. She even stood on the first step of the bleachers and scanned the whole area, but the man had disappeared.

She felt bad. She’d driven some poor, innocent man from the ballpark, and not only hadn’t she been hurt, but she didn’t even have significant damage done to her by the Cokes.

As she made her way back to the concession stand for more Cokes, she shook her head at the farce of it all. While she, ever the klutz, drenches some poor stranger, Clay, ever the hero, makes a miraculous catch, saving her from certain injury. He’d even had the presence of mind to transfer the three hot dogs to his left hand before bagging the ball.

She sighed. Life was never fair.

S
ATURDAY EVENING
, Clay tossed the baseball back and forth with Billy and his buddy Mike in the driveway, trying to work off the jitters that made it impossible for him to be still. He had had quite a day. There was his disastrous attempt to spend time with Ted and his hissing bout with Leigh. He’d made her cry. He’d made his mother cry.

Clay sighed. Nothing like a mature Christian to bring light to the darkness. Or more appropriately, pour salt into open wounds. He thought he’d redeemed himself somewhat in Leigh’s eyes with the Little League thing. He’d said yes to Billy mainly to impress her, and to his surprise he’d had a great time. It had been a real kick to cheer for the Eaters and Billy who not only made a good catch but actually made it to first base. And his own hero-making catch that kept Leigh from getting beaned hadn’t hurt any.

He still got chills when he thought of that ball heading straight for her. It would have clobbered her if he hadn’t gotten there first. His hand ought to stop stinging in a week or two tops.

“Yo, Mr. Wharton,” called Mike as the ball sailed past Clay’s head.

“Sorry,” he called, loping down the drive to recover the ball. At least if it went into the street, it was no big deal down here on the cul-de-sac. He scooped up the
ball and tossed it to Mike who made a big jump to catch it even though it was only shoulder high.

“You’ve been watching too many
Great Moments in Sports
films, Mike.”

“Wait until you see me,” Billy yelled. “Put it here!”

Billy’s contortions made Mike’s look like the clip on the editing room floor.

“Let me hit you some pop-ups,” Clay suggested, trying not to laugh. These two might not be long on talent, but they certainly got into the spirit of things.

“Be careful of the windows,” Billy said.

“Have you had some experience with windows?” Clay asked.

“Sure. On my computer,” Billy answered, all innocence.

“Hah!” Mike pointed his finger at the window over the kitchen sink. “That one.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been so bad if Grandma Jule hadn’t been at the sink peeling potatoes.”

Clay laughed as he popped one high. The boys clustered under it, both yelling, “Mine. It’s mine. I called it!”

“It’s Mike’s,” Clay called as the ball dropped. “But don’t take your eye off it!”

Mike looked at Clay at the last minute. “What’d you say?”

The ball bounced harmlessly to the ground.

“My turn,” shouted Billy. “But not quite so high.”

Clay swung and the ball arced.

“The window,” yelled Mike. “It’s going to go through the window.”

Billy reached for the ball and caught it in the webbing of his glove just as he lost his balance and fell in the hydrangea bush under the kitchen window.

Billy pulled himself out of the bush as Mike rushed over, and the boys examined it thoroughly for injuries.

“It’s okay, I think,” Mike said. “Man, hurting that would be worse than breaking the window. For some reason your grandmother loves this little tree.”

“Bush, not tree. That’s because Grandpa Will bought it for her the birthday before he died,” Billy explained. “It’s sentimental.”

Clay looked at the leafless bush. Clusters of dried, pinkish beige flowers left over from last year still clung to it. He hadn’t known the story of it being Dad’s last gift. He sighed. What else
didn’t he know that he should? He’d definitely been away too long, though he had an idea or two that might rectify the problem. He still needed to think and pray more about his future plans before he told his mom anything. He didn’t want to get her excited prematurely. He laughed to himself. He’d never thought he’d want to come back to Seaside to live.

“I think we’ll go to the beach,” he said to the boys, his many years in the military teaching him when it was time to seek a more suitable venue.

They tramped through the dunes to the empty beach. Even the ever present Clooney was missing. Time after time, Clay hit the ball as far as he could, and the boys chased the hits tirelessly. The longer they played, the more obvious it became that Billy wasn’t really a bad player. He just needed practice. And someone to practice with.

