Dustin smiled, because hewashungry. His mom made the best dry rub in the state, and she put it on chicken, beef, and pork and then had Dad slow-cook it on the barbeque. The back sliding glass door was open and the screen door shut, allowing him to smell the smoky, slightly tangy flavors from here. He rubbed his empty stomach and reached for a pickle on the relish tray.
His mom, moving back and forth between the stove and the counter—where a spread worthy of Bobby, the clubhouse manager, was coming together—blew him a kiss. “It’s good to have my boy home.”
“What about me?” asked Zander, Dustin’s younger brother. “I’m the one who fixed your railing this week.” He winked at Aurora, who rolled her eyes, knowing he was trying to get under his mom’s skin. The two were a match made in heaven—Zander loving to pester those around him and Aurora having the patience of a saint to put up with him.
Mom huffed. “Yes, Zander, you are the apple of my eye,” she said, deadpan as she leveled him with a look that would discourage any player in the MLB from stealing a base. A timer dinged, and Mom whipped around to pull the rolls out of the oven. Their yeasty smell added another layer of anticipation to the fragrances swirling through the kitchen. Dustin’s stomach growled.
“You have this week off, right?” asked Zander. He grabbed a handful of olives and popped one in his mouth.
Aurora smacked his backside. “Wait for the blessing.”
He gave her a wicked grin and popped another olive in his mouth. She shook her head and turned away with a smile on her face. Dustin gave her props for sticking with Zander for eight years and some change.
Dustin put the pickle on a paper plate. Zander’s question chased away his appetite, because he knew what was coming and didn’t like it. “We’ve still got workouts.”
Zander cuffed him on the shoulder. “Come on, man. I could really use you to run a crew.”
“Running a crew is an off-season thing.” Even then, he was pushing his luck. Most guys took the three-month off-season to let their bodies rest. They did minimal workouts so as not to cause overuse injuries. Hanging Sheetrock, hauling Sheetrock, mudding and taping Sheetrock were physically demanding jobs that did not allow him time to rebuild.
“Come on. Tera needs braces. Do you have any idea how much braces cost?”
Aurora nodded her head as she mashed the potatoes.
“Dustin—help your brother,” added Mom in the same tone she used to tell Zander to catch for Dustin when he needed to practice in high school. At that point, he was throwing hard enough that Dad had to ice his hand after catching.
Dad came in through the back door with a platter of meat. He looked like Fred Flintstone with a dino steak. He even had the black hair and thick build. Dustin couldn’t count the times Dad had sat in the car with a newspaper, waiting for practice to get over. Nor could he number the games his parents had attended, even though they had no love for baseball. But they loved Dustin. Of that he was sure. And when you love someone, you make sacrifices for them.
Dustin shrugged. “I’ve got afternoon workouts. If you can swing an early shift, I’ll make it work.”
“I’ll line it up and text you tonight.” Zander snagged a roll. He took a large bite and hid the roll behind his back when Aurora glanced his way. A piece of the roll stuck out the side of his mouth—he was begging to get caught. Aurora ignored it. Saint.
Dad set the platter on the table and dusted off his hands. “Glad you could make it.”
“Me too.” Although Dustin wasn’t so sure. If he’d stayed home, he’d be able to sleep in this week instead of getting up before the sun to go to work. “What’s the latest, Dad?”
“Not much here. But I have a question.”
The grandkids ran through the room, chasing Roberta, the dog. Carter, the youngest, toddled after the crew. He’d wanted to be a part of the pack from day one and refused to be left out, even though his little legs had to work twice as hard to keep up.
“Shoot.” Dustin motioned for Dad to ask away.
“When I see MLB players on television, they have a beautiful woman on their arm.” He craned his neck to look around the room. “Where are these women?”
Mom threw a dish towel at Dad. It covered his face before dropping to the floor.
Dad swiped it up. “I’m just saying. All these women out there and my son comes to dinner alone.”
Dustin thought of Clover. His family would scare her to death. “If you think I’m going to let you all meet a woman before she promises to marry me, then you’re crazy.”
“So you are dating?” Dad pressed.
“How can he have time to date? He eats, sleeps, and breathes baseball.” Mom gave Dad theI’ve got thislook. “He dreams of playing in Boston—not giving us more grandchildren.” She set out a pitcher of raspberry lemonade, her displeasure with Dustin’s life goals evident in the parentheses around her mouth.
“Dustin, please tell your mother she’s wrong,” said Dad.
Dustin shook his head. Telling Mom she was wrong or overreacting or being dramatic or too sensitive was never a good idea. Mom had trigger words, and when one of them came out of her kids’ mouths, she let loose. Dustin turned to Zander and Aurora, who were setting the table, silently begging for their help.
Zander mouthed, “Sorry.”
