Why the Star Stands Still (Gives Light Series) (19 page)

But Dad looked fine to me.  His face was lined with age--when did that happen? where did those empty years go?--his mouth was impassive; his eyes were relaxed.  His hands weren't shaking.

Maybe, I thought, I should have taken him to the ballpark sooner.

Jessica took the lead when we climbed the grandstand.  I didn't trust anyone else with the tickets.  She found our seats rows up from the diamond--not a bad spot at all--and we slithered down the bleachers after her.

Mickey turned her baseball cap backwards.  She held her hand above her eyes and squinted at the field below.

"I see the dugout," she reported proudly.  I wanted to squeeze her.  "Who are the good guys?" she asked, and turned to face my dad.

"The Paldones Bandits, of course.  They're in orange.  I don't know much about the Swingers--terribly unfortunate name--"

"Why is it unfortunate?" Mickey asked.

"I'll tell you when you're older," I cut in.

We each of us scrambled around, bickering and trading our seats.  I wound up between Rafael and Mickey, Dad on Mickey's other side, Racine on Dad's.  Racine pulled a giant pair of binoculars out of her equally gigantic purse and tossed them to DeShawn.  I stared dubiously.

"Biggest nerd on the planet," I heard Jessica say, somewhere to Rafael's left.

"I wear that distinction proudly," DeShawn said.  But he sounded pretty sullen to me.

Rafael sat hunched over an open book, an unfriendly expression on his dark face.  I elbowed him.  He narrowed his eyes at me shrewdly.  I rolled mine in return.

"Move your head, fatty!" said someone behind us.

Only when I looked over my shoulder did I realize the guy was talking to me.  My mouth fell open.  I shifted closer to Rafael.

"When did I become fat?" I needed to know.

Rafael grinned.  "You're not
that
fat."

"Then how fat am I?"  Was I starting to panic?  No way.  I never panic.  "Rafael--"

"Pleasantly plump," Jessica's voice rang out.  "Like the Pillsbury Doughboy."

My ego deflated considerably.

"Actually," Jessica went on, "what happens if I poke you in the tummy?"

"Don't," Rafael said, disgruntled.  "I'm the only one who does that."

"Oh, ew.  Sorry, didn't know it was a bedroom thing."

"Jessica--" I started.  I must have been
really
sunburnt.

I could hear Dad humming My Country, 'Tis of Thee on Mickey's other side.

"Okay, dummy," Mickey said to Rafael, leaning across my lap.  "Close the book.  I'm gonna teach you baseball."

"Could you teach me, too?" DeShawn said.

"No."

I don't think he knew what to say to that.  Hell,
I
didn't know what to say to that.

"Alright," Rafael said, none too enthusiastically.  "Who's the guy in the mask?"

"That's the umpire," Mickey said.

"Which team does he play for?"

Mickey threw me a look--an
Is this guy for real?
look.

"Neither," I filled in.  "He calls the shots."

"So...what, there's a third team?"

"Has he always been this stupid?" Mickey asked me.

"Watch it," Rafael growled.

"Yes," Jessica said at the same time.

"Quiet," DeShawn said, and peeped through his binoculars like a batty owl.

Dad's team was at bat.  The pitcher made his move.  The batter missed.  The umpire blew his whistle.

"What the hell!" Racine yelled, and leapt out of her seat.

Dad did the same.  "That was a ball!" he bellowed.  Baseball is the only time when Dad, usually so meek and mild, turns into a raging maniac.

"Of course it was a ball," Rafael grunted on my left.  "I thought that was the point."

"A 'ball' means it was an unfair throw," I said.  "Outside of the batter's range."

"What the hell?  Then why don't they just call it an unfair throw?"

"Will you two Marys shut up?" said the guy behind me.

An expression of fury flared across Rafael's face.  I didn't need to be told how offended he was.

"
Nobody
compares me to my sister," Rafael said, his teeth ground together.

I grabbed his arm before he could incite a fistfight.  He struggled against me.  Jessica and DeShawn threw themselves on top of his other arm.  We only just managed to hold him down.

"Peanuts!" Racine shouted.

I'd thought it would be nice to take my family out for the day.  You know--something everyone could enjoy.  Especially Dad.  Dad had spent the past fifteen years staring at prison bars.  A baseball field ought to be a nice change.  Right?

Rafael opened his notebook and freed a pencil from behind his ear.  DeShawn trained his binoculars on the lights at the top of the stadium.  Jessica swiveled in her seat and struck up a conversation with the girl behind her.  Apparently they'd gone to college together.

"Lame," Mickey remarked.

"Definitely," I agreed.

It was standard fare for a minor league game.  The Bandits lost inning after inning--losing is their specialty--and the crowd, bored with the tedium, started up a couple rounds of The Wave.  Mickey crunched her peanut shells in her hands and yelled obscenities at the Los Portales Swingers.  I probably should have stopped her, but it was funny.

"Look," Rafael said, and showed me his sketch, a bashful grin playing around his mouth.

"Oh, nice," I said, and made sure to hide the notebook from Mickey's view.  "You drew me like one of your French girls."

A loud "crack" resounded through the stadium when one of the Bandits finally managed to hit a run.  Dad and Racine jumped to their feet.  I couldn't tell you which of the two was louder.

"This doesn't make any damn sense," Rafael complained.

"It's a game of outs," I said.  "Three strikes and the batter's out.  Three outs and the inning's over."

"So...what?  Are they out?"

"No, quite the opposite."

"Then why's that guy running around like a raving lunatic?"

"That's how they score points, Rafael."

The guy behind us lost his head again.  "If you two fags don't shut your yammers--"

It happened in an instant.  Rafael threw down his notebook and jumped out of his seat.  DeShawn said, "Now, sir--!" diplomatic in his indignation.

