Third Base (The Boys of Summer Book 1) (27 page)

“Over the past month, I’ve seen a man come to life because he’s doing what he loves – attending Renegades baseball games. I know I’ve made that happen, but I also think that your grandfather would probably like to get out by himself every now and again, maybe go to the store and get some things for himself. This thing is motorized and takes little effort. It’s a gift Daisy, one that you’ll both benefit from. He’ll be able to move around the house more freely and not depend so much on you or the nurses.”

She nods, knowing I’m right.

“The van will still pick him up for games, so you won’t have to worry about the T or anything like that, but all he has to do is get in the elevator and now he’ll be able to do that by himself.”

“Only if the elevator works,” she says, wiping her tears away. I kiss her again and again, not caring who is watching from the street.

“The elevator will be working today. I made some calls and was assured that by the time we get back, the elevator will be fully functioning.”

She gasps and steps back. “You did what?”

I shrug. It wasn’t a big deal, at least not to me, however her stance tells me I may have crossed the line. “What?”

“You can’t go around making phone calls like that, Ethan. There are rules and… well you just can’t do it.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to cool my temper. “You live in a housing unit that the state funds; you need working equipment. I made a call and it’ll be working by the time we get back, otherwise they’re in violation and you’re not required to pay rent.”

Daisy crosses her arms and looks down the street. I do what seems natural and pull her to me, enveloping her in my arms. “I’m only trying to help. I thought it’d be nice to have an elevator that actually works so when you’re carrying groceries up, you’re not killing yourself.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she mumbles into my shirt. “I’m not used to anyone doing such nice things for us. I don’t know how to take it.”

I pull back, cupping her cheeks with my hands. “Get used to it, Daisy.”

She stretches up on her toes, giving me a chaste kiss. “Where are we going today?”

“We are going to New York City to watch the Mets play.”

Her mouth drops open and her eyes light up. “Seriously?”

“Would I lie?”

“No, but oh my… my grandpa is going to be so freaking happy.” She leaves me standing by the van as she heads to her door. “Wait, why not the Yankees?” she asks with a smile, before disappearing inside. I shake my fist at her before going to work on getting the scooter out of the van. That damn elevator better work today because there’s no way I can carry this up the stairs.

As far as road trips go, this is one of the best. The drive is just under four hours from Boston to NYC and John has made sure to pass the time easily for me. Stories of Daisy when she was a little girl have had me laughing the entire time. Each time I hear, “Oh, Papa, no,” I know it’s going to be a doozy of a story.

“When Daisy was about ten, she had this crush on the neighbor boy. I think he was about three years older…”

I reach for Daisy’s hand and give it a squeeze. She’s been a trooper, letting her grandfather go on and on about her life growing up.

“Her grandma and I told her that he was too old for her and that he’d break her heart, but she wouldn’t listen. Each day she’d wait for him to get home from practice or whatever he did after school, sitting on the front porch step watching each kid go by. When he’d go by on his bike, she’d run out there to say hi and he’d talk to her until his mom started hollering for him.

“One day, he brought a girl home and little miss Daisy became so enraged she socked the girl right in her shoulder before she came running into the house, telling us that boys are stupid.”

“Do you still think boys are stupid, Daisy?” I ask her, hoping my voice is low enough that her grandfather can’t hear us in the backseat.

“No, she doesn’t. She likes you, doesn’t she?”

“Papa,” she scolds as she turns around. “Ethan is a fine young gentleman and doesn’t bring other girls home on his bike.” We’re both laughing by the time she ends her sentence.

“I can assure you, John, I won’t be bringing any girls home on my bike.”

Daisy is shaking her head and trying to control her laughter. I’m trying to stay focused on the road while I navigate to Citi Field. When the front office called to get me tickets, they offered me a luxury suite. They also suggested I invite the rest of the team, but that defeated the purpose of having some quality time with John and Daisy. Instead, we’re behind the plate with all we can eat food - another important part of sitting where we are. This is more for John, though, and our combined love for the game.

“John, do you think you’ll want a shirt?” I ask, after showing the parking attendant my pass. He waves me on, leaving me to find my own spot. With the new scooter John has, we can park wherever we want and walk while he drives along beside us.

“And be a Mets fan for the day? Nah, I don’t want to waste my money.”

I don’t blame him, but I’d rather be a Mets fan than a Yankees fan.

