Smithy draws a walk and trots to first as I try to shake it off and approach the plate. But my head isn’t in the right place, and I swing too early for the first pitch and too late for the second.
“Let’s go, Wagner!” I hear the annoying young voice behind me, and I’m distracted as the pitch flies past.
“Strike three!” the umpire booms.
“Damn it.” I accept my fate with as much pride as I can muster and walk away, passing the rookie again on my way back. “Do me a favor and keep your mouth shut, would you?” I snap at him. Beauchamp smiles, which only pisses me off more.
“What was that about?” Rodriguez asks as I find my seat next to him.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing my ass. You’re in a real mood lately.”
Beauchamp gets an RBI triple because of course he does. Then another hit sends him home to put us ahead by two more runs. He’s beaming when he rejoins us, and the guys reward him with high fives and congratulatory slaps. I force myself to tell him it was a nice hit, but I’m over this.
We manage to keep our lead and pull off the win, which makes Beauchamp the man of the hour in the locker room after the game.
“Nice one, Beau. You really helped us squeak that one out.” Lincoln nods.
“Yeah,” I echo, hoping it’s enough of an effort to keep me from looking like a total jackass. I don’t want my sour mood to affect the rest of the team.
“Who wants to celebrate?” Rodriguez asks. “It’s karaoke night.”
Several of our teammates respond with good-natured groans.
“I’ll go, but only if your guitar doesn’t,” Smithy tells him.
“Miller’s in town, and he says he’s in,” Lincoln adds, looking up from his phone.
Rodriguez pulls me aside, out of earshot from the rest of the guys. “So, are you ever going to tell Miller you’re into his sister? Gotta tell you, bro, I thought I was going to have to follow you around that wedding with a napkin to wipe the drool from your face every time you looked at Shelley.”
I have to give him credit, the dude is way more observant than you’d think. But I don’t want to get into it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”
“That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”
“That’s how it is,” I insist, although the look on his face tells me he knows I’m full of shit. “I can’t make it tonight anyway. My old coach is in town and we’re meeting up for dinner. I need to head over to the restaurant.”
Rodriguez cups a hand on my shoulder and nods a quick goodbye. I finish stripping off my uniform and rush through a fast shower. I don’t want to keep the Carvers waiting.
???
At the restaurant, the smell of grease and deep-fried seafood makes my stomach growl as I sit alone at a table, sipping a glass of ice water. When Coach Carver walks into The Blue Crab, he looks the same as usual. A few more grays have made their way to his temples, and his midsection is a little paunchier than when we first met, but I can always count on him to be wearing his typical dark polo shirt tucked into belted khaki shorts. He finishes off the look with white socks hiked up high above his dad sneakers. He holds the door open for his wife, and Ms. Ruth takes her time stepping over the threshold. There’s a pale yellow sweater draped over her shoulders and a Tupperware container in her hands.
“Jordan, there’s my boy!” His voice booms through the small restaurant as he makes his way to our table.
“Hey, Coach. Thanks for coming.” I stand to greet him, and he wraps me in a tight hug.
Coach Carver was the kind of coach who took it upon himself to get involved in his players’ lives. When he met me in my first year of high school, he knew Mom and I were struggling. I’m sure it wasn’t hard to tell. But he saw how motivated I was and how much I wanted baseball to be my ticket out. So, when he found out I was by myself most nights, Coach and Mrs. Carver started inviting me for dinner a few times a week. By the time I was in my third year on his team, I spent more time at their house than my own.
Coach is the closest thing I’ve had to a dad for the past fourteen years. He still makes the four-hour drive to North Bay from Baltimore as often as he can to come to a Blue Crabs game or grab lunch with me during the off-season, and once a year he and Ms. Ruth come together for a whole week.
“Wouldn’t miss it. Ruthie and I booked four nights over at the Marnock hotel. We’re excited for the vacation.”
“Sure are.” Ms. Ruth smiles as she reaches up to hug me with one arm, holding her Tupperware in the other.
“Is that what I think it is?” I ask, pointing to the square plastic container.