“Mike,” called Leigh from the path through the dunes, interrupting them in the middle of a play. All eyes turned to her while the ball Clay had just hit sailed down the beach and bounced to the jetty.

The three ballplayers waved to her as she stood there in her bathrobe and slippers. She waved back and called, “Mike, your mom called. They need you at home.”

Mike waved at Leigh. “Thanks, Ms. Spenser.” He walked to Clay. “That’s my bat, Mr. Wharton.”

Clay handed the Louisville Slugger over and looked off toward the ball. Mike looked in the same direction. “That’s Billy’s.” He turned to leave, stopped, then looked at Clay. “It was very nice to meet you and thanks for playing with us.”

He trotted across the dunes after Leigh. Clay turned to Billy. “Mom says you and Mike want to be rock stars.”

Billy nodded. “I’m doing drums.”

“Yeah, so I hear.” Clay glanced again at Mike’s receding figure. “I don’t know about you, but Mike’ll never make it.”

Billy stiffened at this insult to his best friend. “Why not?”

“He’s too nice and polite.”

Billy frowned. “And I’m not?”

Clay grinned. “You do pretty well too. I think you’re going to have to look elsewhere for quick riches.”

Billy sighed, then brightened. “We can practice being impolite and not nice.”

“Your mother’d love that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be not nice to her. I mean, she’s my mom.”

“She’s a good mom, isn’t she?” Clay told himself he wasn’t really using a child to probe Leigh’s privacy. He was asking a simple question. Just like he asked every kid he’d known for twenty-four hours.

“She’s the best. Wanna go build a sand castle?”

“That’s it,” said Clay with a snap of his fingers. “You can be an architect.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Doing kid stuff like building castles doesn’t mean you’d be a good architect. Besides, I’m going to be a doctor when I grow up. The rock stuff’s just for fun for now.”

“Billy.” It was Leigh again, back at the path through the dunes. Why was she wearing a bathrobe at six-thirty in the evening?

“What?” Billy yelled.

Clay tapped Billy on the shoulder. “Don’t you think it’d be nicer to walk closer to her so you don’t have to scream your whole conversation?”

“Oh.” Obviously this was a new thought. He started toward his mother. “Aren’t you coming too?”

“Uh, sure.” Clay trailed behind, watching Leigh and wondering about the bathrobe. As he got closer, he saw that her hair was all fixed and her face carefully made-up.

Uh-oh. She’s got a date and hasn’t finished getting ready yet. I wonder who the jerk is?

“I’ve got Spaghetti-Os for you to microwave,” Leigh said when Billy joined her at the edge of the yard. She smiled absently at Clay. “The popcorn to go with the video is on the counter. You can take everything over to Grandma Jule’s. Ted’s expecting you.”

“Okay.” Billy nodded. “In a little bit. Clay and me are going to build a sand castle right now.”

She glanced at Clay who smiled sweetly back. “Don’t bother Clay, Billy. He doesn’t want to build castles.”

That was the second time today she’d known what he didn’t want to do, and both times she’d been wrong. His hackles rose. Suddenly he wanted to do nothing more than build castles.

“I’m not bothering him.” Billy looked insulted at the very idea. “He wants to build a castle, don’t you, Clay?”

“Sure do, Billy.” He smiled warmly at the boy, then looked pointedly at Leigh.

“Well,” she said, eyeing Clay skeptically, “just be careful, Billy.”

Be careful, Billy?
Clay stared at her. Now what did that mean? Did she think hanging around with him put Billy in danger, like he was going to hurt the kid or something?

“Yeah, Mom. I’ll be careful.” He sounded so put-upon that Clay almost smiled.

“I mean it, Billy.” She bent and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.” She turned and went back to the house without saying another word to Clay.

Miffed at her attitude, Clay looked at Billy. “Why do you let them all call you Billy?”

The boy looked at him in surprise. “It’s my name.”

“It’s a little kid’s name,” Clay said, trying to keep his frustration with Leigh from his voice. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that just when he thought he was doing okay with his mother, she got all cool again. “You’re too big for Billy. You should be Bill.”

“Bill.” The boy tried it out for size.

“You don’t call Mike Mikey, do you?”