The moment we’re parked and out of the van, John is getting himself out. Already, he’s found some quick independence and I’m sure to point that out to Daisy, who rolls her eyes. We have yet to tell him that the scooter is his to keep because she’s not sure how he’ll react. I suggested we not tell him until he asks, or until I drop them off tonight and he’s taking it up and I’m leaving without it. Either way, I’m not bringing that sucker home.

Daisy and I walk hand-in-hand, following John to the gates. He’s like a little kid going to his first game and I love that I’m a part of this. Daisy stops us mid-step and pulls me down, placing a sweet kiss on my lips. So many thoughts about heading back to the van run through my mind, except now wouldn’t be the right time for a quickie.

“What’s that for?” As if she needs a reason to kiss me. I’ll stop and kiss her anytime, anywhere.

“The only way I can thank you for doing this for my grandfather.”

“You being here with me is thanks enough, Daisy.” Looking into her eyes, I see a girl who has lost so much, but is trying to hold on to what is important to her. I hope that when she looks at me, she sees a guy who is going to try and make sure she doesn’t lose anymore.

“Come on,” I say, pulling her forward. “Your grandfather is going to sell our tickets if we don’t hurry up.”

“What took you so long?” John asks when we reach him and his decked out scooter. People are looking at him funny and a few have stopped to take pictures of it. A couple of kids come up to me, asking for my autograph when they see me standing with John, but security is quick to provide us an escort into the park. Once we’re inside, only the fans behind the plate will have access to me. We’re talking under about a hundred people, and I have a feeling they’ll leave us alone.

I make John stop at the t-shirt stand. I know he’s not a fan of the Mets, but he
is
a fan of baseball and sometimes you need something to commemorate your visit. The great Jackie Robinson played for the Brooklyn Dodgers who the Mets replaced back in the sixties. While Robinson never played here, the park is dedicated to him.

The store is somewhat cramped, but people make way for the scooter. I’m praying he’s not hitting anyone in the back of the heels with that thing, at least I haven’t seen anyone try and beat him up yet. I follow him around while Daisy is off looking at the girly things and pick up whatever he puts down. I know he’s not going to buy anything and that’s why I’m here, to make sure today is the best day he’s had in a long time.

“Well, I don’t see anything I like,” he says with his back facing me. I’m sensing that he’s not exactly telling the truth because everything that he’s picked up and put back down again is all retro league wear – the throw designs – from the earlier years. I’m not a Mets fan, but I do love the old stuff.

“I’ll go grab Daisy and meet you by the entrance,” I tell him, thankful he never turned around to see what I was holding in my hand. Part of me thinks that he already knows, but I’m hoping the element of surprise is in my favor today.

“Are you ready?” I ask Daisy, who is posing with a Mets shirt in front of the mirror. Thankfully it’s generic and only has their logo and not the name of one of their players.

“What are you buying?” she asks, while looking at me through the mirror as her eyes go from mine to the pile in my arm.

“Stuff your grandfather took off the rack and probably wished he could buy. He left the store empty handed.”

“You knew he would,” she says with a smile as she turns around. “Can I get this?”

I hate that she feels that she has to ask and doesn’t feel comfortable enough to put it in the pile I’m already holding. I’ve told her repeatedly that she can have anything she wants, anytime she wants. I know the words are easier for me to say then they are for her to believe or follow through with, but she has to trust that I’m being genuine here.

“You know you can.”

“I thought I’d sleep in it,” she says, stepping closer. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and has a wicked glint in her.

“You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

“I do and I lo –” I quickly shut my mouth before those words sneak out. I have no doubt that I’m in love with her, but telling her in the middle of the Mets’ Team Store isn’t exactly how I see myself spilling the beans. I have no doubt it’s going to happen because every time I’m with her, especially when I know I won’t see her for a while, the words are right there threatening to come out.

W
e’re back to facing the Orioles and they’re kicking our ass. I’m so sick of losing. I know our team is better than what the standings show, but damn if we can’t prove them wrong. The number of fans in the stands is starting to dwindle. There are more important things going on right now than to come and watch your hometown team lose, although the faithful’s are here telling us exactly what they think of us.

The one fan I can count on is Daisy, even though she doesn’t stroke my ego or sugarcoat how poorly we’re doing. She does tell me what I need to work on. I take her criticism seriously because she’s usually saying the same shit my dad is. Her knowledge of baseball is a serious turn on. She’s like my own personal aphrodisiac.

It’s the bottom of the fifth and I’m on deck. The score is Renegades, zero – Orioles, four. We need five freaking runs in order to win. It’s harder than one might think, a come-back like this, but it can be done.