It was Michaela who lunged off the bleacher and jumped on the offender's knees.

I was so shocked, I couldn't even react.  Mickey threw her arms around the gentleman's neck and squeezed.  The gentleman started shouting.  His complaints, alas, were lost under a cacophonous cry of jubilation from the audience:  The Bandits had hit a home run.  The gentleman stood up and thrashed.  Mickey clung to his neck with all her might.  At one point, I think she bit into his arm.  Truly it was a sight to behold.

An usher came running up the grandstand to the group of us.  Uh-oh, I thought.  I scooped Mickey into my arms before the usher could beat me to it.  I sat down and collected her on my lap.  I stroked the crown of her head--poor baby must have been traumatized--and shot the usher a sycophantic look.  He relented.

"Oh, come on!" shouted the gentleman behind us.  His protests fell on deaf ears; the usher showed us his back.  "Somebody put a leash on the brat!"

"Just so you know," said Mickey, sneering at him, "you taste like shit.  And you talk shit, too.  Shithead."

DeShawn started to hyperventilate.  He felt his pockets in search of his inhaler.

The game lasted another half hour, after which the seven of us filtered out into the parking lot.  Jessica giggled--well-meaning, I'm sure--and DeShawn kept sneaking looks over his shoulder, no doubt keeping an eye out for our new friend.

"Sweetheart," I said to Mickey, and tried to keep a straight face.  "That was very nice of you, but you can't go around attacking people."

"Why not?"

"Of course you can go around attacking people," Racine said.  "Want to borrow my badge?"

"Racine," I said.

We climbed into June Threefold's borrowed SUV.  Mickey was oddly silent when she wedged her way between Rafael and me.

"If I'm bad," she said, "will I have to go to a different home?"

"Why do you ask?" I said, taken aback.

"The last time I got into a fight, and I got a black eye, the social worker took me out of the Delsons' home."

"Well, we're not going to let you get a black eye," I assured her.

"But will a social worker take me away?  If I get in a fight?"

I looked at Rafael.

"Maybe," he mumbled.  "If he found out."

"Oh, be realistic," said Jessica from the driver's seat.  "Zeke's never gonna say a bad word about you guys."

"That still doesn't mean she should put her hands around people's throats," DeShawn murmured.

"Why?" Jessica asked.  "Are you worried you're next?"

"Now that you mention it--"

Mickey's silent spell lasted for the ride back to Nettlebush.  We were coming off the turnpike when Dad tried to engage her.

"Why don't we play baseball together sometime?"

I tried to decipher the tone of his voice.  I couldn't.

"I like shinny better," Mickey said.

"Shinny it is.  You know, there's a tournament in February."

"Can I play on your team?" Mickey asked.

Without discussing it, we'd all assumed she would still be with us come winter.

"I'd really like that," Dad said, a weak smile fluttering to his face.

Jessica parked outside the reservation hospital.  I noticed Aubrey sitting on the wheelchair ramp with his twins in his arms.  Immediately I started to worry.

"Hey," Racine said to Mickey.  "Wanna help me set up for the ghost dance?"

"What's that?"

"You come with me and you'll find out."

Just like that, the two of them left for the badlands, Racine's hand on the small of Mickey's back.

"Grandma," Jessica mocked with a soft giggle.  "You boys have fun.  I promised Prairie Rose I'd do the cleaning."

Dad and DeShawn stayed behind to talk about today's game.  I nudged Rafael and nodded toward the hospital ramp.

He set his books down on the hood of the car.  We walked up the ramp together until our shadows fell across Aubrey's face.

"Oh!  Hello!" Aubrey sputtered, as warm and as kind as could be.  He stood up, a baby in each arm.  "Sorry, am I blocking you?"

"Are the girls alright?" I asked, concerned.

"Quite alright, quite alright.  Little Lizzie just had a small case of the croup, but I panicked, figured I'd bring the both of them here--you know, if one has it, maybe the other does...I still don't know how twins work and I've been living with Holly and Daisy for years...  Really, I can't calm down--what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you," Rafael said.  "You've always been like that."

"Ahhh..."

We walked Aubrey back to his house, where Annie received him with a stern scolding.

"I told you there was no reason to panic," she said, and took the twins from his arms.  "Would you go help Daisy out back?  She can't do everything on her own.  Oh, Skylar, Rafael--"

I grimaced.  Here it comes, I thought.

"--since you're here, could you clean up the milkshed for me?  That would be lovely."

"Want us to pasteurize the milk while we're at it?" Rafael said bitingly.

"Actually, yes," Annie said.  "Thank you.  Move along, then."

I shot Rafael an indignant look and we went on our way.

The milkshed stood alongside the toolshed, just to the east of the farm manor.  It was dark and ridiculously chilly when we went inside.  I pulled the drawstring on the low-watt lightbulb and looked around disapprovingly at the mess.  Brushes and spare buckets lay on their sides in the middle of the concrete floor.  Pails full of milk lay with them  The cows peered cluelessly at us from their stables.

"The hell?" Rafael said.  "Did Isaac just forget they were standing here?"

"This is your fault," I said lightly.

"Shut up, Sky.  I'm gonna get 'em out into the pasture."

I threw open the side doors for him and he opened the stables.  Getting a cow to follow you is actually pretty easy; all you have to do is talk to her in a nice, friendly voice and start walking.  Cows are the most curious creatures on the planet.  They're the ditziest, too, because they'd rather walk in circles than a straight line.  I couldn't stop laughing when Rafael started herding them:

"Okay, come on," he said, struggling to sound as friendly as possible.  It was like something out of the Twilight Zone.  "I know you wanna go out in the nice sun, right?  S'too dark in here--where the hell are you going, that's the wall--I mean heck, sorry, I mean heck--stop headbutting me--"